Poires Savoyards

I'm not a big fan of pears. I'm not crazy about their grainy texture or their thick skins. If someone else cuts them up and presents them on a plate as part of a fruit salad, or as an accompaniment to cheese I will gladly eat them, but they're not my favourite. I do actually like the taste of pears though, so I enjoy them cooked, poached in red wine or baked into a tart. Last year I discovered a recipe for poires savoyards in Diane Henry's book Roasted Figs Sugar Snow, one of my favourite winter cookbooks.

It's quite simple.

Butter a baking dish, lay slices of peeled pear in, sprinkle with 4 tablespoons or so of caster sugar and then pour a bit less than a cup of double cream (with a drop of vanilla in it) all over. Bake in the oven at 200 degrees for about 20 minutes until the top is golden and burnished.

Nothing to it but it makes a gorgeous rich but at the same time light dessert. We ate it often last winter.

So, pears in the fridge, I made it for dessert the other night when Tara came over. Delicious as always and I made quite a bit so I had leftovers - it is ridiculously good cold - the sauce thickens and it's fabulous.

Anyways I just got home, starving, from pilates and decided to make some breakfast. I made oatmeal and added four slices of the pear and a bit of the sauce. A pinch or two more of sugar and I ate the most luxurious delicious oatmeal I have ever had. Total win.

Roasted Tomato and Sausage

When does a recipe become your own? How many times do you have to make it without following the original step by step to call it yours? How many changes, however slight, give you ownership of a set of instructions?

I think about that often while reading food blogs.

After the April sausage making class we had an abundance of sausages. In fact the freezer was quite full and it's only now that the numbers have dwindled enough for me to think about purchasing sausages again. For awhile we ate our homemade, artisan sausages with glee and they did in fact taste delicious - pride does add flavour! But then I started getting bored and looked around for sausage inspiration. I found a recipe on Jamie Oliver's site for sausages roasted with tomatoes to form a lovely sauce. Excellent. I followed the recipe and made the dish. Great - delicious, absolutely a make-again. And dead simple.

So the next time I glanced at the recipe and then went forth and made some changes. And then I made it again and didn't consult the recipe. And now, while the inspiration may have come from Jamie Oliver, the recipe is mine and it is one of my favourite comfort foods at the moment.

For two

Four sausages (Italian, cumberland, whatever. Preferably homemade ;)
A small mountain of cherry/grape tomatoes. I usually use a punnet and a half or so.
4 cloves of garlic, still in their skins
Herbs!
Rosemary, a sprig or two, finely chopped.
Thyme, three sprigs or so, finely chopped (or about a teaspoon of dried).
Oregano, half a teaspoon or so
Olive Oil
Balsamic vinegar
Salt and Pepper

The tomatoes get thrown into a roasting tin, the herbs sprinkled over top, douse with a bit of olive oil, be generous. Then add a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar. Mix about. Toss in the garlic.

Roll the sausages in the oil and place them on the tomatoes. This whole thing goes in the oven (180 degrees) for about 45 minutes. Turn the sausages and mix up the tomatoes about half through. You want them to roast and blacken a bit. Sometimes my sauce is too watery and then I pop in on the stove to boil away and simmer, adding the sausages at the end to warm up before serving.

It's unctuous and herby and warm and served over polenta that's got a shocking amount of butter and cheese in it it is one of my favourite meals of the moment.

The thing is, we are actually almost out of sausages and while the class was fun I don't really see us going back... so we'll have to BUY sausages like regular people. Ew. How common.

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.

Candied Tomatoes

At the height of summer tomato season, or when I get a bit overexcited about tomatoes and buy £20 worth of them from the nice guy at The Tomato Stall, I have, on occasion, wound up with too many tomatoes. Tragic. Especially if you're buying organic, kissed every night by virgins tomatoes. Those things should not go to waste. So I have had to come up with different ways to eat them that will encompass a whole glorious tomato feast. We do roasted tomato soup (last time we did it with feta cheese and dill sprinkled on top before serving which was excellent), the salad thing, fresh tomato pasta sauce, you know, the basics that you turn to when you have an abundance of tomatoes. But. What if you can't actually eat them that day. What if you're going out, and you know that the tomatoes sitting on the counter (because you and I both know we would NEVER EVER put tomatoes (or bananas) in the fridge - it makes me cringe when people do) will not make it until your next meal at home - which could be days away?

You roast them and turn them into little bundles of tomato candy. Then you can use them rather like you would sun dried tomatoes, except you made them yourself so they taste a bit sweeter and a bit more like win.

Or you could just eat them on their own. Pop them into your mouth. Like candy. Because they really are that sweet.

The idea is all over the place in various cookbooks, blogs and whatnots but the inspiration for this came from A Year in my Kitchen by Skye Gynell. The book is on my cookbook shelf and I am at my desk so here's a rough estimate of what I do.

Take tomatoes.
Cut in half.
Sprinkle with salt, pepper and sugar, olive oil.
Toss in preheated to 200 oven.
Immediately turn oven down to 150.
Do not open the oven door, let the heat stay inside.
Leave.
Go out for dinner with friends.
Enjoy.

