tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1 2008-05-05T17:33:48Z Movable Type 3.34 tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.212 2008-05-05T13:24:08Z 2008-05-05T17:33:48Z

At New Year, I decided that I'd try growing some fruit and vegetables this year. We're now in May, so the time seems ripe for a bit of an update. My apple tree--pictured above with Dave and Lucas--seems to...

At New Year, I decided that I'd try growing some fruit and vegetables this year. We're now in May, so the time seems ripe for a bit of an update. My apple tree--pictured above with Dave and Lucas--seems to be relishing its home at the bottom of the garden. It's now a smidge over six feet tall, has plenty of leaves for its size, and has produced the cutest little pink blossom. As our neighbour has a huge mature apple tree in his garden, I'm hoping that the bees drawn to his tree will deign to visit my little one. I can't remember if I've mentioned it before, but it's a family apple tree, meaning that there are three varieties grafted onto the same rootstock. In my case they're Katy, James Grieve, and Cox. All dessert apples, and all very yummy. I love Cox apples! Family trees tend to yield lighter crops than normal trees, but I doubt this will be a problem for us. I'm not sure that three people could munch their way through a bumper crop of apples! On the subject of trees... here is our ancient, gnarled and much-neglected plum tree in the wilderness corner of the garden. Its blossom has already been and gone, so I expect that it will be fruiting enthusiastically later in the year. I do wonder if I should be ripping that ivy away from round its trunk and perhaps pruning it, but the crop gets bigger each year so perhaps it prefers to be ignored? I did give it some (very fishy) fertiliser back in April whilst I was lavishing love on the apple tree. So, it's definitely had more care this year than per usual! My little bay tree lives on the decking alongside my pot of garlic and flat-leaf parsley. I should probably prune it back to its original conical shape and dry out the leaves myself. Fresh bay is such a treat and I still get a real kick out of being able to walk outside and snip some! The garlic and flat-leaf parsley are my two biggest successes to date. They're both bog standard supermarket purchases. I had space in the strawberry planter last year--birds ate all the young berries. Not a success--so planted out one of those living herb containers. Surprisingly it flourished and it's still going strong this year. The garlic got planted on a similar whim. I just broke up a bulb of garlic, pushed the cloves into the holes of the strawberry planter and left them to it. Judging from the huge shoots, I'd say that the garlic is doing pretty well--wouldn't you? Indoors I've got some butternut squash seedlings that are growing at an incredible rate. I splashed out on a packet of Cobnut F1 butternut squash seeds. Apparently Cobnut is a fast-growing variety, bred for Britain's climate, and with a small seed cavity so more flesh. I can certainly vouch for the fast-growing part! The seedlings will get planted out at the end of May when all danger of frost will have passed. So far growing my own fruit and vegetables has been really satisfying. I'm very proud of my small efforts and I can't wait until I can harvest something!]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.211 2008-04-27T12:22:42Z 2008-04-28T00:21:51Z

This month's Daring Bakers challenge, hosted by Deborah of Taste and Tell and Elle of Feeding My Enthusiasms, is Cheesecake Pops. Or, as I like to think of it, cheesecake-onna-stick. My love of cheesecake is legendary and of course,...

This month's Daring Bakers challenge, hosted by Deborah of Taste and Tell and Elle of Feeding My Enthusiasms, is Cheesecake Pops. Or, as I like to think of it, cheesecake-onna-stick. My love of cheesecake is legendary and of course, I'm more than a little fond of chocolate, too. Alas, I'm firmly back on the Weight Watchers bandwagon, so making the cheesecake pops, while great fun, was absolutely tortuous. Still, I valiantly baked and dipped my pops without sneaking any "little tastes." I did taste all the different pops after dinner, and as they're very, very more-ish, I shall be packing the rest of them off to work with Dave tomorrow morning! I made three-fifths of the cheesecake batter and baked my cheesecake in an 8x8-inch ceramic dish for 40 minutes and it set beautifully. It had just gone from jiggly to firm in the centre when I pulled it out and this meant that when it came to scooping the balls, it rolled really well. It definitely pays to think up flavour/topping ideas before you put the cheesecake balls in the freezer. I came up with some fun ideas for the centre of each ball by which time the pops were solidly frozen, and pressing chopped stem ginger into the balls would have been much easier before they were frozen! Stem ginger pops I love the combination of hot ginger with smooth dark chocolate, so this one was a real winner for me. Next time round I'll press even more minced ginger into the cheesecake as I found myself wanting it to be really hot. Limoncello pops First dipped in a limoncello-spiked lemon jelly, then in white chocolate, these pops had a great flavour but the jelly had a disappointingly icy texture. Still quite delicious, though. Toffee pops Dipped in dark chocolate and quickly rolled in chocolate-toffee pieces, these were awesome. I had wanted to use Dime bars, but couldn't find any, so instead substituted Cadbury Chomp Bars which are similar but chewy rather than crunchy. Classic cheesecake pops Dark chocolate and a roll around in crushed Digestive biscuits equals classic cheesecake flavour in my book. The biscuits were salty in comparison to the cheesecake and chocolate, making this my absolute favourite of the bunch. Overall, these were a huge success. I reckon that they'd make the perfect party dessert for kids and adults alike, so I'll definitely be making them again. Thanks for choosing such a great recipe, Elle and Deborah!]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.210 2008-03-23T20:28:56Z 2008-03-23T22:36:44Z

When The Silver Spoon's English translation first hit bookshops in 2005, I leafed through it and thought that it was perhaps the most tedious and uninspiring cookbook on the market. I couldn't understand how this could be a classic....

When The Silver Spoon's English translation first hit bookshops in 2005, I leafed through it and thought that it was perhaps the most tedious and uninspiring cookbook on the market. I couldn't understand how this could be a classic. Almost three years later I found myself leafing through a copy in Waterstones--mainly because their Italian section was absolutely dire--and nodding thoughtfully at many a recipe. Perhaps my tastes have undergone a marked change in the last few years? I didn't think they had, other than my new-found love of both fresh fennel and fennel seed. At any rate, I'm now a big fan of The Silver Spoon, especially this recipe: Involtini di Pollo alla Salvia, or, chicken and sage rolls, wrapped in pancetta. I love the sheer simplicity of this recipe; to me it encapsulates what Italian food is all about. Great ingredients, treated simply.. yielding amazing results. Plus, surely any recipe that includes pancetta has to be gorgeous? This is a very friendly recipe; it'll cosy up to just about any carb that you care to pair it with. Previously I've tried some buttery little new potatoes, and also a carrot and swede mash. This time round I decided to do a roasted butternut squash purée (spiked with a little grated nutmeg) which worked really well with the smokiness of the pancetta. The green beans and squiggle of balsamic glaze balanced things out nicely.]]> Involtini di Pollo alla Salvia Source: The Silver Spoon 2 skinless, boneless, chicken breasts 8 fresh sage leaves salt and freshly ground pepper 8 thin slices of smoked pancetta 2 teaspoons olive oil Place each chicken breast between two sheets of clingfilm and pound with a meat mallet or rolling pin to flatten. Season both sides with salt and pepper. Place four sage leaves across the width of each breast and roll up tightly. Lay out four slices of pancetta--slightly overlapping--and roll the chicken in that. You can secure the ends with some cocktail sticks if you want, but I've never had any problems with it unrolling. Heat the oil in a medium frying pan over medin-high heat. Brown the rolls--seam side down first to prevent unrolling--on all sides. Turn the heat to low, cover, and cook for 15 to 20 minutes until done (add a little water of the pan dries out). Remove the chicken to a board and allow to rest for a few minutes before carving each breast into three pieces. (If you secured with cocktail sticks then remember to take them out before carving!)]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.209 2008-03-21T00:31:44Z 2008-03-21T00:55:00Z

'Twas Dave's birthday last week and as is traditional in our house, he got to choose his own birthday cake. After a surprisingly short deliberation--I take days to decide--he settled upon coffee and walnut cake. I was pretty sure...

