Cheerios Lament

Real Canadian Cheerios Box. Sadly empty.

My all time favourite breakfast cereal is Cheerios. Plain, whole grain oats, yellow box, black writing with the 'o' of the i a single cheerio. I don't think they've ever had a mascot, I can't recall their jingle. I don't know if I loved them as a kid (though I certainly ate them) but I adore them now. Especially with a little homemade granola sprinkled on top. Morning bliss.

Here's the tragedy. You can't buy them in the UK. Oh - shut it -  I can hear the protests through the computer. Yes you can buy Cheerios here. You can get Honey Nut Cheerios (a nice occasional treat but I hate the sugary leave behind milk) and you can get Whole Grain Cheerios in a white box with purple and red writing. These are wholly disgusting, surprisingly sweet and with a bizarre texture. Awful. You would think that since there are two types of off shoot Cheerios then the original would be available. But it's not. So I went on an internet mission to find out why.

General Mills makes Cheerios. So I visited the General Mills UK site. They don't make Cheerios. They have other brands I recognise but they don't make Cheerios. I checked the cereal section when I was in the store this weekend. Cheerios (false, bad, unoriginal ones) are made by Nestle in the UK. OK.... Turns out that General Mills and Nestle have this partnership  where they agreed to make cereals for each other and sell them under the Nestle label. In Ireland you can get something called 'oat cheerios' which I am guessing are the original and still the best Cheerios.

I don't understand what market forces/research/idiot decided that England wouldn't eat proper Cheerios. You can buy them for £6 a box at fancy shops catering to sad and emotional  expats eating their feelings. In the world of globalization and international commodities when you can get anything anywhere I find the things that you can't get utterly fascinating. Also, the things that you can find but that are... different somehow. Kraft Dinner. Maple syrup. KitKat. They're all available here (for a price). But somehow they taste better when they come out of suitcase directly from the Canadian source. But these are Canadiana specific. Cheerios aren't Canadian. You can make them here and sell them like regular cereal and I am just about sure that they'll taste the same and that people will buy them.

My friend brought me back a box from Canada just over a week ago. I have eaten the entire box. It was glorious. (I've also lost three pounds but I'm not sure if the two things are connected.) Now I have no Cheerios and I have to wait until the next person comes from Canada with room in their luggage. Or the Cereal Partners Worldwide could get me some 'oat cheerios' and as long as they haven't messed them* up I will stop complaining. About the Cheerios thing. I'm sure I'll find something else to moan about.


(I checked but I can't understand the Nutrition Labels but I think the Ireland oat cheerios may have more sugar than the original and still the best Cheerios from Canada. I despair.)

Supperclub Trust

On Saturday night four of us went to the Goethe Institute for their Supperclub Summit. A cultural exchange of food for the Olympics, British food bloggers and supperclub types were paired with German food bloggers and chefs for a series of collaborative dinners in a minimalist space in South Kensington. On Saturday night Ruth (@saffronandsalt), who I know via twitter for her charcutterie and recent bike accident, was teamed up with the Rhineland Rockers, four Germans from Cologne and Dusseldorf. They made us an eight course dinner with wine pairings from Germany. It was fantastic. 

Here's the menu:

• Landjagger sausage 

• Himmel & Ääd - apple, potato, black pudding and a tempera green onion 

• Erbsenparfait & Räucher-Forelle - pea mousse (which I loved), smoked trout and a warm gin trout stock shot of sorts (weird but good) 

• Finkenwerder - haddock, bacon jam, little brown shrimp and a fritter thing-y. 

• Sauerbraten-Maultäschle - horse ravioli with this neat jelly strip of gravy 

• Zicklein - pulled goat 

• Schwarzwälder Kirsch - deconstructed Black Forest cake

and the Charcuterie platter which was somewhere in the latter half but I'm not sure where exactly but it was pork scratchings with a sour apple sauce (which I LOVED), a terrine and chicken mousse. 

So, dinner was great - lovely, interesting food. Wines were delicious and interesting. All around fabulous. We sat at a table with four strangers and were laughing and raucous together by the end of the night.  