Stumble home and peak in the oven - tada! Candied tomatoes! They should be shrivelled and not dry. Test one. If it's delicious test another, just to be sure. Toss in a jar, cover with olive oil and keep in the fridge.

I'm not sure how long they last because I eat them so quickly.

Slavery in Food Production

Knowing how our running shoes are made doesn't seem to stop us wearing them, so I doubt whether this article will make us stop eating fish. I'm not sure what to write about this. It's bad. Good food isn't just about it being delicious, or healthy. Or sustainably. How can it be any of chose things when the people bringing it to your table are so horribly treated?

Food Waste

I just re-stumbled on this link about food waste from last year. You should look at it. And then get angry.

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.

Food Riots

Do you remember the food riots from 2008 when food prices soared around the world? You may. Chances are if you're reading this they didn't affect you.

There's an excellent article on the recent riots in Mozambique over cost of living increases, not just food, that should make people start to pay attention. In most developed countries we spend a shockingly small amount of our income on food (for all sorts of reasons) but if you are poor, you are more likely to spend a disproportionate amount of your income on food. And if prices go up dramatically - what do you do?

Figs with cheese

and a drizzle of honey.

That's all.

My Perfect Roast Chicken

What is the perfect method to roast a perfect chicken?

Every once in awhile (ok, often) I like to pull out a bunch of recipe books and see how everyone handles a simple ingredient or process. I love the maxims that contradict, the "way my mother taught me"s, the traditions, the Way Things Ares,  the certainty that though there may be other ways, theirs is truly the best, most authentic, the most PERFECT way. On a cool Sunday I pulled out Nigella Lawson, Nigel Slater, Jamie Oliver, I know how to cook, Silver Spoon, Joy of Cooking and Les Halles, looking for inspiration for my roast chicken.

I mean, I know how to roast a chicken. Clearly. I love the simplicity of a roast chicken. It seems like it should be a lot of work, it's impressive on some level. But really you just massage it with some fat, season it with some tasty stuff and toss it in the oven until it's not pink. Hardly rocket science.

But the Les Halles book by Anthony Bourdain was a bit more involved and I decided to (mostly) follow his instructions. Herb butter massaged in underneath the skin, herbs and lemon tucked up inside. The way he cooks his chicken though is my new favourite way to cook my chicken.

The oven gets pre heated to 375F/190C and you place the chicken inside the oven with a half cup of white wine in the pan. Baste occasionally and move the chicken about in the oven. Then you CRANK the oven up to 450F/230F and cook for another 25 minutes.

Leave it to rest and then carve up. It was the juiciest, most fragrant roast chicken, with the crispiest best skin I have ever made. And I don't usually like the skin. So this will be my new go to method for roasting a chicken until my next bout of curiosity leads me to something new.

Cream Corn of Love

Cream corn was one of my favourite foods growing up. I even remember my grandmother made her own and canned it. It is still an integral part of one of my all time favourite home comfy meals, which only really works when cooked by my mom. I love it. But I haven't eaten it in a really long time (at my house – I had it in June at my parents). Does it even exist in London? Have I grown out of it on some visceral level? When was the last time I ate it?

So tonight to accompany my new favourite roasted chicken, I made a recipe from Ottolenghi's Plenty – sweetcorn polenta with aubergine sauce. And, dear Reader, the memory, all the goodness, of cream corn, came flooding back to me. A taste. A memory. So incredibly evocative. It made a really big impact on me. I can't remember the last time I had such a strong food memory come and give me a hug and a kick at the same time.

It's not the same as canned or my Grandmother's, obviously. This one uses 6 cobs of fresh corn and 200g of feta cheese. But the sensation of being little, loved and loving cream corn? That was the same.

Sustainable Fish

How sustainable was your last meal of fish? If you don't know or didn't catch it yourself, chances are it wasn't. If you had salmon, tuna or shrimp recently (and who hasn't?) then you're probably guilty of plundering the seas for your own selfish appetite. I hope it was worthwhile and delicious. Please say you didn't overcook the salmon. That'd be disgraceful.

Here's a list of at-risk fish. This list tells you what to eat instead. Check it out and think about it next time you choose fish.

You know which fish isn't on the list? Grey mullet. We had that for dinner on Saturday night. Caught in the most sustainable way possible. A friend of our fishmonger's caught it. He went free diving and speared it. She showed us the spot on the fish's cheek. Yes, my Saturday night dinner was speared.

I love it. How caveman.

Anyways! It was delicious. I'm loving trying new fish that are guilt free.

I did the fish really simply, just pan fried with a bit of flour and paprika to dust it. I stole the accompanying salad from The Compass.

Fried Fish on Chorizo, Green Bean and Olive Salad

A big handful of green beans, tailed, blanched and refreshed
Two chorizos, sliced and fried to develop a lovely crust
Handful of left over roasted potatoes, warmed up with the chorizo
Small handful of pitted black olives

Toss together in the pan so all the ingredients are warmed through with chorizo oil and serve with your friend fish.

The Best Tofu

Have I mentioned my deep, deep love of all things Ottolenghi? Oh. I have. Here's more gushing...