'Twas Dave's birthday last week and as is traditional in our house, he got to choose his own birthday cake. After a surprisingly short deliberation--I take days to decide--he settled upon coffee and walnut cake. I was pretty sure he'd go for that, but still plied him with recipe books in the scant hope that he'd go for something really elaborate. The coffee and walnut cake is beloved of many a village fete and is quite charming in its simplicity, however, I couldn't resist fiddling a little with the presentation to make it a little more birthday-esque. Left entirely to my own devices I'd have been tempted to play with different blends of coffee in each component of the cake, and perhaps forsake the buttercream filling in favour of a mousse or bavarian cream. Individual coffee cakes served with a scoop of walnut ice-cream would be fab, too. However, this was Dave's Cake, so I behaved myself! My vast collection of baking equipment still lacks useful things such as an icing turntable and an offset spatula, so the icing on the side of the cake looks a little... shoddy, however I was quite pleased at my ingenuity in using an olive dish to form a well for a quick coffee glace icing. (Coffee plus sieved icing sugar. It doesn't get simpler than that!) The birthday boy greatly enjoyed his cake and was generous enough to share a few slices, so I can report to you that the coffee buttercream--and indeed the sponge itself--were positively mild-mannered compared to the bitter caffeine jolt that the pool of glace icing provided. I didn't just want a colour or textural contrast, I wanted a much more aggressive coffee flavour. A bit of an edge, if you will. Despite the extra boost to the coffee flavour, the walnuts weren't overpowered. Perhaps this is because I toasted the walnuts that I chopped for the sponge? Happy birthday, babe!]]> Coffee and walnut cake Source: Nigel Slater Quick tip--baking powder is made up of three ingredients which separate out into distinct layers when the tub is left on the shelf. Give it a good shake prior to use to ensure that you aren't just scooping the top layer and thus jinxing your cakes! 175g unsalted butter, softened 175g unrefined (golden) caster sugar 3 large eggs 175g self-raising flour 1 teaspoon baking powder 70g chopped walnuts 2 teaspoons instant coffee granules, dissolved in 1 tablespoon boiling water For the buttercream: 200g unsalted butter, softened 400g icing sugar, sieved 2 teaspoons instant coffee granules, dissolved in 1 tablespoon boiling water 12 perfect walnut halves, for decoration Preheat oven to 180C/ fan oven 160C/ Gas Mark 4. Butter and line the base of two 21cm/8" sandwich tins with baking parchment. Cream the butter and sugar together until very pale, light and fluffy. This is best done in a mixer, but if you're feeling energetic then do it by hand. Break the eggs into a small bowl, lightly whisk, then trickle the beaten eggs into the creamed mixture. Do this slowly, mixing well between additions, to prevent the mixture from curdling. If it does curdle, then beat in a tablespoon of flour--from the premeasured quantity, of course!--and the mixture will recover. Mix together the flour and baking powder then sift over the creamed mixture. If still using the mixer, then combine on low speed. Otherwise, beat gently with a wooden spoon. Finally, fold in by hand the walnuts and coffee. Divide equally between the prepared tins, level the surface with a spatula and bake for 20-25 mins until the top of the cakes spring back when pressed. Cool in tins for 5 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack, remove the baking parchment, and leave to cool completely. For the buttercream icing, beat the butter until very light and fluffy then slowly add the icing sugar. (If you dump it all in, then you'll redecorate your kitchen--and yourself--with a nice dusting of sugar.) It will look a bit dry at first, but keep beating and you should end up with a lovely smooth and fluffy buttercream. Beat in the coffee. Sandwich the two sponges together with about 1/3 of the buttercream. Use the remainder to ice the sides and top of the cake. Decorate with walnut halves.]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.206 2008-02-29T20:32:06Z 2008-03-01T01:08:03Z

Riddle me this... what recipe sprawls over ten pages and takes seven hours to complete? Julia Child's French Bread, of course! Julia Child evokes warm, fuzzy feelings in the hearts of many Americans, however on this side of the...

Riddle me this... what recipe sprawls over ten pages and takes seven hours to complete? Julia Child's French Bread, of course! Julia Child evokes warm, fuzzy feelings in the hearts of many Americans, however on this side of the pond she's hardly a household name. So I headed over to Wikipedia--I know, I know... hardly an accurate source, but it's a good starting point--for some background, and was amazed to discover that she worked in US Intelligence during WWII. Very cool. It was also quite inspiring to read that she only started cooking seriously in her 40s. That should give hope to career changers or even the most inexperienced and nervous cooks, presuming they want to improve, of course! Julia's French Bread clocks in at an impressive ten pages as already mentioned. It's not just a recipe, though. It's more of a treatise on the art of French bread-making as it stood in the fifties. The best bread is often the simplest, and you can't get much more simple than Julia's ingredients: flour, salt, yeast and water. One of the requirements for this month's challenge was that we use all-purpose flour to get as close as possible to the 8% gluten that French bakers use. I've got to admit, this hurt. I hate using all-purpose/plain flour for bread baking. It always produces a weak, flabby dough and in any case, the brand that I use is 11% protein and my standard bread flour (Dove's) is 12.8%. I really, really wanted to pull out the bread flour but decided that I should be a proper Daring Baker and put aside my prejudices. Despite--or perhaps because of--the length of the recipe, it went pretty well. Certainly much better than last month's disastrous Lemon Meringue Pie. My crust wasn't terrifically hard--no nice shattering noises when I tore into the loaf, alas--but it was very tasty indeed. I did manage to get some decent-sized holes in the crumb which worked perfectly for holding butter. The flavour was good, but as I've never had real French bread I don't have anything to compare it to. I can say, however, that it was a decent loaf of bread. I've baked far better in the past and I'm sure I will in the future, but I'm glad that I gave this recipe a whirl! The best thing about this recipe was that it gave me the perfect opportunity to christen my shiny new dough scraper and lame, bought in a (slightly) enthusiastic splurge after my cookery course last weekend. I've always wanted a lame and I have to say that the proper tool makes a massive difference. Normally even my sharpest knife drags and deflates the dough, but the lame glided through without snagging. And the dough scraper was awesome! Very good for mixing and also the initial very sticky stage of the kneading. I've actually been using it every day when chopping vegetables as it's a nice safe way of transferring them from board to pot or container. Better for your knife, too, I suspect. Next time round I think I will swap to bread flour and perhaps reduce the amount of yeast as my dough rose twice as fast as the recipe dictated, despite my efforts to find the coldest spot in the house. I think that proving the dough on the final baking sheet would also be an improvement--I lost a lot of air in the painstaking transfer between cloth, intermediate and baking sheet. As the crust wasn't terribly golden or very hard--but still tasty!--I would increase the oven temperature to maximum for the first 10 minutes of baking, and then drop it back down. For the full recipe (and helpful pictures), visit Breadchick Mary's website.]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.203 2008-02-03T13:18:33Z 2008-02-03T17:02:56Z

I can see why Mario Batali refers to polenta pasticciata as 'messy polenta.' It was a real challenge--almost like a reverse game of Jenga--getting it out of the dish in any less than three completely unphotgenic blobs, despite my...

I can see why Mario Batali refers to polenta pasticciata as 'messy polenta.' It was a real challenge--almost like a reverse game of Jenga--getting it out of the dish in any less than three completely unphotgenic blobs, despite my attempts at giving it structural integrity. However, I suspect that peasants living in hillside rusticos cared far more about taste than appearances when they devised this polenta dish many, many years ago. And they certainly didn't mess around with a camera at dinner-time! According to Anna del Conte, polenta pasticciata is made in many different variations, each polenta-loving region having their own spin on it. This recipe hails from Lombardy, but even within the region itself there are many variations. Some add bechamel sauce, bringing the dish even closer to lasagne, and others further enrich the meat sauce with lots of lovely salami and pancetta. Previously I've found polenta to be both bland and stodgy. This was apparently user-error on my part. It's still stodgy, but when done right, it's stodgy in a good way. Filling and warming, in fact, and when seasoned correctly, it's rather tasty, too Polenta can really soak up salt. I started off with the tablespoon that Anna stipulated and then--very carefully!--tasted and corrected the volcanically bubbling and spitting polenta until it tasted good. When making the meat sauce I had to have very stern words with myself as I instinctively reached for the garlic. One of the reasons for Cooking The Boot was to gain a greater appreciation for regional food, and that means not chucking garlic in where there shouldn't be garlic! I suspect a bit of palate-retraining may be in order as I really do adore garlic in almost all savoury food. (I did go through a brief phase of munching pickled garlic cloves once. Shamefully, I wasn't pregnant at the time, so there was absolutely no excuse for it!) Even without garlic the sauce tasted pretty good. The porcini enhanced the flavour of the beef--as well as retaining their own robust earthiness--and created some pretty heady aromas in the house. I served the pasticciata with some green beans which I simply dressed with a tiny drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and some balsamic vinegar. I think they worked really well together to cut through the rich, unctuousness of the pasticciata. ]]> --Baked polenta with meat and dried porcini Serves 2 WW (UK) estimated points: 9 per portion 150g instant polenta 900ml water 1 tablespoon salt 12g dried porcini 1 tablespoon olive oil 10g unsalted butter 1/2 small onion, finely chopped 1/2 small carrot, finely chopped 1/4 celery stick, finely chopped 175g extra-lean beef mince 1 bay leaf salt and pepper 1 tablespoon tomato paste diluted with about 60ml beef stock butter for greasing the dish 3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese First make the polenta. Bring the water and salt to the boil and sprinkle in the polenta in a fine stream, whisking the mixture to prevent lumps from forming. Switch to a wooden spoon and cook for about five minute, until very thick. Pour the polenta out onto a wet surface--marble, plastic, a baking sheet, but not wood--and spread it out to a thickness of about 2.5cm/1 inch. Leave to cool. Soak the dried porcini in enough boiling water to cover for about 30 minutes. Lift them out gently, wash under cold water, squeeze and dry. Chop them coarsely. Strain the soaking liquid through a sieve lined with muslin and set aside. Put the oil, butter and onion in a saucepan and saute until the onion is soft. Mix in the porcini, carrot and celery and saute for a further few minutes. Add the minced beef and cook until it has lost its raw colour, then add the bay leave and salt and peper to taste. Turn the heat down to low and pour in the diluted tomato puree and the mushroom soaking liquid. When the sauce is boiling, turn the head down as low as possibleand cook uncovered for about 2 hours. Taste and check seasoning and remove the bay leaf. Heat the oven to 200C/fan oven 180C. Grease a shallow gratin dish generously with butter. Cut the polenta into 1cm slices and cover the bottom of the dish with a layer of polenta. Spoon over about 1/3 of the sauce and sprinkle with 2 tablespoons of the Pamesan. Repeat the layers of polenta, sauce and Parmesan until all the ingredients are used, then baked in the preheated oven for about 30 minute. Allow to stand for 10 minutes before serving.]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.205 2008-02-02T22:16:29Z 2008-02-03T17:55:58Z

I first heard about The Fat Duck in 2001, when Heston Blumenthal's take on molecular gastronomy was really starting to attract critical acclaim and err... robust discussion. (Looking at the restaurant website, I'm quite surprised to learn that it...

