Bacon Rind

We don't eat a ton of bacon in our house as bacon - it's rare for strips of it to be served along side eggs or on a burger. But I do use probably more than I should as a flavour base or as a little bit of crispy salty bacon goodness sprinkled on top (of everything).  My favourite bacon comes from Upper Cuts in the St Lawrence Market in Toronto. It is called Black Forest Bacon and it is thick cut and heavily smoked. You buy a kilogram of it and they will split it and package it up for you in two plastic parcels so you can throw one in the fridge and one in the freezer so you'll never run out of bacon. It is a glorious thing.

So we move to London and start seeking out a suitable bacon replacement. Shouldn't be too hard, Britain is good at pig things, right? Sausages and the like? And so with a significant amount of trial and error we finally find two acceptable bacon suppliers in our neighbourhood, though neither are as thickly cut as the butcher in Toronto.

But here is my complaint: why do bacon makers leave the skin on? The bacon rind? And how do you British people handle it? Do you painstakenly cut it off? Trimming each piece individually as I do to get it off without sacrificing too much of the smoked bacon fat? Or do you... eat it...? I have cooked it and tried to eat it but it's inevitably tough and hard and unpleasantly like eating  a warm and salted rubber band. Because British bacon is rarely ever cooked crisply enough to get the skin to take on the texture and crunch of crackling, which is the only real acceptable treatment of bacon skin that I can think of.

Help?

Green Smoothies

On twitter I follow mostly food people - bloggers, suppliers, restaurants - and one thing that pops up occasionally and that I wonder about, is how does everyone EAT like this all the time (and drink, seriously, some of you have me worried) and stay healthy? The booze effects aside I am certain that many of us are carrying a few extra pounds/kilos/stones that we would easily shed if we didn't dream of truffle egg toast, the latest gelato or extravagant multi course meals. But we do. This is pleasure and we are fortunate to get to indulge ourselves. So lucky.

Whenever I see a tweet about over indulgence and excess food pounds, I think to myself: "green smoothy".

Around the same time of the debate on the toxicity of sugar I was thinking about an upcoming beach holiday. I had never been on a holiday where the primary activities were beach bumming and pool side relaxing so I was anxious about putting on a swimsuit (let alone a two piece - terrifying!) and wanted something to help me tighten up. The basic gist of the toxic sugar debate (or at least what I took from it) is that natural sugars are fine as long as you balance them with their natural fibres - so the sugar in an apple is balanced by the fibre of the apple. If you up your fibre level you are less likely to crave sugar and less likely to snack or binge eat. This may be completely false. But this is what I took from it and right around this time I stumbled across a recipe idea for green smoothies to start your day and to help your body with cravings. Excellent. The two ideas complimented each other perfectly and I started drinking a green smoothy every morning.

In a blender:

a banana
a massive handful of spinach
a nice sized handful of frozen fruit (mango is my favourite)
a cup of water (or so)

Blend. Drink.


This totally changed the way I ate during the day. I had this massive influx of veggie fibre goodness first thing in the morning and I didn't crave anything (I was full) and I ate a small lunch, followed by a regular meal. I think it helps cure hangovers. It makes me feel hydrated. None of these assertions are based on anything but my own experience, but that is enough for me!

So, lovely food bloggers and others who find that their hobby has literally grown on them – green smoothies, five days a week for a month, see if you notice a difference and then report back to me. I mean, clearly the answer was never to cut back on going out and eating deliciousness, the answer must be to make room for the awesome by shifting other food.

Farmers

The asparagus season will be coming to a close soonish. I know because I asked the man who I buy it from every Sunday how much was left and how much longer I could expect it. I'm starting to get tired of it (it's only in season a few weeks! You have to eat as much of it as you can!) but I don't want to miss the last bunch of this year because I'm getting bored and decide not to get any one week. Farmer man said that there isn't much left - another week or two - but he's keeping a few bunches aside for me in case I get to the market late.

He also grows cut flowers. Two weeks ago, while C was away, he had the first Sweet Williams. I must have looked sad or something because he gave me a bunch with my asparagus and strawberries. They are still on the table, beautifully scented and holding their colour - he said they sometimes last three weeks. There should be astors soon.

He's just one of a handful of farmers that I have got to know at the markets in the past couple of years. (See I know I'm Lucky) I like that my shopping habits supports them and allows them to continue to bring me excellent products. Virtuous circle.