Last night I made the most delicious, spiciest and awesomest tofu we have ever eaten at home. Possibly eaten anywhere.

I'm not a huge tofu fan. Without adequate love and care it mostly tastes of slime, gray and nothing. Not appetising. And I know plenty of people who think it's gross, end point. If that's your starting point I dare you to make Ottolenghi's Black Pepper Tofu. It's so damn delicious. The tofu, dusted with corn flour and fried so it developes a lovely crust and great texture, then the sauce it gets coated in is a silly savory dream of flavour, with killer spice, chili and, you guessed it, black pepper. So so so delicious.

Yotam's recipe is on the Guardian website. You can start there, or you can work from my changes. Mine was killer hot. If you follow Yotam's it might be assasination in the dead of night hot. Just saying...

Black Pepper Tofu

Prep and Sauce

80g butter (this is half what Yotam uses but was fine, I rarely shy away from excessive amounts of butter but come on- you always realise how MUCH butter you actually use when you weigh, plus I needed some for cookies)
12 small shallots, peeled and thinly sliced
12 garlic cloves, crushed
3 red chillies, thinly sliced (Yotam called for 8 mild ones. How do you check how hot they are? Take a bite? I opted for less, just to be safe. Turns out that was wise. Eight of these babies and it would have been inedible.)
About two inches of ginger, chopped into tiny pieces


Melt the butter in your saute pan and add the flavours. Let them melt into each other until nice and soft, about 15 minutes.


Meanwhile...

Tofu Prep


600g firm, fresh tofu - because that's the size it came in
Cornflour for dusting, and playing with water in afterwards
Vegetable oil, for frying


Cut your tofu into small blocks and dust with cornflour, shaking off any excess. Heat up the oil, not too much, and fry your tofu into cubes of golden, crusty deliciousness. You'll probably need to do this in batches. This is dangerous and involves much spitting hot oil. Set aside to drain and continue on with your sauce.

Finishing the sauce

3 tbsp sweet soy sauce (called kecap manis, it's sometimes referred to as Indonesian ketchup. It was a bit tough to find, if you can't get it you could substitute soy sauce with some molasses or palm sugar in it...)
3 tbsp light soy sauce
4 tsp light soy sauce (yes there are two entries for light soy sauce. This one was supposed to be dark soy sauce but I got confused and bought another giant bottle of light soy sauce instead of dark. Oops. Anybody need to borrow some soy sauce?)

Let the soy sauce dissolve into the garlic and butter- it should get silky and shiny looking.

Now. Add your coarsely crushed peppercorns. Yotam called for FIVE tablespoons. I used three. Again, killer hot.

Once the sauce is combined add your crusty tofu and let it warm up and get enveloped in the shiny sauce. Add a bunch of green/spring onions, thinly sliced and serve with copious amounts of rice, to balance the heat.

T is for Tart Failure

For a Fail Tart, it's quite pretty.

Was it me? I'm not sure. I'm not sure what's worse – me screwing up the recipe or the recipe being crap. Either way. Failure.

There are a few recipe book authors who I trust implicitly. I have made enough of their recipes to trust that unless something goes drastically wrong (like the time I mixed up the baking powder and baking soda in the pancakes when I was seven – sorry dad, thanks for eating them anyways) the end result will likely be scrumptious and dependable.

So I am pretty disappointed with the tart I made last weekend. Not only did I actually follow the recipe to the letter, I also bought a bunch of ingredients especially for it, and it was sort of a kind of pricey endeavour. And it wasn't very good. It was slightly bitter. It didn't set properly. Yuck.

So I won't give you the recipe. Nor will I tell you where I got it from or who wrote it. It's their only spill up so far – I'll let the author get by scott free just this once.

However! The pasty bit of it was lovely-  a bit of texture with the addition of polenta and some parmesan- and I had a bit left over so tonight I pulled it out of the freezer and made a fridge tart. And it was delicious and lovely and well set and much better than the fancy one I tried last week. So there.

Fridge Tart

Two leeks, chopped and softened in butter
Two cloves of roasted garlic
A half a pot of creme fraiche (about a quarter cup?)
Four sundried tomatoes, chopped
A quarter of a round of sheep's cheese, chopped
A pinch of chili

Left  over pastry gets rolled out into a vaguely round shape. The fridge bits get mixed together, taste and season, then plopped in the middle, bring the sides up and bake until nicely browned.

Tada! MUCH better than the flouncy fussy one from last week. So there.

Gorgeous food and Beautiful Models

I'm thrilled to say that some of my photographs were published in the latest issue of Fire & Knives. The brief for the shoot was highly unique: take a photograph of a restaurant's signature dish … with models. This gave L and I the opportunity to try St. John, famous for their Roast Bone Marrow & Parsley Salad.

As for the models? They behaved themselves nicely for the most part, though there was a bit of lying down on the job.

The Harvest

Small but ours. Quite proud of our little beanstalk.

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.

June Happiness

is the very last of the farmer's asparagus with homemade mayonnaise/aioli for Sunday lunch with a bottle of rosé. With a hint of sun shining in. No nice photos. Just love.