I first heard about The Fat Duck in 2001, when Heston Blumenthal's take on molecular gastronomy was really starting to attract critical acclaim and err... robust discussion. (Looking at the restaurant website, I'm quite surprised to learn that it opened in 1995.) I've been dying to eat there ever since, and this year I struck gold when Dave offered to take me there for my birthday! It only took two attempts to get a reservation for lunch--I'm so thankful that modern phones have a redial button. I can't imagine twirling a dial at speed to try and break into the queue!--and then Dave and I spent the next two months eagerly anticipating (and fretting slightly) our meal. On the duly appointed day, we dropped Lucas off with Auntie Sarah in Reading for a day of fun, frolics, song and—if desperate measures were required—classic Doctor Who DVDs, and then drove onto Bray, arriving with plenty of time to spare. I've seen a lot of reviews describe Bray as a quaint little English country village. I think that's overstating it, really. Bray is a hamlet. We're talking a handful of houses, village hall, hairdressers—men's night on Thursday!—two pubs and The Fat Duck. We stopped in at The Hinds Head Hotel--another Heston venture--for a drink as did many of our fellow diners. We arrived at The Fat Duck on time and were seated immediately in a nice corner table, close to the kitchen. This was by far the best table in my opinion. I love to catch a glimpse inside kitchens when I eat out, and it also let me have a really good look around the restaurant itself. The Fat Duck used to be a pub--I find it incredible that Bray could ever have supported three pubs--and it still has a little of that vibe to it. There was no stuffy formality or hushed tones as you would tend to find at Michelin starred restaurants. Au contraire! There was quite a lively buzz--doubtlessly many people were discussing the dishes that they were eating--and everyone seemed nicely relaxed. The sommelier sallied forth with the champagne trolley and asked if we'd like a glass. As it was my birthday, I chose a very nice Tattinger Brut Reserve which had the tiniest, most delicate bubbles I've ever encountered in a champagne. All champagne is elegant, but this was very special indeed. Next we were presented with our menus and despite lusting after several of the dishes on the A La Carte menu, we went for the tasting menu. I asked for the wine list and it was lugged over in due course. I really wish I'd taken a picture of the wine list for it was an absolute tome of a book. Thickly bound in leather with the Fat Duck logo embossed on the cover, several inches thick and just on the right side of playful as opposed to ostentatious. Each page contained only a handful of wines, which is just one of many examples of the way Heston plays with your expectations. I was slightly peeved that the wine list was handed to Dave even though I'd been the one to ask for it. Not quite what one expects in a modern restaurant. But that is a very minor quibble! We began with the now-famous Nitro Green Tea and Lime Mousse. We watched with child-like glee as the waiter poured liquid nitrogen into a bowl and then squirted mousse from a nitrous whip onto a spoon before deftly 'poaching' it in the liquid nitrogen. The ball of mousse jittered and danced over the surface of the nitrogen as if it was alive. Great theatre! A dusting of green tea from a fine muslin bag provided the final flourish and then the mousse was presented to me with a polite instruction to eat it all in one bite. I crammed it in--it really was quite a large ball of mousse--and wow! Not at all the texture I'd expected. It was crisp, like good meringue, with only the very centre remaining slightly gooey. Sharply tart from the lime, slightly musty from the green tea, and then the vodka whooshed in and left my mouth tingling. Next came a nice little extra. Two vibrant squares of orange and beetroot jelly. I'm sure everyone know the trick by now—golden beetroot and blood oranges—but for us the real surprise was the complexity of the flavours, especially when they mingled on the palate. The next amuse bouche was Oyster and passion fruit jelly, lavender. I'd never eaten oysters before and I loathe passion fruit, so I really wasn't looking forward to this. The presentation was breathtakingly gorgeous--alas, my pictures of this dish are decidedly out of focus--and I actually quite enjoyed the oyster. The lavender flavour must have been very subtle indeed as I didn't detect it in the little sugary wafer shard that decorated the dish. Pommery Grain Mustard Ice Cream, Red Cabbage Gaspacho. This was wonderful. Amazing, even. I'd have licked the plate clean if I hadn't been out in public. The ice cream was sweet-hot and the tiny mustard seeds popped on your tongue—I'd love to know how they achieved that. The red cabbage gaspacho was quite mellow and was a great foil for the fire of the mustard. A brunoise of cucumber nestled under the ice cream gave a delicious, cooling crunch. The next amuse was quite spectacular, especially visually. The waiter brought over a tray of oak moss, oak moss and truffle toasts, and a very cute dish containing jelly of quail, langoustine cream, parfait of foie gras. Perched on top of the tray of moss were two little plastic containers containing a film of oak moss, which dissolved on the tongue like a breath freshener, to prepare the palate for the truffle. It was explained to us that oak moss and truffle contain many identical flavour compounds, hence the flavour combination. The waiter then produced a little iron teapot and poured its contents--I think it was a fir tea--over the tray of oak moss, and more magic happened. White smoke began pouring from the tray of moss and drifting, thickly across our table like fog. Heston must have been a magician in a past life. (Dry ice in the bottom of the tray, if you were curious.) The smoke had a very faint--to my nose; Dave smelled it much more clearly--aroma of oak moss and fir The truffle toast was very good, but to me it just tasted and smelled of mushrooms. Dave, on the other hand, thought it smelt absolutely amazing and was in raptures over it. I fear that I may well be one of those women who can't smell/taste truffles properly. The quail jelly, langoustine cream, and foie gras parfait was far more my sort of thing. Incredibly rich--you definitely couldn't eat more than one portion, no matter how much you would want to--and oh-so-intensely flavoured. This was by far my favourite amuse bouche. Nestled at the very bottom of each dish was a spoonful of vibrant pea puree which helped to cut through the salty richness of the quail jelly. The tiny quenelle of foie gras parfait that decorated the dish was buttery, rich and really just perfect. I would go back for this dish alone. (Alas, my photos of this dish were horrendous, so I cannot share the joy with you.) We then moved seamlessly to the main dishes. First--and please excuse the photograph--was the (in)famous Snail Porridge and Dave's most feared dish. I've only had snails once before and I liked them very much at the time, so I was really looking forward to this dish, despite the rather Roald Dahl-esque name. (I think Dahl would have appreciated Heston--and his approach to cooking--a lot.) When the plate arrived I was amused to see that it resembled a risotto far more than any porridge I've ever eaten. Smooth, creamy, and with the grains of oats nicely separated with no lumps in evidence. There was a strong snail flavour through the porridge itself, which was fabulous. Perched on top were some large meaty snails which had soaked up layer upon layer of flavour, but mainly garlic. Little slivers of salty-sweet Joselito ham nestled between the snails and the whole thing was topped off with fennel that had been shaved paper-thin and somehow made delicious. (I don't generally like raw fennel,but this was lovely.) Alas, Dave didn't appreciate the porridge as much as I did. The porridge itself was fine, as was the first snail, but then his mind reminded him that he was eating a snail, and it went downhill from there. Ah well, I had no plans to start a snail farm at home anyway. The next dish was Roast Fois Gras, almond fluid gel, cherry, chamomile. Aside from the beautiful presentation, the flavour combinations here were to die for. Absolutely glorious! The cherry puree was incredibly intense but was mellowed out by the almond fluid gel. I loved the tiny cubes of Amaretto jelly, too. They had a real kick to them! The best thing about this dish was that you every forkful was different, but it always came back to the softly melting, buttery foie gras. Incredibly good. Stunning, even. "Sounds of the Sea" was the next dish, and for both of us this was a real low point. It looked absolutely beautiful and was very convincing in its attempt to recreate a seaside scene, but... I'm not a fan of raw shellfish. I did quite enjoy the sea urchin—the orange-yellow blob in front—and the oyster—at the back—but whatever the middle shellfish was... well, it just disagreed with my palate. Very strong and the texture was just unpleasant to me. The seaside sounds delivered via iPods in seashells was fun, but I don't think it added anything to the taste of the food. I ate whilst listening to the sounds and without and didn't notice any change in the flavours. I suspect that growing up in a fishing town has just left me with the urge to duck every time I hear gulls circling overhead rather than any fond food memory associations! ]]> From raw to cooked.... "Sounds of the Sea" was followed by Salmon poached with Liquorice, artichokes, vanilla mayonnaise and"Manni" olive oil. I must admit that I was a bit dubious about the combination of liquorice and salmon, but I was quite pleased to be proven wrong by Heston! The liquorice gelee that coated the salmon was actually very mild, almost bland until combined with a little of the vanilla mayonnaise, at which point the flavours "woke up" and started to dance on my tongue. I don't quite know how to describe it, but it was good. I won't be rushing to play with liquorice in the kitchen, but I've definitely filed away salmon+vanilla=good mentally. Incidentally, "Manni" olive oil is reputed to be the world's most expensive olive oil. I wish I'd paid more attention to it at the time! Also, the little pink flecks on the plate are individual juice cells from a pink grapefruit. Very clever idea! The last main course was Ballotine of Anjou Pigeon, black pudding "to order", Chinese pigeon cracker, pickling brine and spiced juices. I'd never had pigeon before, so didn't know what to expect. The meat was very tender and also very red. I did feel that the flavour of the meat itself was perhaps drowned out by the spices, but as the dish was quite delicious overall, I couldn't really complain. The black pudding "to order" was completely not what I expected. It turned up in the form of a rather pinky-beige sauce which bordered on the greasy side of things. The tiny caramelised onions did cut the richness of the sauce, which helped tremendously. And the pigeon cracker/crackling? So good. To kick off the sweet portion of the menu, we were then served tiny glasses of Hot and Iced Tea. This was light, floral and exactly the right level of sweetness for me. I already knew the secret of the tea--fluid gel--but it was still pretty cool to experience hot tea on one side of my mouth and icy cold on the other. Two further pre-desserts followed: Mrs Marshall's Margaret Cornet and a Pine Sherbet Fountain. The cornet was tiny and really pretty--alas, we forgot to take a picture--but I didn't really enjoy the ice-cream it held. I think there were a couple of flavours involved, but I just couldn't identify them. I think I was suffering from a bit of flavour fatigue by this point. The cornet itself was delicious--almost like a brandy snap but deep-fried. The pine sherbet fountain has to be the best--and the only acceptable way, in my book--to eat pine. I haven't had a sherbet fountain in years, and so I thoroughly enjoyed this little amusement. Using a blown vanilla bean in place of liquorice is a stroke of genius! Dessert was Mango and Douglas Fir Puree, Bavarois of lychee and mango. Alas, this just didn't work for me. The fir was strong and sent the taste straight towards savoury. Perhaps I still had pine lingering on my palate? Who knows. I also felt that the combination of the mango and fir together had a bit of a soapy quality to it--rather like when you use too much rosemary in a dish. Dave, on the other hand, thought that this was an incredible dessert and was really surprised that I was morosely pushing it around my plate. At this point, a waitress came over and announced that it was "time for breakfast". Perhaps this works better during the dinner service when it's close to midnight by the time you're on dessert? We were presented with boxes of Fat Duck Cereal and a small jug of milk. This turned out to be parsnip cereal and parsnip milk, which might sound mad, but cornflakes are made out of maize/sweetcorn which is also a vegetable.... At any rate, for two devoted parsnip-lovers, this was a fantastic little dish. I'm surprised that Heston hasn't branched out into the breakfast cereal market. I'd certainly start eating breakfast if this was on offer! Our full English breakfast then continued with Nitro-scrambled Egg and Bacon Ice Cream, pain perdu, tea jelly. As with the Nitro green tea and lime mousse, this was made at our table, but this time using a gorgeous copper frying pan and faux-burner. Our waiter explained that alas! there was no gas, so he would have to use liquid nitrogen instead to cook our eggs. He then cracked a Fat Duck Egg--if you watch closely, you can see the hole in the egg where it was drained and the ice cream custard injected back in--into the pan, added some liquid nitrogen, and started whisking away. Another waiter appeared by his side with the rest of our breakfast and before we knew it, breakfast was served. This was really quite amazing. The ice-cream was very definitely savoury when eaten alone--I clearly got both the smoky bacon and loads of scrambled egg flavour--but at the same time... sweet. The sweetness was further enhanced by the sugared strip of pancetta underneath it and a small piece of gorgeous pain perdu. It was definitely brioche--you can't mistake that buttery goodness--but I think it was also caramelised. Seriously good and seriously impressive. The tea jelly was very refreshing and had a nice loose set to it. It was mostly Earl Grey, I believe, but I'm pretty sure that there was some green tea and lemon in there, too. I'll definitely be trying to recreate that at home as it was so reviving. We rounded off the meal with Whisk(e)y Wine Gums and some delectable Petits Fours. The Fat Duck lived up to all my expectations. I had an absolutely fabulous meal, some great theatre, and overall it's an experience that I'll remember for many years. The food may seem like nothing more than a novelty, gimmick or fad, to some people, but it isn't. Yes, there is plenty of novelty and innovation, but at the end of the day, what matters is taste, and nine times out of ten, Heston gets the taste absolutely right. (And more likely than not, the dishes that didn't work for me will have been received rapturously by plenty of other people.) We'll definitely be returning to dine from the A La Carte menu--I'm particularly keen to try the Black Forest Gateaux--but I'm very glad that we chose the tasting menu this time. I can't wait to go back! The Fat Duck High Street Bray, Berkshire, UK Telephone: 01628 580 333]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.204 2008-01-28T10:38:38Z 2008-01-28T10:44:17Z