But the whole experience got me thinking about supper clubs in general. I love the trust that you need to go and get the most out of the experience. You're going to a strange place, to eat food cooked for you by strangers who have no official designation, there's no health inspector, there's no TimeOut review saying if it's good or not. Few of the people cooking will be professionals. Often the space is a private one that they have invited you into. You'll probably not know what you're going to be served and you'll probably end up sitting with strangers. 

I show up and trust that everything will be just fine and I sit back and am open to whatever, or whoever, comes before me. And because of these experiential dinners I have made new friends, real ones too - not just on twitter! and I have tasted all sorts of new foods. You have to let go and be with the moment and the atmosphere and the food and the people. And that's beautiful.  And something that is much more difficult to do in the confines and strictures of a restaurant.

Essen gut, alles gut.

Kitchen Tango

When I lived in my first apartment by myself, in Calgary when I was, what 21?, I had really just begin to cook. I had always cooked but this was different – my own kitchen, my own things. I had cookbooks but they weren't designed for cooking for one university student so I harboured dreams of writing a cookbook for one. I was going to call it "Dancing with Myself". (You know, the song?)

Fast forward a decade (Wow. Was that a decade ago?) and I live in a nicer apartment (flat, now that I'm in England), with more cookbooks (still not designed for two people, but no matter), more kitchenware and a man – a boyfriend, partner, fiancee, whatever – who cooks with me.

We've been together 7 years and early on food was important. The first visit I made to Toronto I made him a knock-your-socks-off meal. Roasted red peppers with scallops and pesto, salmon on salad. I even made little flat breads. He was totally impressed and still talks about that meal. I knew it was good, firm favourites I was pretty sure I couldn't screw up with simple ingredients I would find in a boy's basic bachelor kitchen.

 At any rate it worked and I got the boy.

We started having people over, and making ourselves great dinners, in our tiny galley kitchen in Toronto. Our Paris kitchen was even smaller - more like a closet. (I had to light the oven with a lit piece of spaghetti.) Now we have a lovely, but still small and no counter space, kitchen. (Clearly designed by someone who has never rolled out dough for a pie.)

Through all our kitchens we have cooked together. Prepping, washing up, flipping, stirring. We dance seamlessly around each other in the kitchen. We rarely bump into each other, just sensing where the other one is and sashaying around and through. We pass the salt, grind the pepper, stir each other's pots, discuss doneness and what's missing and comment and help. Our kitchen tango is beautiful and one of the many things I love about us.

At the moment we don't cook that often together – I do most of the cooking – between work, freelance and life that's just how it works out. And occassionaly C will come help and mistakenly stir something he shouldn't. But for the most part it's wonderful and special and it's where I feel the most grounded in my self – in my kitchen, with C nearby. Also, he does dishes while I potter, so that works out well.

Union Roasted

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing – the barista has been making my Americano incorrectly. Two weeks ago I wouldn't have known but now, it's driving me nuts and I'm too Canadian to say anything so I will passive aggressively blog this instead.

I recently spent a Saturday with a bunch of food bloggers at Union Roasted in E16 learning about coffee. Union ticks many of my boxes: it's a business run by two "plan B" guys, Jeremy and Steven, who were doing something else when they fell in love with coffee and decided to pursue it. They're hands on. Small batches. Know their suppliers. Passionate about educating the people who buy and make their coffee so that the last stages of its preparation bring out the best in it. They have their finger on the bean from farm to cup. This is dedication, obsession and the reason it's so damn good.

My group spent the first part of the day in the Roastery roasting a batch of beans and asking Jeremy and Steven random questions. It takes about 15 minutes to roast a batch of beans. It's 15 focused minutes as the roaster checks the beans every few minutes to see the progression, watching the colour change and hearing the sound of the beans shift as they get closer to being done. They roast every batch of beans like this. In comparison, big corporations roast their beans super quickly over a gas flame, a process called Fluidized Bed Roasting that can take as little as 30 seconds.