But you can't get everything from the farmer's market. For some items there is no season in England. So while I don't ever buy asparagus from Peru, I do buy mango, rice, garlic, etc etc from the corner store and the local Tesco. And so I think about the farmers I support by purchasing mangoes. Or frozen peas. If everyone stops buying mangoes what will the mango farmers eat?  (Besides mangoes.) How does buying my ingredients from farmer A in England affect farmer B in Pakistan (where my basmati rice comes from)?

No answers, just the pieces of a conversation I am having in my head and that I would welcome people's thoughts on.

New Restaurants

There is a new Turkish restaurant going in on Broadway Market, where the old Efes was for about a year. It looks pretty. I popped my head in the other day to sneak a peak. The guy told me that it'll be open in a week or so, Turkish/Mediterranean menu. 

Cool. Will try it out.

Why don't restaurants have little promotional cards for the curious who stop by to peak in and see what's what? Give me a card that gives me a free drink or a dessert or 10% off in the first week. Something. Whatever. But make me feel special and make me excited about your restaurant opening up.

She's So Lucky

I know I'm lucky. I live in a big city in a wonderful area with bakeries, delis, butchers, fishmongers, a coffee roaster, boutique wine. On Saturdays one of the best markets in all of London opens its arms at the top of my street. On Sundays a small but solid farmers market appears. There is a famous flower market around the corner.

If I can't find something in my neighborhood I have only to head out into this giant city and if I look hard enough I will find it. London has everything, if you know where to look. London also keeps secrets, which makes the looking a bit more adventurous sometimes.

At the end of the day, I am SO lucky to be able to eat the food I do. To have the variety and choice, not just in terms of product, but producer and quality and ethos. There are few places on the planet that have what I have. I'm not writing this to sound haughty, I'm just writing this so that I know that I have explained to my two readers that I am aware of the privileged circumstances under which I write.

Some Light Reading

A few articles and bits that have caught my attention of late and that I think are worth passing on...

• My Beef isn't with Beef On why being a vegetarian won't fix the meat problem
• Cooking with Dexter: Chicken Nugget Blues I love this column but this one in particular made me laugh - especially the three year old exclaiming “Yucky food from a factory!”
• Poverty Matters: How can we feed the world and still save the planet? Interesting look at role of investment and market failure. We really need a much better understanding of this. By we I mean all of us. Not just the people playing with the markets. 

Shot

I love that getting shot in your game is a Thing. Considered acceptable. Maybe even a bit cool and desired. Because then it is the Real Thing. And that adds a certain air to the meal, doesn't it? 

I mean, as long as you don't break a tooth.

HTELAA

"I recommend the Hindu meal - I have no idea what a Hindu meal is, but a curry is better than the righteous indignation of the Atheist meal" from an email sent to Nathan from his friend Dr. Justin Bahl, Evolutionary Geneticist

Making Food

It's December and I'm taking part in #reverb10. It's a daily prompt for the month of December that invites you to reflect on the past year and think about the year to come. I like that kind of thing at this time of the year and it's helping me complete another side project which is 750 words a day. I've completed every one, but haven't been posting my responses anywhere - the internet does not need a complete record of my personal neuroses. I'm just not that big a sharer.

So why are you reading this now? Because the prompt for today was this: Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

It got me thinking about cooking, specifically making fresh pasta. Fresh pasta on Saturday night was the last thing I made. I took two cooking classes last week. French Classics Cooking (so much butter! so much double cream!) and Fresh Pasta making. I've been making pasta for years but I've never been particularly good at it and I figured I had a voucher, why not use it to learn and improve a skill and actually use the equipment I own. A few tricks, a bit of chefly guidance and I'm feeling pretty confident about my pasta making abilities.

So I made some for dinner on Saturday night before we went out to the Soho Theatre to see Asher Treleaven. So funny.

While I was mixing the flour and eggs, kneading pulling punching pushing, I was thinking about craft and the art of making things by hand. Later, as I rolled it through the machine (so much easier now!) and cut the tagliatelle, hung it up on my makeshift drying racks and carefully separated the individual noodles, I felt like I was doing something. Like I was participating in a craft that had ancient roots and a tradition and history that I was part of by making my dinner. There's something really powerful in building something with your very own hands.