...or how to dent your ego in one easy step. I've been baking Lemon Meringue Pies (hereafter abbreviated to LMP) since the age of seven, so when LMP was announced as the January challenge for the Daring Bakers--hosted by...

...or how to dent your ego in one easy step. I've been baking Lemon Meringue Pies (hereafter abbreviated to LMP) since the age of seven, so when LMP was announced as the January challenge for the Daring Bakers--hosted by Canadian Baker, Jen--I was slightly... underwhelmed. "How on earth could LMP be challenging," I thought to myself, smugly. Dave suggested that perhaps the challenge in this instance would be in following the recipe exactly and not making any adjustments, even those I would normally do to rescue things. If things went wrong, which of course they wouldn't. Because, you know, I've been making these things since I was seven. See my ego? I have to admit that I started to get worried when reports of weepy meringue and runny filling--or sauce, as one poster described it--started to pour in on the Daring Bakers private blog. So I took a closer look at the recipe. Oh dear. Now I could see why people were having so much trouble with the filling. The ingredients for the lemon filling were absolutely standard, but the proportions and the techniques used were different to what I've previously used. Pouring a dry mixture of cornflour (cornstarch) and sugar into hot water really didn't sit well with me. Apart from the distinct possibility of lumps forming, the cornflour was added at the beginning of the cooking process for the filling and was then subsequently heated to boiling point twice. And all that heating means lots of stirring to prevent lumps, and cornflour doesn't particularly like being stirred. The other thing with cornflour is that it loses its thickening properties when heated too high and for too long. I never, ever bring it to a boil, and yet... if I was following the recipe as I promised I would when I signed up to become a Daring Baker, I had to boil the damn filling. Sure enough, I had problems. Despite the huge amount of cornflour, the mixture never got really, really thick. And given how temperamental cornflour is, I didn't want to cook it for even longer or more aggressively. When I added the egg yolks, I expected the mixture to finally thicken up properly... but it didn't. And when I finished it off with butter--thickened slightly--and lemon juice--got thinner and thinner despite adding it ultra-slowly--I knew it was a disaster. I should probably have just started again, but I chose to be optimistic. Perhaps I hadn't cooked the filling for long enough and it would firm up more after a trip through the oven and then the fridge? Yeah, right. A really, really good lemon meringue pie should have a thick, slicable filling. It shouldn't be completely set and firm like a Key Lime Pie, but neither should it slither out from under the meringue and cover your plate. Instead, it should generously concede to wobble ever-so-slightly and perhaps bulge at the edges once the slice has made its perilous journey to your plate. (I should point out that I only ever eat LMP cold. A hot LMP is heresy, as far as I'm concerned.) This... this... lemon sauce does not correspond in any way, shape or form with my idea of the perfect lemon meringue pie. Frankly, it was pretty disastrous. To give you some idea of just how runny the filling was, when I cut into the pie there was an immediate whoosh as filling spurted out and proceeded to run all over the worktop and dribble onto the floor. After staring in horror for a few seconds, I hurriedly put the collar back on the tart tin and shoved a plate underneath to catch the drips. I knew it would be runny, but I never expected it to be quite so bad! The worst thing was that I'd promised Dave's mum the finished pie as it's her absolute favourite dessert ever. I wound up making a very embarrassed phone call and promised to make her one--using my own recipe--with a proper filling rather than sauce. Despite the problems I encountered with the filling, quite a few other DBers reported back that their pies turned out amazingly well with properly set fillings, so the recipe isn't totally flawed. Just highly variable. If the pie had tasted amazing, then I could have forgiven the runny filling, but it just didn't taste that great to be honest. You would think that it would be exquisitely tart with the massive amount of lemon juice needed, but it was just sweet and vaguely lemony. Now, since I used five organic, unwaxed lemons, I was a little peeved about this. The crust was nice and short, but somehow managed to lack flavour. Left to my own devices I would probably have added some vanilla seeds and a little bit more salt to bring out the sweetness of the pastry. No complaints about the meringue. I really liked the addition of vanilla and will probably add it into my own LMP recipe. I didn't have any problems at all with the meringue weeping; the only weeping in our household came from me as I stood helplessly watching lemon sauce cascade over the worktop. So, after my first Daring Bakers challenge, I stand before you all, humbled and shame-faced, but still very excited to be a DBer. I wonder what next month's challenge will be?]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.200 2008-01-18T17:49:52Z 2008-01-19T00:04:14Z

Hay Hay, it's Donna Day! For ages now I've been stumbling across HHDD themes the day that entries close or just after. In December I decided to take charge of the situation and make a proper effort to keep...