Next we went into their tasting room and we went through the process that they take when evaluating coffees. I've heard of cupping before but didn't really know what it meant (and secretly snickered when I read it because it does sound a bit naughty). The process of smelling the grounds, pouring the water and brewing it then smelling again, breaking the crust and then preparing it to taste by the aerated spoonful are far more involved than the pouring and swirling you do with wine tasting.

After a quick lunch, we were on to the machines to learn the technique for pulling a proper espresso and stretching the milk. I don't have a machine at home so I won't be able to use my new found skills but I'll be able to judge the people who are making my coffee. ;) The girls who were teaching us could tell from a moment's sound what had gone wrong – dry milk or an improperly tampered down espresso.

One of the most interesting discussions of the day turned around what to do when presented with a crappy cup of coffee. Many of us said we don't drink coffee in restaurants because we expect it to be bad. When we get a crappy latté at a cafe, we sigh and drink it anyways but remember not to go back there again. We don't demand the same level of quality from our coffee as we do from our wine, or our food. If a restaurant has a sommelier why don't they have an expert barista on staff as well? Why isn't your coffee at the end of a meal as well thought out and presented as your main course?

As coffee gets more expensive I think (I hope) that people will start to demand more attention to their coffee. If I'm paying £5 for a flat white (and it's coming people, don't kid yourself), I want it to be made with the best beans and the best skills. I won't have someone ruin my Americano by scalding my espresso with boiling water. So why am I putting up with it when I am paying £2? No more. I will not have beans that have been lovingly farmed and roasted ruined by someone who simply doesn't know any better.

I left the day with bags of gorgeous coffee. I sent some to C's office (they are coffee fiends) and happily drank the rest at home. My favourite, from cupping and drinking at home, was Los Anonos from Costa Rica  grown under a canopy of avocados. If you order using the code curiosity10 you'll get 10% off.

I love the Union Roast approach. I follow them on twitter and they tweet their travels to visit coffee producers. Their blog talks about the job and the trip and the joys and sorrows and the people who grow their beans. Like I sadi, this is a food product that ticks all my boxes – delicious, responsible, passionate.

Why local is the answer

I have a slight crush on Patrick Holden, former Director of the Soil Association. I saw him speak a few years ago and whenever I read anything he's written or watch a video of him I find myself nodding along with him.

I like that he presents the issues around food security but doesn't have all the answers and humbly recognises that it is a work in progress.

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.

Bread - Making vs Buying

I made bread last night. Just two small round loaves of wholewheat. Finishing up some bits of flour. I'm really pleased with them. Good crust. Nice crumb. I ate three pieces fresh out of the oven with super yellow salted butter.

And I got to thinking about the value of making bread at home.

1. It isn't always better than what you can buy. It's special, because it's homemade but Eau a la Bouche has better bread. But Tesco (or any big store that is producing hundreds of loaves) isn't going to be as good. So homemade wins against mass produced, but not fancy artisanal.

2. Ingredients: Flour. Flour is cheap. But what about quality flour? What's the difference between grocery store brand flour and the Shipton Mills I have my eye on? The Shipton Mills is twice the price of the grocery store. Will it make that much better a loaf? What kind/quality of flour do commercially produced loaves use? Is that one of the factors in E5 Bakehouse vs Gregg's?

I feel a challenge coming on. Will buy my Shipton Mills basket (currently at ten kilos of flour), make bread and report back. And maybe ask the nice bakery people in the market if they know anything about the flour their products are made from... requires further investigation.

3. Ingredients: Extras. My bread is flour, yeast, salt and water. There is a brilliant double page spread in Richard Bertinet's book Dough - one side is a loaf of homemade bread and the ingredient list. The other side is the store bought bread and ingredient list. Four ingredients versus a long list. No question. Make your own damn bread.

4. Time investment: Not that much really. I mean sure you need to do it but seriously - making the dough takes maybe 20 minutes? Then it's mostly leave it alone until it's ready to be shaped and baked. Hell you can even do the no-knead thing. Total active time investment is probably less than walking to your nearest bakery. Unless you're super lucky. In which case can I come stay with you?