I think often about the process of cooking and baking. There's a great quote about how when you cook, you never cook alone because you take into the kitchen with you generations of cooks whose experience and trials and love is passed down and through every time you make something. You eat every day so you forget how special cooking actually is. Not just from the love that hopefully goes into your food but also the knowledge behind it. How long did it take to perfect the process that makes snails not only edible but a delicious delicacy? How many upset stomaches were there from eating the wrong mushroom? Or broken teeth from biting into a raw quince?

When I make something like pasta is feels like I'm doing something. I like dishes that require care and constant stirring supervision. Or complicated breads and baking that I can delve into and lose myself in. It feels creative and like a craft.

The last question of today's prompt asks if there is something you want to make, but need to clear time for. I look over at my cookbook shelf, with the post-its and bits of paper sticking out and there are at least a hundred things I want to make. Some will be quick after work dinners, others will require a full day immersed in the kitchen. I'm fortunate that the things I love to make are usually useful delicious things that bring something to others and form an important part of my daily world.

Are there particular dishes or meals that make you feel like you've accomplished something important? Something you make often? Or an occasional burst of kitchen creativity and energy?

Secret recipes

When I was a kid my mom made the most bestest popcorn cake. It had jujubes in it, and was simply popcorn and jujubes held together with marshmallow - like a rice crispy square only more exciting. It was her signature children's party dish. She made it for all sorts of events - bake sales, potlucks, sleepovers. She never shared the recipe. I'm pretty sure even I don't have the recipe.

Off the top of my head I can think of two secret recipes that I guard vigilantly and that I consider family secrets and potential heirloom knowledge. The truth is, they are neither.

One recipe is a slight rift on one I took from the internet a couple of years ago. It is a huge hit and a bit like crack - you think you don't want anymore but your hand keeps grabbing it and stuffing it in your mouth. The thing is, I know, KNOW, that if this recipe were to get out it would be EVERYWHERE. You'd go to parties and there it would be. It would be gifted to people at funerals and christenings. It would lose it's distinctive crack like addiction because it would
reach saturation point. And so I've only ever given the recipe to a few family members, on the express understanding that they are absolutely NOT to share it outside our blood ties.

The other recipe is taken directly from a cookbook I got out of the library years ago and that I follow meticulously every time I make it because to veer from its perfection would be a folly. It's a crowd pleaser. I make it often and every time I make it people swoon. How can something so commonplace, such a traditional dish be so delicious? So tasty and exciting?

People ask for the recipe. I have to say no. It's a secret. For two reasons. First, if I gave you the recipe, you'd make it. Then the magic of the meal that I placed before you on that magical dinner party night would be tarnished and you'd probably think less of me. It's silly. Probably a little self absorbed. But it's true. You can't tell me that by making something yourself you don't demystify it and take a bit of the magic out of it. It's not true for everything of course. But for this particular dish it is true...

The second reason is shame. If I place on the table an epic meal, of herculean proportions, taste sensations of awesomeness in something so humble, you will want to believe in it. You will want to believe in the magic of it - the alchemy of the best ingredients, lovingly prepared and carefully seasoned. There is definitely that element to it. It was made with love. It was made with the best ingredients. But it also contains a Secret Shameful Ingredient. If I told you what it was you wouldn't enjoy it as much and you'd think less of me as a cook and indeed as a person.

I can't let that happen. And so please understand why I can't share certain recipes with you. I'd be delighted to have you come over for dinner but I'll have everything in the oven before you arrive, dishes cleaned. I'll be sipping a glass of something bubbly when you walk in
the door, laughing at the delightful thing our friend just said, and you will never discover my secrets.

What Did We Eat?

I have a day book. I've kept one each year since 2003. I write down what happens that day, keep track of birthdays and important appointments. That kind of thing. I also record what I eat. Not every single day. But most. They are short entries normally:

Tuesday February 9
So anxious. Went home and made spectacular, elaborate aubergine wrapped ricotta gnocchis with brown butter sage sauce. Divine, esp. on a tuesday.

Saturday March 6
Up so early! Bought an octopus, jeans, made a pie!

Friday July 16
A date night that wasn't. Both home late & tired so we ordered indian and watched television.

If we have a particularly epic meal I will do my best to write a full description of what everyone ate. If I make some particularly delicious but can't remember where the inspiration came from I'll record that too, just in case.

I write food down because it helps me remember. I may not remember what the weather was like or what was going on in politics, but if I've written down the food I can usually pull up a pretty good picture, visuals, smell, of the day. It's like the moment gets captured in the food and saved there. It's likely it acts as an aide-mémoire for me because sitting down to eat requires you to slow down and breathe and relax, even for a few moments.