Hay Hay, it's Donna Day! For ages now I've been stumbling across HHDD themes the day that entries close or just after. In December I decided to take charge of the situation and make a proper effort to keep an eye on ChichaJo 's blog to ensure that I didn't miss yet another one. And hooray! My obsessiveness has paid off! This month's theme for HHDD is pizza. Double-hooray! Each edition of HHDD produces amazingly creative and beautiful entries and I'll be the first to admit that I wanted to join the beautiful people—and food. I'm not sure how successful I've been in either the creative or beautiful departments, however I know that this pizza definitely tasted amazing, despite its rather homely looks! My first instinct upon seeing the pizza theme was to recreate my favourite pizza: caramelised onion and feta with rosemary. It's a triumph of sweet, sour, creamy and salty flavours. One of Mr Waitrose's triumphs, in fact. However, as we're (a) back on the eternal/infernal diet and (b) it's not a pizza that Dave gets excited about—I am far too lazy to contemplate doing individual pizzas—I had to rethink things. After some thought I settled upon making something more akin to comfort food than conceptual/cutting-edge stuff... meatball pizza. Unlike 99% of the meatball pizza recipes you'll find in a Google search, my meatball pizza actually contains bona fide meatballs. Lately I've been using an Allegra McEvedy recipe which contains two of my current darlings—pork and fennel—and makes meatballs packed with flavour that always manage to be succulent despite being baked. By happy coincidence, I happened to have a bag of them stashed away in the freezer. Alas, my sensible stashing of food in the freezer never seems to extend as far as putting tomato sauce in there, so I put together a pretty basic tomato sauce. In deference to my week of regional Italian cooking, I did make a proper soffrito and also let the sauce bubble gently for two hours, but I'd also happily use a quick 15-minute sauce or even a jar of pizza sauce. On this occasion I had the time to let the sauce cook for ages... so I did. I'm happy to report that the pizza delivers a double-whammy of comfort. It's got all the familiarity and comfort of a pizza plus the spicy, snuggled-up on the sofa feel of a good bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. I was particularly pleased that I thought to drape slices of mozzarella over the meatballs to keep them from drying out. Of course, gooey cheese on top of meatballs tastes fantastic, too! Boot notes: This is more of an Italian-American dish, although it does have its roots firmly in Naples where all the individual components hail from. So, here's to my second dish from Campania! ]]> Meatball Pizza If not dieting then please go right ahead and add extra cheeses! I'd happily add some grated Parmesan over the tomato sauce, loads more full-fat mozzarella and perhaps a few teaspoonfuls of ricotta dolloped on after baking... Serves 2 WW (UK) estimate points per serving: 13 Crust 225g plain flour 1teaspoon caster sugar 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 packet easy-blend yeast (3.5g approx) 2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil approx 140ml of warm water Topping basic tomato sauce (recipe follows, or use your own favourite pizza sauce) 6 left-over meatballs, halved 1 small onion, halved and cut into very thin moons 1 ball light mozzarella, sliced thinly or shredded Basic Tomato Sauce 1 teaspoon olive oil 1/2 small onion, finely chopped 1/2 small carrot, finely chopped 1/2 small stick celery, finely chopped 1 can whole plum tomatoes approx 150ml beef stock salt and pepper If you're making your own tomato sauce then start off with that as it takes a while to make. Sweat the onion in the oil until translucent. Add the carrot and celery, cook until beginning to soften. Tip the tomatoes in and stir carefully. Don't break up the tomatoes at this stage as it will make the sauce bitter. Season with a little salt and pepper. Allow to simmer for a couple of hours and splash in some stock from time to time as necessary to prevent it from catching. Heat the flour in the microwave for about 20 seconds. Stir well. Stir in the sugar, salt and yeast. Make a well and pour in the oil and about half the water. Pour about half the water into the well and stir well. Mix to a soft but not sticky dough adding more water as necessary. Knead for 5 minutes then put in a clean bowl and cover tightly with clingfilm. Leave to rise for about an hour until doubled. Preheat oven to its maximum temperature and put a baking stone or heavy baking sheet on the middle shelf. Either roll the dough out on a baking sheet or do the stretchy-twirly thing by hand and then transfer to the sheet. Build up the edges slightly to keep all the sauce on the crust. Spread the sauce onto the crust--you may not need all of it--arrange the meatball halves evenly, scatter onion slices over the whole thing, and top off with the mozzarella. It's a good idea to put some cheese over the meatballs! Place the baking sheet in the oven on top of the preheated sheet (or stone). Bake for 12 minutes, turning the sheet around after 9 minutes to ensure that all of the crust is cooked fully. ]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.201 2008-01-16T11:29:31Z 2008-01-16T17:39:27Z

Lucas had a little friend (T) over to play on Monday so I thought I'd do a little bit of baking for us all. I've been eyeing the cookie chapter in Dolce Italiano since it arrived, so I felt...

Lucas had a little friend (T) over to play on Monday so I thought I'd do a little bit of baking for us all. I've been eyeing the cookie chapter in Dolce Italiano since it arrived, so I felt this was a good enough excuse for some full-fat baking. I want to make every single cookie recipe from Dolce Italiano--from the chocolate kisses, to the zaletti, to the mosaic biscotti, they all just sound so enticing. As much as I love chocolate, lemon is Lucas's favourite flavour in the whole wide world--although beef runs a close second--so I chose the Lemony Semolina Cookies. The majority of lemons in Italy come from the sun-drenched Amalfi coast—running between Sorrento and Amalfi itself--in the Campagnia region. I particularly liked that this recipe calls for both fresh lemon and limoncello for an added burst of intense lemony goodness. I made some limoncello last summer, and while I'm not 100% happy with it—I think I grated in some pith as it's a bit on the bitter side—I'm always pleased when I get to use my 'own' ingredients, if that makes sense. (I should point out that I used a quarter of the amount of limoncello called for since I planned for the kids to be eating them.) With the distinctly southern additions of semolina and extra-virgin olive oil, I'm quite happy to slot this recipe into the Campagnia region. If your butter is nice and soft, this is a very quick dough to bring together. As I knew Monday would be a whirlwind of tidying—how does one keep a house vaguely neat with a toddler around?—and lots and lots of fun, I weighed out the dry ingredients and left the butter out to soften the night before. The dough came together really quickly and had a beautiful lemony-yellow colour to it, thanks in part to the extra egg yolk. I rolled the dough into quite small balls as I wanted to have cookies that were just the right size for little hands. It was an additional bonus that they came out looking afternoon tea dainty. I made a full sheet of cookies and within half an hour there were only three left, which speaks for itself really. Lucas and his friend T kept toddling over and helping themselves, and best of all... actually eating them instead of stuffing them under the sofa or inside toys as children are so fond of doing. These cookies are deliciously crunchy, lemony enough to suit any lemon-head and not too sweet. They go equally well with tea or coffee and would probably be very nice along with a glass of limoncello after a heavy dinner in place of a more traditional dolce. I love the sparkles from their quick dip into sugar before baking. Next time I'll make them with the full amount of limoncello called for; maybe splitting the recipe into adult and kid batches would work? While two tablespoons spread over five dozen cookies is practically homeopathic, I didn't feel comfortable serving up boozy cookies to a mum friend and little ones; I think 14 months is a bit early to discover if Lucas is a mean drunk or not!! ]]> Lemony Semolina Cookies Source: Dolce Italiano by Gina De Palma Makes 5 dozen cookies Be warned that this recipe really does make a lot of cookies! I probably should have halved it, however it is keeping very nicely in the fridge and I'm planning to try freezing some ready-rolled balls. Being able to bake a couple of cookies at a time would be really handy! 280g plain flour 140g semolina 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 110g unsalted butter 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 200g granulated sugar, plus extra for rolling 1 large egg 1 large egg yolk freshly grated zest and juice of one lemon 2 tablespoons limonccello (I only used a tiny drop as the kids would be eating them) 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract Whisk flour, semolina, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt together in a bowl. Using KitchenAid (or similar) cream together the butter, oil and sugar on medium speed until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg and egg yolk, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Continue to add the lemon zest, juice, limoncello and vanilla, making sure to srape the sides of the bowl down. Using low speed beat in the dry ingredients until a very soft dough is formed. Scrape out onto a sheet of clingfilm, flatten into a disc, wrap and chill for an hour. Preheat the oven to 170C (150C fan oven.) Lightly grease two baking sheets, line with baking parchment or line with a teflon sheet. Break off teaspoon-sized bits of dough and roll them into balls about an inch in diameter. Roll each in a small bowl of sugar and place on the tray. Make sure to space them an inch apart as they'll spread. Bake for 14-15 minutes until they've flattened out and are crinkly on top. Cool on the sheet for 2 minute and then use a spatula to transfer to a wire rack. ]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.199 2008-01-14T21:44:31Z 2008-01-14T23:19:36Z