5. Love. Well, there is that.

My Grandma on the Mountain could bake anything but she didn't bake bread. The story is that she made a loaf once and my Grandpa and Great Uncle Malc took it out in the backyard and played football with it. She never repeated the experiment.

The recipe for buns that my mom makes for holiday meals is from her Aunt Jessie who was a fabulous cook. I crave her apple pudding recipe often.

Baking bread at home is special. Maybe not for everyday, but always preferable over big store bread. And it fills the house with warmth and love.

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.

Cauliflower

I think it is my second favourite vegetable. Seriously. Second only to peas (both frozen and fresh). Garlic, onions and tomatoes don't quite count. Certain vegetables are only excellent during their peak season and don't have an all year presence, like asparagus, so I'm not counting those either. So yes. Cauliflower is my second favourite vegetable.

How fabulously versatile is it? How many wonderful things can you do with a brassica that is, to be honest, a little dull. It's not something I sneak into the kitchen to nibble on (peas in pods don't last a day in our kitchen and cherry tomatoes are so very poppable) because on its own it is a bit bland. But the flavours it works with! And the processes and things you can do that turn it into magic. Here's to the mighty cauliflower!

The reason I am excited about cauliflowers is because I finally got around to making this sephardic dish of battered and fried caulflower in a lemony tomato sauce. I've had the recipe in my 'Make Me' pile for ages but it seemed like it might be a bit finnicky. It wasn't. You should make it.

You quickly blanch your cauliflower florets then drain them and mix them into a simple batter (half a cup of flour with some salt and pepper, tossed, then two eggs beaten with a bit of water, toss the floured cauliflower with that, then another half cup of flour - get in with yout hands!) then fry them up to golden and lovely. (I also dropped little blobs of batter into the oil.) You slip the crispy golden florets into a very simple tomato sauce with lemon zest and a squeeze of juice and let it barely simmer for ten minutes then eat it covered with parsley.

(Here's a link to the recipe proper on Michael's Herbivoracious blog.)

How good is that?

C declared it was his second favourite way to eat cauliflower. His favourite? Roasted and dipped in spicy ketchup. Yup, we're fancy.

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.

Asparagus

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Who said that?  Some of the most beautiful things are fleeting and need to be pounced on while they are in front you for they disappear so quickly.

Asparagus is one of those joys. British asparagus appears to be a Thing. It is special and celebrated. It has a specific season of about 6-8 weeks and during this time everyone seems to be talking and eating it. I love it. I love the limited time only cache of it and the urgency. If you don't get some now you won't get any at all.

Yes I know you can get asparagus year round. But that's not the point, is it? This is English asparagus, grown as it is meant to be grown in the season in which nature intended. Did you know that most out of season asparagus comes from Peru where they are draining the water level to grow it (asparagus needs lots of water) - read this article about it. That's serious stuff. And it can't possibly taste as fresh and grassy and special as the stuff that's grown in your metaphoric backyard. And who wants to eat bland wooden stalks that make you pee funny the rest of the year? Seasonality people. Look it up.

We've been doing all sorts of things with asparagus. Because I buy an awful lot of it while I can. Roasted asparagus (olive oil, lemon, salt and pepper in the hot oven for 11 minutes) is a picnic staple for us - sometimes wrapped in ham, sometimes plain, once with romesco sauce. I eat it blanched and dripping in fancy salted butter for lunch. Grilled with grilled courgette and roasted tomatoes and basil oil a la Ottolenghi. Baked into a puff pastry tart. Munched on raw and crunchy like a carrot.

Tonight we're having it with polenta and cheese a la Guardian Ottolenghi. I figure there's a month left of experimenting and tasting. At the end of it I won't want to look at an asparagus spear. Which is fine and good because I won't be getting any until the official launch of the season in April 2012.