The reason I bring it up is because of this lovely short article in the New Yorker about a man who also wrote down what he ate.

Then a treat, now commonplace

Homemade candied tomatoes made me think of the homemade sun dried tomatoes that my Aunt made one year.

They were hard as rocks and needed much love in order to soften them up so you could use them but she made them and they were free. They were kind of special. I received them at a point in my life where sun dried tomatoes were a novelty and an expensive treat and something that I rarely, if ever, bought for myself.

What other ingredients are there like that? Ones that were a treat, a special event, something to be treasured that now, as semi grown ups with incomes and choices, are things we eat regularly and don't treasure in the same way. Nice wine. I remember when buying a nice bottle (nice being relative, right?) was an event and something special. When mangoes where pricey and buying one and eating it, savouring it, was the height of luxury.

Cheese. God. I am so utterly spoiled now. I can get all sorts of cheese, it's not a big deal, it's not outrageously expensive like it was in Calgary, and I munch on it as a snack all the time. But there was a time, in my undergrad, when going to get cheese from the Janice Beaton cheese shop was an Event.

It was pretty much the only dedicated, artisan, cheese shop in Calgary. Or at least the only one that I knew about. It was not far from my house, but it was on 17th Avenue in the cool kids district, so I usually got dressed up a bit. Not a lot, but I didn't run out in my lululemon gear. I'd go in and the guys who worked there were wonderful. So knowledgable. So willing to talk, to explain, to try things with me and explain why and how and what. I'd buy an obscene amount of cheese for one poor Classics student, grab a baguette and some fruit on my way home and study and write and devour a king's ransom in dairy love.

The cheese I buy now is probably better. I live in England. It doesn't have as far to go (food miles and all). It's not as expensive. I still like to learn about it. But it is something I take for granted in a way that ten years ago would gave seemed crazy.

High Fructose Corn Syrup - Still Evil

Just as mainstream people are starting to recognise that high fructose corn syrup is in virtually everything (rice crispies!) and that it's not good for you (causes cancer in rats!) the powers that make it want to change the name. The producers feel that high fructose corn syrup is too difficult for consumer brains and want to change the name to the simpler (and less evil sounding) corn sugar.

Article here. Evil all around. It tastes funny too.

On Reading the Recipe

Tonight's dinner is Two Potato Vindaloo from Ottolenghi's Plenty.

Exciting, no? trying a new recipe from one of my favourite books? And a spicy delicious vindaloo? How delightful on a cold rainy Tuesday evening in London! Before I left this morning, I read the list of ingredients, noting that we were out of cumin seeds and needed to pick up yogurt. I got trapped on Oxford Street and it took me awhile to get home but I got these last ingredients and at about 8:30 I started to make dinner.

And this is why you should ALWAYS READ THE ENTIRE RECIPE BEFORE YOU START.

Roast spices, grind. Check
Chop onions, begin to fry with spices. Check

Peel and chop potatoes. Check (with help from C)

Simmer spices and onion mixture for 20 minutes.
Simmer potatoes for 20 minutes.
Add sweet potatoes. Simmer for 40 minutes.

It's 10:30. We've got 10 more simmering minutes to go, then another 10 minutes to thicken the sauce. Assuming that the potatoes are tender. If not they'll obviously need more.

If we're lucky we will eat dinner at 11:00. If I had read the whole recipe I would have made something else.

This had better be good.

ZUCCHINI

Zucchini. Courgette. Did you know it's technically an immature fruit?

I don't love zucchini. It is decidedly not one of my favorite vegetables. Is it anyone's? Maybe in late winter? When the thought of an abundance of zucchini means summer and warmth and bbqs and cherries but then it' not really about the zucchini itself, now is it? I mean, I don't hate it. It's not something I refuse to eat (like raisins) or only eat reluctantly and with enough recognition from those around me that I am in fact eating something I find terribly gross (like raisins). No, I just don't LOVE zucchini. And as anyone who has ever hate a fight with a loved one knows, hate is not the opposite of love. Indifference is.

I am indifferent to zucchini.

Also, even though I live in England and it is called courgette, and I call it courgette in conversation, I still call it zucchini in my head and when I go to write it down. Someone should look up the etymology between the two words, so everyone can understand the  cultural differences between them. Maybe I will. (I did. See below the recipe.)