Recently Antonio Carluccio presented a one-off documentary-slash-pilgrimage, following in the footsteps of Bartolomeo Scappi. If you're saying, "Who?" then you're not alone. I'd never heard of him either, but the trailers billed him as the world's first celebrity chef,...

Recently Antonio Carluccio presented a one-off documentary-slash-pilgrimage, following in the footsteps of Bartolomeo Scappi. If you're saying, "Who?" then you're not alone. I'd never heard of him either, but the trailers billed him as the world's first celebrity chef, back in the sixteenth century, no less. Scappi cooked for several cardinals before being appointed chef to Pope Pius IV. Little is known of his early life, but all scholars agree that it was the publication of his master-work Opera dell'arte del cucinare that made him the culinary superstar of his time. Nobles and wannabe-nobles bought copies for their cooks, making it an almost instant bestseller. During the course of the documentary, Carluccio cooked several dishes from Opera. Apart from the (overly) generous use of sugar and spices--both reflected the wealth of the people he cooked for--the food was not completely dissimilar to what we think of today as Italian food. This sweet and sour tuna dish is an adaptation by Anna del Conte of one of Scappi's recipes in Opera. I must admit that I felt some relief when I saw that the sweetness came from fruit rather than a copious handful of sugar. Of course, this may be Anna's adaptation at work. Either way, I'd rather eat some yummy prunes than plain old sugar. As Anna del Conte notes in her recipe introduction, the sweet and sour tempers the oiliness of the tuna. It also enhances the texture of the fish and makes it meatier--always a good thing! The amount of spice may look as though it will overwhelm the fish, but trust me. It all works out very nicely indeed--I might actually add more next time! The sauce is overall very gentle and almost refined in flavour. Ideally you should use individual portions of tuna, and not one huge steak like I did. I'm not sure it registered mentally how large the tuna was when I asked the fishmonger for two 2cm-thick steaks... 800g and £14 later, it certainly hit home! ]]> Trance di Tonno in Salsa Rinascimentale --Tuna Steaks in a Sweet-and-Sour Sauce Source: The Gastronomy of Italy by Anna del Conte Serves 2 6 pitted prunes 50ml dry white wine 1 tablespoon olive oil 2 fresh tuna steaks, no more than 2cm thick. 1/2 shallot, very finely sliced 3/4 tablespoon balsamic vinegar 1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg 1/8 teaspoon ground cloves 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon salt and freshly ground black pepper 1/2 teaspoon saffron strands 50ml meat stock Soak the prunes in the wine for about an hour. Grease a shallow roasting tin with some of the olive oil and lay the tuna steaks in it. Put the remaining oil, the shallot, balsamic vinegar,nutmeg,cloves, cinnamon, salt and pepper into a pan and bring to the boil. Lift the prunes out of the wine and add the wine to the saucepan. Crush the saffron and add to the pan along with the stock, Stir well and simmer gently for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 200C. Cut the prunes into thin strips and scatter over the fish. Taste and adjust the seasoning of the sauce then spoon evenly over the fish. Bake in the preheated oven for 15 minutes until the fish is just cooked through. Baste twice during cooking. ]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.198 2008-01-12T13:57:24Z 2008-01-13T00:57:05Z

The turn of the year always brings with it a host of good intentions and the now-ubiquitous New Year resolutions, the majority of which fall by the wayside by... oh, about now, usually. This year I've decided to be...

The turn of the year always brings with it a host of good intentions and the now-ubiquitous New Year resolutions, the majority of which fall by the wayside by... oh, about now, usually. This year I've decided to be kinder to myself and not make stupidly unattainable resolutions. (You know the sort: lose half your body weight, get fit, write a book, become amazingly tidy etc..) After all, when I look back over the year in December, do I really want to spend time beating myself up over everything I haven't accomplished or being justly proud of myself for what I have? That's not to say that there isn't an element of challenge, but it's all good, achievable stuff. So, what's on my plate for 2008? First up is growing some of my own fruit and perhaps vegetables. I have to admit that I have a bit of a head-start on this one as we already have a mature plum tree and while I'm not expecting my new apple tree to fruit this year, I will lavish some love and attention--in the form of manure or mulch--upon it. I'm also planning on turning my strawberry planter into a planter for garlic. Hopefully garlic will prove less palatable to the local birds, who snagged every last one of my strawberry crop last year. I also want to grow loads and loads of basil with the ultimate goal of making my own pesto in mid-summer. I'd also like to conquer sourdough. There's a wide streak of the Mad Scientist in me, and I can really picture myself standing over a bubbling jar, cackling, "It's alive!" I've made three attempts but I've never managed to achieve a really vigorous, world-dominating starter. Mine have been more of the genteel, tiny-bubbled ilk which seemed embarrassed to be caught fermenting. There are various other small things I'd like to do—soufflés, butchering meat, spun sugar—but what I really, really want to do this year is to Cook The Boot or... cook my way around Italy from the comfort of my own home. ]]> trattoria, osteria, cafe, or even walking through the Rialto Market—that it made me love and appreciate the cuisine even more than I already did. I'm sure that there are terrible restaurants in Italy and dreadful home cooks, too, but I've yet to encounter any. The trouble seems to begin when you remove Italian cusine from the beautiful produce that it so relies upon. The slightly longer answer is because I want to learn more about Italian regional cookery. Everyone knows that there's a big north/south divide in culinary terms—butter/olive oil, lentils/tomatoes, risotto/pasta—but I want to know more. I was also quite embarrassed to look at a map of Italy and find that I'd only heard of a handful of regions out of the current total of twenty. (Although, this isn't something that I should be overly upset at.. Would I criticise an Italian for not knowing all the regions—or counties—of Scotland?) So, how will this work? Well, I did plan to start my journey in Piedmont, work my way through Valle d'Aosta, Lombardy and then zig-zag my way down through the rest of the boot. There would have been beautifully illustrated essays talking about the history of the region, how that related to its food and maybe an examination of how the modern cuisine compares to the classical. However, that's far too logical and disciplined for me. I much prefer to pick and choose dishes based on what I feel like eating that day (or week, if I'm in meal-planning mode) or what sort of technique I want to try out. Frankly, I'm a bit of a magpie. There's another problem with starting off in Piedmont. I can't find any white truffles. Black summer truffles? No problem! White? I might as well be asking for Moon cheese. (I'm awfully anxious about truffles, by the way. I've never had them, and I'm worried that I'll turn out to be one of the 25% of women who simply cannot taste them. I do wish I could remember the source of that statistic...) As truffle is the big thing in Piedmontese cuisine, I'll be avoiding any major exploration of the region until I can lay my hands on some. I still plan to write the occasional essay about regions, particularly exciting—or new to me—foodstuffs, but it will be spontaneous. Much the best way, I think. So, led by my belly, I'll be officially beginning my gastronomic tour of Italy in Venice with some gorgeous tuna. Who knows where I'll go from there! I hope that you'll enjoy reading my exploits! ]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.196 2008-01-07T00:41:29Z 2008-01-07T22:01:29Z

Just before carving.... Yesterday was particularly momentous on two fronts. Firstly, Dave's parents came over and planted the beautiful family apple tree they bought me for Christmas--I should point out that I'm not lazy! I'm just not allowed to...