Wild Garlic

Since moving here I have discovered all sorts of lovely seasonal specialities. Things that exist in Toronto but weren't as available or as obvious to someone who wasn't actively looking for them. Maybe part of the reason my cooking spidey senses have learnt so much in London is because so many of the cookbooks I read were, and are, British. I felt like I knew Borough Market before I ever set foot there and the Ginger Pig was like discovering an old haunt - I knew them. But I have never had that same relationship with Canadian food writers - there's very few that I can even name. Maybe it is that old thing with you are never satisfied with what is around you - grass is always greener. Or that Canadian food as such never really inspired me because there wasn't much distinctive about it. Who knows. My last trip to Toronto was delicious - so many great restaurants and dishes. I think maybe it isn't just Toronto that has expanded and grown - maybe I have too so that I am looking and seeking out those experiences. Also helps that I have a bigger budget than when I lived there. Little things. You know.

Anyways the point is that I had never had wild garlic (or ramps as I think some people call it though I am confused between ramps and the wild leeks that appear in the spring...) before moving to London and it has become one of those sure signs of spring to see the deep green leaves with white flowers in bunches in the market. 

Bluebells!

Another sure sign of spring is bluebells. Fields of bluebells in the forests of England, and what grows hand in hand with bluebells? Garlic! Fields of pungent white garlic flowers next to lovely bluebells. So beautiful. So smelly. But in a nice way. And so delicious.

I was gifted with an obscene about of garlic leaves. They don't last long once plucked so I needed to do something with them fast. So I made wild garlic pesto - four gleaming emerald jars of the stuff which we ate over fresh pasta - plain the first time and then beet (a lovely pretty pink colour with just a hint of beetiness to it) the second.

Wild Garlic Pesto

100g wild garlic

50g pinenuts

50g parmesan
1 shallot
1/2 tsp salt
Pinch of sugar
About 200ml olive oil

Process until as smoothy or as chunky as you fancy in the food processor and taste for seasoning.  Pack in old jam jars and push down to get any air out. Gently pour a thin layer of olive on top and pop in the fridge. Covered like this it should last 2-3 weeks. But I have never had it last longer than a week or so, because we have eaten it.

Divine. Special. But also enough that I am done for a bit and will be just fine waiting until next year's crop. Except for the wild garlic butter in the freezer - I mean clearly that is going to be eaten on steaks. But after that we're done. For real this time.

The Black Hoof

You should go to Toronto and eat at The Black Hoof. Unless you're a vegetarian. If so skip to the next post.

C was off at a bachelor party, Susie was in London, so Nathan (from Back off Ladies, He's Taken) and I shared a an epic set of moments over a fabulous meal. Each dish. Each mouthful was transcendent. I'd tell you what we ate but it doesn't matter because the menu will have changed by the time you get there. Trust them. Eat everything. Let them pick your wine. Let them bring you a cocktail. Put your appetite in their capable hands and enjoy something special.

"Everything is made: from the charcuterie to the cocktail garnishes. Things are foraged when possible. It’s a meat and off-cut centric menu to be sure, but there is always a fish option. There is much attention to detail in the service. The atmosphere is boisterous and casual."

So much love.

Crumpets for Elevenses

Crumpets.

I have become obsessed with crumpets. Specifically crumpets with butter and red berry jam (strawberry or raspberry) at Climpson's alongside my flat white. These are best eaten for elevenses with either a book or a small pad of paper for jotting down random thoughts while watching the people and characters of Broadway Market go by.

Seriously though - I have started waking up thinking about my mid morning snack. In Toronto I missed them and thought about them - even went to the amazing kitchen store by the Toronto Reference Library to buy crumpet rings so I could make my own. (They were out but expected a shipment later that day.) When we got back from Toronto the first thing I did on Tuesday was to go to Climpsons. They were out of crumpets. My face must have been so crestfallen and heartbroken because when I went in today the guy brightened up and told me with a smile that they had crumpets today.

Vintage Style Crumpet

I think it's the texture mix that delights me - the crunchy outside, warm from the toaster and the soft inside with holes running with butter and jam. (You need to put butter on a crumpet. Butter, then jam. I feel very strongly about this, even though I don't do the same for toast or bagels or muffins.) When I bite into a crumpet I feel satisfied and full in the way that only satisfying a deep craving can make you feel. Just a simple crumpet. Go figure.

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.