Even though I don't actually like it that much I seem to buy it quite often. It's in season. It's there, I'll purchase a few (especially cute little ones from the farmer's market) and surely I'll find inspiration in one of my many cookbooks for something delicious that will uplift it beyond it's humble vegetable (fruit) state. And I have. I've made some nice dishes. But none where I was so excited about the zucchini itself. None that were so amazing and delicious that I felt proud of my creation.

I've made zucchini lemon pizza. Zucchini wrapped lamb kebabs. Zucchini saute with almonds. Zucchini side dishes. Zucchini soup. Pasta with zucchini. But really? It's all meh.

Anyways, the reason for the zucchini rant, and the reason I figured out that I'm not actually all that big a fan, is because I made a zucchini dish the other day that I really liked. That made me feel proud of my creation and pleased that I had purchased zucchini. It's from the New York Times, a recipe by a New York interior designer of Egyptian descent. It's lovely. It's delicious. We had lunch leftovers. You should make it too.

Maybe then you'll learn to love zucchini a little.



Here is the recipe, pilfered directly and without change from the New York Times.

In Egypt, “every lunch and dinner includes rice,” she said, as she prepared zucchini pilaf and almonds, a subtly spiced dish that includes tiny amounts of allspice, coriander, cumin, cayenne and cilantro. To finish the dish, she serves the rice with a thick yogurt-garlic sauce on the side. The garlic is not a mere token addition — though finely minced, it is clearly present and makes yogurt a newly fascinating food.

Zucchini Pilaf With Almonds

Ingredients
        For the rice:
        1/2 cup slivered almonds
        1/2 tablespoon butter
        1/2 cup long grain rice
        1 cup vegetable broth
        1/2 teaspoon allspice (the only other recipe with zucchini that i like also has allspice. maybe the    key to an excellent zucchini dish is allspice?)
        1/2 teaspoon salt

        For the zucchini:
        2 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
        1 medium onion, finely chopped
        2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
        1 pound zucchini , ends trimmed, halved lengthwise (or quartered if large) and cut into 1/3-inch slices
        1 teaspoon ground coriander
        1 teaspoon ground cumin
        Pinch of cayenne pepper
        1/2 teaspoon salt
        2 tablespoon currants or dark raisins
        3 tablespoons chopped cilantro
        Freshly ground black pepper
      
For the yogurt-garlic sauce:
        1 cup Greek yogurt, or strained non-Greek yogurt
        2 garlic cloves, finely chopped or pressed through a garlic press
        1 tablespoon dried crushed mint
        Pinch of cayenne
        Salt and freshly ground pepper 
 
1. For the rice: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place almonds on a baking sheet, and bake until lightly toasted, about 10 minutes. Remove, and set aside to cool.

 2. In a small pan over medium heat, add butter and rice. Stir until the rice is lightly toasted, 5 to 8 minutes. Add vegetable broth, allspice, and salt. Bring to boil, then reduce heat to very low so the broth barely simmers; use a heat diffuser if necessary. Cover and cook for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the zucchini.
      
3. For the zucchini: Place a large sauté pan over medium heat, and add olive oil. Add onion, and cook, stirring, until translucent and lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Add garlic, and cook for 2 minutes. Add the zucchini, coriander, cumin, cayenne and salt. Cook, stirring, for 5 minutes. Add rice and currants, and mix well. If the rice looks dry, add two tablespoons water. Cover, and cook until the zucchini and rice are tender, about 15 minutes. The rice mixture may be uncovered and quickly stirred once or twice, covering it immediately after.
      
4. For the yogurt garlic sauce: In a small bowl, combine the yogurt, garlic, mint and a pinch of cayenne. Mix well, and season with salt and pepper to taste.
      
5. When the rice and zucchini are ready, top with cilantro, toasted almonds and fresh black pepper. Serve immediately, with yogurt-garlic sauce passed separately.



Zucchini vs Courgette
From Wikipedia (citations required):

Zucchini, like all summer squash, has its ancestry in the Americas[citation needed]. However, the varieties of squash typically called "zucchini" were indeed developed in Italy, many generations after their introduction from the "New World". Courge, French for squash. "Zucca" is the Italian word for squash and "zucchina" is its diminutive, becoming "zucchine" in the plural. However, "zucchino", the masculine form, becoming "zucchini" in the plural, is just as commonly used and is prevalent in Tuscany. Italian dictionaries such as "lo Zingarelli 1995, Zanichelli editor", give both forms. "Zucchini" is used in Italy , and in Australia, Canada and the United States. 'Zucchini' is plural in Italian whereas in English it is singular. The first records of zucchini in the United States date to the early 1920s. It was almost certainly brought over by Italian immigrants and probably was first cultivated in the United States in California.