Just before carving.... Yesterday was particularly momentous on two fronts. Firstly, Dave's parents came over and planted the beautiful family apple tree they bought me for Christmas--I should point out that I'm not lazy! I'm just not allowed to do any digging because of my lovely prolapsed disc--and secondly, in return for the tree, the planting and all the incredible roast dinners that they've fed me over the years... I cooked them dinner for the first time. Yep, you heard that right. The first time. I've been with Dave for almost a decade now, have a food blog, cook extensively, and yet I've never cooked a meal for his parents. Shame on me. (I am rather good at turning up on the doorstep with cake in hand, looking for some hungry mouths to feed, though!) Whilst at the library on Friday after a morning of fun at toddler group, I was flicking through Jamie's Italy when I spotted a great shot of a piglet roasting in a wood-fired oven. Intrigued by the picture I read the accompanying prose and was promptly sold on the whole concept of making porchetta as a Sunday roast. The fact that I had a largeish leg of pork in the freezer may have helped sway my decision. Just a little. I've never been a huge fan of Jamie Oliver, but over Christmas I slowly warmed up to him after watching his Jamie at Home Christmas Special on Channel 4 and also catching part of a mini-biography of him and Gary Rhodes. I expected to love Gary and loathe Jamie, but that got turned upside-down! It was nice to see a very young Jamie, in the clip from the River Cafe documentary, talking like he does these days. Albeit slightly toned down. I feel less irritated by him--and his made-up words--now that I know he's not completely hamming it up for the cameras. Spurred on by Jamie--now there's a sentence I never thought I'd write--I started doing a bit of reading about porchetta. Traditional porchetta involves a whole piglet or suckling pig. You--or your friendly porchettaio, which is the route the very sensible Italian housewife would take--slaughter your pig, then stuff the belly with a herby green stuffing containing rosemary, fennel and onions, and some of the pig's own offal. The whole thing then gets roasted on a spit over a wood fire for several hours before being sliced up and served on crusty bread rolls. (The eternally lovely Nigella Lawson advises ciabatta rolls to soak up all the juices.) Now, I love a culinary challenge, but a piglet is a bit beyond my comfort zone. Plus, since I can't persuade Dave to let me turn the pit in the garage into a tandoor, I didn't hold out much hope of him saying that a fire pit was a wonderful idea. It was time to stop dreaming about gloriously burnished piglets, snouts running with fat, and return to a more domestic--but hopefully just as tasty--reality. I eventually settled on a recipe after cobbling bits together from Jamie, Nigella Lawson, Gennaro Contaldo and Mario Batali and diligently assembled a huge pile of aromatics and herbs. Frankly, it was a formidable amount of flavouring and if it hadn't all smelt gorgeous then I'd have worried about it being a case of “too many cooks”, but once I thought about it logically I realised that it all knit together neatly in terms of flavours. Pictured are bay leaves (from the garden!) rosemary, sage, onion, garlic, lemon, dried chilli, fennel seeds and black peppercorns. Bay leaves go with any sort of meat, rosemary and sage are particularly good with pork and combine beautifully with bay. Onions, garlic and lemon are no-brainers—a fundamental of any stuffing as far as I'm concerned. As for fennel seeds and chilli... well, they just taste great! I served the porchetta with roasted potatoes--as always, courtesy of Dave--some roasted butternut squash--I added some crushed chilli as suggested by Jamie and it was fantastic--and some spring greens that I sauteed in garlic and lemon after blanching. It was all just fantastically good. The crackling that I'd been so worried about had crackled. As my punnish husband put it, "The crackling was cracking!" The meat was succulent and so full of flavour--and not just from the herby stuffing. The British Meat Marketing Board are right--British pork is incredibly good, even the supermarket stuff. I was particularly proud of the gravy which was powerfully flavoured with all the fresh herbs I'd chucked into the roasting tin, and also slightly sweet from the root vegetables. The only thing I'd do differently next time is use a razor blade to score the skin of the pork and... cook a much bigger piece of meat! I really wanted to try it in a sandwich today, but it was all devoured in one sitting.]]> Porchetta Source: Adapted from recipes by Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson, Gennaro Contaldo and Mario Batali. 1.7kg boneless pork leg joint (or whatever cut you like best) 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 1 large onion, finely chopped 4 fat cloves garlic, minced 4 fresh bay leaves, finely chopped 2 large sprigs rosemary (approximately 10cm long apiece), needles finely chopped 2 sprigs sage, finely chopped 1 tablespoon fennel seeds 1 large dried red chilli 1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt, plus extra for the crackling 8 black peppercorns zest of 1/2 a lemon 2 red onions 1 stick celery, chopped 1 small carrot, chopped 2 sprigs rosemary 1 sprig bay leaves (there were ~8 leaves on mine) 1 glass decent white wine 250ml chicken stock Tear the chilli into pieces and put it into a mortar along with the fennel, half the salt, and the peppercorns. Grind it all together with the pestle until you've got a medium fine powder. Tip in the rest of the salt and set aside. In a frying pan over medium-high heat, fry the onion in the olive oil until translucent. Add the garlic and fry for 2 minutes, or until fragrant. Add the rest of the ingredients--herbs, spice powder, zest--and fry for another 2 minutes. Tip out onto a plate and leave to cool while you get on with the meat preparations. If your meat is already butterflied, open it out and place it on a board skin-side down. If not butterflied, then cut into it slightly with a sharp knife, and open it out. You shouldn't need to cut in more than an inch. Place a sheet of clingfilm over the meat and bash it to an even thickness with a rolling pin or meat mallet. You probably won't change the thickness considerably, but every bash helps tenderise the meat, so feel free to vent any frustrations on it. Remove clingfilm, flip the meat over and score the meat. You can either score in a criss-cross fashion to create diamonds or just cut straight lines across with width of the meat. There's probably some sort of crackling rule about this, but I can't see that it matters much. Flip the meat back over. Smear the surface with the cooled stuffing/marinade. Cut 6 lengths of string, then roll up the meat tightly. Working from the middle of the joint, wrap the string around and tie securely. You may find the string disappearing into a score or two on the rind, but that's okay. Use the rest of the string to tie the joint up neatly and firmly. If any stuffing falls out, then push it back in. Pat skin dry. Rub a generous amount of salt into the skin. Chuck the whole thing into a snug dish, cover with clingfilm and chill overnight. Preheat the oven to its maximum temperature and open a window to stop your smoke alarm going crazy. Peel and halve the red onions. Arrange them in the bottom of a suitably sized roasting tin to form a vegetable trivet for the meat. Plonk the meat on top of the onions and dry the skin one last time with kitchen paper. Rub in a little more salt and roast for 20 minutes. Turn the oven down to 190C (170C fan oven) and continue roasting for 1 3/4 to 2 hours. Halfway through the roasting time, add the extra herbs and vegetables to the roasting tin. Mix around well to coat with fat and return to the oven. Two hours will give you meat which is verging on well-done but still with succulence. Any less will give you meat which is ever so slightly pink in the middle. Either is great. Remove the meat and onions to a warmed plate, cover, and leave to rest for about 20 minutes while you make the gravy and finish off any side dishes. Set the roasting tin over a burner, pour in the wine and bring to the boil stirring and scraping well at the bottom of the tin to release all the lovely burnt crispy bits. Make sure you squash down the roasted garlic and vegetables. Allow to bubble madly for 2 minutes then pour in the stock. Bring back to the boil and allow to reduce to whatever consistency you want it to be. Strain into a gravy jug, pressing down well on the solids. Slice the pork into one inch thick slices. Serve with the roasted onion halves on the side, and perhaps an extra drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. ]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2007:/blog//1.194 2008-01-02T23:21:33Z 2008-01-03T00:38:22Z

Pepparkakor are traditional Swedish Christmas biscuits-- What's that you say? Christmas was last week? Yeah I know... Luckily for me, and my knack of blogging at a snail's pace, pepparkakor are now eaten all year round in Sweden and...