Ham Hock & Beans

A few weeks ago I met G at Milk Bar on a sunny Sunday morning for breakfast. We both had their home baked beans with sourdough toast and goat cheese. It was awesome. So enjoyable in fact that it has been simmering at the back of my brain since then and I decided I would try to make my own version.

Which brings me to my newest favourite thing: smoked ham hocks. I was at the Ginger Pig picking up bits and pieces for a week of dinners and saw these massive smoked hunks of meat. I was pretty sure you had to boil them and that if you boiled them with the beans then all sorts of goodness would happen in the pot. I was right.

We ate the beans with pagnotta bread from Eau a la Bouche which is I think my favourite type of bread and very plain goat cheese. Simple, relatively easy (especially for future as the beans made a mountain and I put two meals worth in the freezer) and homey - one of those comfort meals that feel like an internal hug.

Beans & Ham

A smoked ham hock 

Enough water to cover 

An onion, split into quarters

Two carrots, cut into quarters

Bring to a simmer and let bubble happily and covered for an hour.

300 g cannellini beans, soaked over night

After an hour, add the beans to the ham hock soup. Simmer for an hour or until beans are tender.

At this point I took the ham hock out and let it cool so that I could chop it up and put all the meaty bits aside for the finished product.

Meanwhile I chopped two red onions, two cloves of garlic and a sprig of rosemary, two glugs of olive oil and let them all sizzle and sing together for about ten minutes. Just before they started to colour I added three tablespoons of brown sugar and two of cider vinegar, stirred and then added a 400g can of chopped tomatoes. Stirred, let it all start to get to know each other and then spooned the beans into the pan, making sure to save the ham/bean cooking water.

I let it simmer and bubble until it looked like it had all come together, about 10 minutes, tasted, adjusted a bit of salt and pepper, added the ham hock meat pieces and tada - homemade baked beans. That weren't baked at all.

And now I have the most luxurious ham water with which to make pea soup. Stay tuned....

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. 

Tet

After taking inspiration from my Vietnamese cooking class a few weeks earlier I decided that we would celebrate Tet - Vietnamese New Years. We did. On February 5. I shopped on Friday. I cooked all day on Saturday.

Menu
Basil Seed drink
Summer rolls with fabulous shrimp from Vicky at Broadway Market
Bo La Lot
Bánh chưng (traditional Vietnamese new year's cake)
Longdans with Lotus Nuts, Jelly & Seaweed

You will notice that it pretty much mirrored what I learnt from Uyen back in January, with the exception of the cake, which I bought and, following Uyen's instructions, shallow fried.

 This was probably the most out of depth meal I have ever made. Five dishes (including the funny but not entirely well liked basil seed drink that I went everywhere trying to find!) and I wasn't confident that any of them would turn out. Summer rolls were delicious - and basically foolproof as the flavours are what you make them and we had excellent shrimp and a ton of exotic herbs. Bo La Lot to Uyen's recipe were moreish and were probably the night's highlight. The banh chung was... odd... If you read this you probably know I can be a bit, um, fussy we'll say about meat, so the ingredients list that said simply 'meat' wasn't really making me feel very comfortable and, even with frying it was still a very particular texture. The longdan dessert was unique and not very desserty. Which of course made it more interesting.

But. To the point. Everyone tried everything and the evening was an interesting success. It made me realise how specific my own celebratory ways are and that my expectations of what makes something special are very particular. I'm looking forward to expanding my perception of celebration...

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.

Year of the Rabbit - Lapin Aux Olives

Happy Chinese New Year! It is the year of the rabbit! I'm not sure what this means for the world but I am hoping it will mean a year of delicious eating for me.

As it was a Thursday night I wanted to keep celebrations low key so instead of doing a blow out feast (that was Saturday when we celebrated Tet - details to come!) I made Anthony Bourdain's rabbit recipe in Les Halles - Lapin Aux Olives.

A bit of a process but straightforward enough and low stress, C & I sat down to a lovely proper feeling dinner of simple boiled and buttered potatoes, Vichy carrots (which always remind me of the Nazi friendly government) and the rabbit. Not very authentic but delicious nonetheless.

What do people eat to celebrate the year of the Dragon?