Tuna = Elephants

I was very upset yesterday. Emotionally gutted. It was a tough day at work and the news I read in the morning meant every poke was a bit sharper.

Remember when I said I'd tell you why eating tuna was like eating elephants?

We're fishing and eating the tuna to extinction. Unless you've been living under a rock you've probably already heard that. But then we do hear that, don't we? Cod, shrimp, salmon. Seafood in general, right? We eat/fish/farm too much and it's bad and we should stop but this one piece of salmon fillet won't matter and isn't it delicious?

But the animals we are eating to extinction have never, to my knowledge, been so endangered that CITES has been mentioned and international bodies have stepped in to make fishing a species illegal. That's how bad it is.

So on Thursday 18 March when the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species in Doha, Qatar voted overwhelmingly to reject the ban on trade in tuna (and polar bears, incidentally), I was upset.

As Barry Estabrook writes, soon tuna may no longer be endangered, they may be extinct.

So go enjoy your tuna fish sandwich, while you can. Please make sure it's served with a generous helping of shame and a sprinkling of doom, because we all know that one species affects another and that this is bad news for more than just tuna.

Oh, and you may want to include a side of elephant. Because the convention will also likely lift a ban on the sale of elephant ivory and then you can tell your children that you ate the last of two extinct animals.

Full disclosure: There are two tins of tuna in my cupboard. They are the last tins I will ever buy.

Why I don't write about wine

Early morning wine on holiday in Venice

During my undergrad in Calgary I spotted a fancy new wine shop opening up just as the Winter semester was coming to a close. I liked the idea and didn't want to work full time at the hotel while doing one class over the summer and decided to apply.

This was the beginning, maybe the heyday, of speciality wine shops in Calgary and there were tons of young hip people with tons of wine knowledge and expertise buzzing round the city. I was not one of them. I believe I started my cover letter with "I know nothing about wine but I really want to learn." For whatever reason Sandra brought me in for an interview and gave me a job.

The store was gorgeous. In the cellar of the 100 year old sandstone Alberta Hotel Building (ancient by Western Canada standards), brick, old wood, we even had a ghost in the backroom. Because the store was new and in the downtown core after the business types went home the flow of people trickled down to almost nothing and so in the evenings whoever was in charge would pull us round the tasting bar and open a bottle and we would learn. We had access to a vast library of material and great brains full of knowledge - we learnt about the places and the history and why this glass and that grape. We held tastings which were carefully researched and themed. We ate a lot of cheese.  

We studied Le Nez du Vin daily, making up scent experiences like apple pie and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when we tired of gooseberry and barnyard. (At the time I didn't even know what a gooseberry was.) I got to meet local celebrity chefs who did events with us. Bernard Callebaut fed me truffles.

September came and I went back to school and down to one part time job (the better paying one) at the hotel.

For all the training that summer (and I kept up my education, let me tell you! There's a reason I have student loans!) I have never been able to describe a wine without feeling like a pretentious dick. I have an excellent palate for ingredients - I can usually dissect a dish and figure out what is in it - but not for wine. I am more likely to describe a wine with an emotion or memory than a flavour.

So I generally won't write about wine unless it's the story or context, or the emotion and memory of the bottle. Because at the end of the day unless you a wine professional or really into that type of analytical experience, you don't drink wine to dissect it. You drink it to savour it and melt into the moment. And it's those moments and that meaning that I want to remember.

Late Afternoon wine on holiday in Venice

Kingsley Amis’s admonition about dieting: “The first, indeed the only, requirement of a diet is that it should lose you weight without reducing your alcoholic intake by the smallest degree.”

Grill Lines

You know what's sexy? Grill lines.

 

And now that we have a grill pan everything is getting grill lines - courgettes, tortillas, steaks, green onions...

Sexy tastes awesome.

Salt

One of the things I love about living in London is that sea salt is just sea salt and is cheap enough that it isn't a special item, to be used sparingly. It's just salt.

When my mom visited me in Toronto a few years ago we found Malden Sea Salt at the St Lawrence Market. It was stupidly expensive but mom bought us both a box and I used it (thriftily) and thought it very special. Fast forward to Tesco and it's cheap! Love it.

Incidentally the website is actually really interesting. Check it out.