Pepparkakor are traditional Swedish Christmas biscuits-- What's that you say? Christmas was last week? Yeah I know... Luckily for me, and my knack of blogging at a snail's pace, pepparkakor are now eaten all year round in Sweden and other Scandinavian countries so I can safely tell you all about them without being rapped on the knuckles for being un-seasonal. As you might suspect, the name translates to "pepper cookie", but fear not! There's no pepper in these little beauties. According to one website I came across, back in ye olden days when pepper was very valuable,, people tried to emulate the colour--if not the flavour--with (slightly) less expensive spices. In this case, cinnamon and ginger. I'm not entirely sure that I buy that story since cinnamon was always considered a highly valuable spice, too. Slight tangent: if even just a sole merchant ship--from the small fleet that would have made the outbound journey from merry olde England--made it back from the East Indies, laden with cinnamon and other spices... well, that would be enough to defray the cost of the loss of the other ships and set up the merchant trader for life. It's quite humbling to think that the spices I take for granted were so difficult and perilous to procure in times gone by. This recipe from Diana Henry is very simple. Possibly a little too simple, in retrospect. The flavour is fantastic but the dough is quite tough to work with. Next year I'd probably up the butter to 75g, giving equal proportions with the sugar and add in an egg to make it more supple. But, as I say, the flavour of the cookies was fantastic. Sweet and spicy, with a very, very subtle hint of citrus from the orange zest which was unexpected but quite welcome. I had a lot of fun icing the pepparkakor, despite being somewhat hampered by my lack of a fine piping tip which led to me improvising with a decidedly floppy sandwich bag. I'm going to use this as my sole excuse for the rather rustic appearance of the icing. I know, I know... only a poor workman and so forth. Next year Lucas will be two and should be well up for some sticky fun with a piping bag, icing and cookies. I can't wait to see what sort of designs he comes up with! ]]> Swedish Pepparkakor Source: Roast Figs, Sugar Snow by Diana Henry Makes about 24, depending upon the size of your cutters 60g unsalted butter 75g soft, light brown sugar 2 tablespoons milk 1 tablespoon treacle or molasses 225g plain flour 1/2 tablespoon ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon ground ginger 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamon 1 teaspoon finely grated orange zest 1/2 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda to decorate (optional) 1 egg white icing sugar squeeze of lemon juice 1. Cream the butter and sugar together until very light and fluffy. Add the milk and treacle, beat well until smooth. 2. Stir in the rest of the ingredients and bring the mixture together to a dough. You'll need to get your hands in there and knead lightly. If it isn't coming together easily, then you haven't creamed the butter and sugar well enough. This can be rescued by drizzling in some extra milk and mixing by hand until the dough forms. 4. Divide the dough into four small balls. Wrap each in clingfilm and chill overnight. 5. Preheat the oven to 180C/160C fan oven. Roll the dough out to 3mm thick between a couple of sheets of clingfilm. The dough will be hard and it will crack. Just shove the bits back together and keep rolling. It will become nice and smooth. Stamp out biscuits using cutters of your choice--I used stars, hearts, and improvised moons with a circle cutter--and transfer to a non-stick baking sheet. (You don't need to grease it.) Bake for 8 minutes. Leave to cool on sheet. 6. You can now ice the biscuits using either a simple glace icing--sieved icing sugar and lemon juice--or a royal icing. To make a simple royal icing, beat sieved icing sugar into an egg white along with a squeeze of lemon juice. You need to keep adding icing sugar until a pipable consistency is achieved. Give it a really good beat to get plenty of air inside, which lessens the amount of sugar you'll have to add. ]]> tag:www.aspoonfulofsugar.net,2008:/blog//1.195 2008-01-01T16:14:50Z 2008-01-03T00:53:46Z

Happy New Year everyone! Thank-you for visiting A Spoonful of Sugar--especially those readers who have stuck with me though my all-too-frequent absences--and for all your kind comments and questions. I really appreciate them. As I skipped out on blogging...

Happy New Year everyone! Thank-you for visiting A Spoonful of Sugar--especially those readers who have stuck with me though my all-too-frequent absences--and for all your kind comments and questions. I really appreciate them. As I skipped out on blogging for rather a lot most of 2007, I feel like a bit of a fraud joining in with the triumphant parade of "Best of 2007" posts. So, instead, allow me to present to you our Hogmanay dessert! Introducing... individual Banana Praline Parfaits with a secret centre of mixed berry sorbet, topped with a shard of macadamia praline. It's a Heston Blumenthal recipe and while it feels so thrilling and exciting to say that I've cooked one of Heston's recipes, in truth he intended it as a component rather than a dessert in its own right. However, I'm sure he wouldn't be too upset to see it served in this fashion. The much more elaborate dessert that this was originally a component for is Heston's Perfect Baked Alaska, which I hope to have occasion to make one day. This was probably the best episode--followed closely by the risotto one--of his recent television series: Further Adventures In Search of Perfection. I love Heston--he's absolutely barking mad, passionate about food, and a genius to boot. I'm sure he'd be absolutely impossible to live with, but his unerring attention to detail and deep need to investigate every possible way of handling or eating food is just so appealing and it makes great television, too. He gets a lot of criticism from people who dismiss his food as overly fussy and pretentious or those who don't see the point of a cookery programme that doesn't showcase recipes achievable by even a chimpanzee working in an ill-equipped kitchen, while a hurricane rages outside. Just by way of an example, you understand. Those sort of people are missing the point. Heston doesn't expect you to go out and buy a squirrel cage and smoke your own fish, but if you want to copy him? No problem. Want to top your trifle with mediaeval comfits? Sure! Here's the method! It's all about trying new ways of doing things, pulling the best possible flavour from each dish, treating food with respect and above all... having a bit of fun with it too. And that, ladies and gents, concludes my (unintentional) love-note to Heston. (Hi, Heston! Can't wait to come over for lunch! Mwah-mwah!) Did I mention that we're going to The Fat Duck for my birthday this month? No? Well, we are and I can't wait! For someone who is renowned for complicate cooking, this is a very straightforward recipe. You start off by making a nut brittle--the original recipe called ror hazelnuts but I couldn't get hold of any, so substituted my favourite macadamias instead--grind it, then make a caramelised banana puree. These then get gently combined with a regular meringue and some whipped cream before being still-frozen. At Christmas Dave's parents gave me lots of lovely silicone bakeware. Amongst all the goodies was a jumbo muffin tray which I thought would be the right sort of size for desserts. I've always been intrigued by--and suspicious of--silicone moulds. It just seems wrong to bake a cake in something that feels so floppy and thin. However, I'm certainly a convert when it comes to freezing ice-cream in them! The parfaits popped out from the moulds with absolutely no need to run a knife around the edges, whack on the counter, or perform any arcane rituals of the sort that would normally be necessary with a metal mould. The sides were even beautifully smooth, which made for my best dessert presentation of the year. (Okay, so I couldn't resist slipping a Best... in there. So sue me!) The most surprising thing about the parfaits was the aroma. Straight from the freezer, with absolutely no chance of defrosting, you could smell the bananas. Considering that my bananas were only just ripe, that's quite a feat! The next thing I noticed was the texture: silky smooth, punctuated by all those lovely nutty praline speckles. You'd swear that it'd been lovingly churned in an ice-cream maker, but no... just dolloped into a mould and frozen. My attempt at a secret centre half-worked. The sorbet melted at a slightly faster rate than the parfait mixture, but I put it into the moulds too early and it sank straight to the bottom. The unadorned parfaits revealed all--a shameful scarlet splodge on the surface. Next time round I'll freeze the parfaits for a couple of hours before pushing the sorbet cubes into the centre. Hopefully that will be enough to prevent further sinkage. The flavours, on the other hand, worked beautifully. I'd added some limoncello to the berry mixture to (a) keep it from freezing solid and (b) cut the sweetness, and the slight sharpness played really well against the soft, mellow sweetness of the banana and praline. Really, it was almost like having summer and winter on the spoon at the same time. There are two left in the freezer... first come, first served! ]]> Banana Praline Parfait If you'd like to try a "secret centre" then either make small scoops of sorbet--a melon-baller would be a great tool to use here--and open freeze until they're as hard as possible or freeze a small amount of fruit coulis in ice-cube bags. If you choose the bag method then you'll need to return them to the freezer for at least 30 minutes once you've popped them out of the bag as the heat of your hands will melt the cubes. Follow the tips above and you should find a sweet surprise suspended in the middle of your parfait once unmoulded! Source: Adapted from Further Adventures In Search of Perfection by Heston Blumenthal Makes 6 115g macadamia nuts 115g caster sugar 250g very ripe bananas with brown skin (weighed with skin on) 10g butter 15g unrefined caster sugar (regular is fine if you can't get unrefined) 25g rum 187g double cream 3 large free-range egg whites 130g caster sugar Preheat the oven to 150C. Put the nuts into a shallow roasting tin large enough to hold them in a single layer. Roast the macadamias until lightly golden and fragrant. Set a frying pan over medium heat and tip the roasted nuts into it. Shake the nuts about as the pan heats up. When pan is hot add 115g caster sugar and keep tossing the nuts about until they're covered in a golden brown caramel. Tip the nuts and caramel out onto greaseproof paper or, ideally, a Teflon sheet and leave to cool. Once cool, grind HALF coarsely and reserve the rest for decorative purposes. Peel the bananas and cut them into 1cm thick slices. Melt the butter in a frying pan and when slightly browned add the unrefined caster sugar. Stir with a spatula until a caramel forms. Add the sliced bananas and saute in the caramel. When the bananas are coated and golden-brown, add the rum. As vapours start to rise from the pan, use a match to carefully light the alcohol and continue to cook until the flame dies out and the caramel becomes thick enough to coat the bananas again. Push the caramelised banana mixture through a sieve and set aside to cool. Lightly whip the cream until it becomes thick, like yoghurt. Refrigerate until needed. Using a stand mixer, whisk the egg whites on high speed until frothy then add about one-quarter of the remaining caster sugar. Reduce the mixer to medium speed and continue whisking while slowly adding the remainder of the sugar. Whisk the egg whites for another 5-10 minutes until soft peaks form when the whisk is removed. Fold one-third of the meringue into the reserved banana purée with the macadamia praline to loosen this mixture. Then fold in the remainder of the meringue, but be careful to not overdo this mixing. Finally, gently fold the whipped cream into the mixture. Divide between six silicone jumbo muffin moulds and freeze for at least four hours. If leaving overnight, press a sheet of clingfilm over the surface once firm to the touch to prevent freezer burn. Serve with the reserved macadamia nut brittle/praline. You can either break it up into artistic shards, grind it up or do both! ]]>