Caving in

Well, we did it. After months of resisting the daily barrage of leaflets through our door and insisting that we could do it better ourselves, we caved in and got INDIAN TAKEAWAY. Yes, you read correctly. We opted to get foil containers of ‘curry’ instead of using some of our own spices and culinary skills and making our own spicy delights.

Almost every day, we get takeaway menus dropped through our mailbox. They seem to be getting fancier and glossier as more Indian restaurants vie for the same customers. These menus have provided us with some good laughs (‘motor panner’ and ‘doet coke’ for instance), and my suspicion that I could make good money as a menu proof-reader. Nevertheless, a quick glance and the menus reach a quick end in the recycle bin.

Today, however, we decided to sample from one of Surbiton’s finest. We are spoiled for choice, with 4 Indian restaurants on our high street alone, and several more just around the corner. We went with the second oldest Indian restaurant in Surbiton, assuming that longevity in this fickle market meant quality.

This particular restaurant seems to cover all the bases, with food from all the major regions of India. This is usually cause for suspicion on my part – I imagine a kitchen with large bottles of ‘curry sauce’ labelled with a particular region of India, and a chef who glops a spoonful of any given sauce onto chicken, fish, lamb, or vegetables. Suspicions aside, we ordered a Mangalorean fish curry, an eggplant dish with a mysterious name, saag paneer (spinach and paneer), and a lamb biryani. The additional British quirk is that biryani always come with a complimentary order of vegetable curry. This seems strange to me, since biryani usually is so flavourful on its own that I can’t see the need for a curry to accompany it.

I am pleased to say that the food was great, particularly the fish curry, which tasted authentically South Indian to me, although it could have been spicier. As you can see, the food didn’t all look the same, wasn’t that greasy, and everything didn’t taste the same either! Never fear, we’ll still be cooking, but at least now we have an alternative to Village Pizza on days that we really don’t feel like slaving over a hot stove.

Other people’s shopping

One of the things I like most about going grocery shopping (admittedly, there aren’t many of them) is finding a shopping cart, a shopping trolley, as they’re known on Greenwich Mean Time. The particular chain of supermarkets we choose to frequent (let’s call it chain “W”) very conveniently has little clipboards on its carts to which you can attach your shopping list. I find reading through discarded shopping lists a curiously voyeuristic form of entertainment. Glancing through people’s scribbled lists seems somehow a little more personal than sneaking a peek at your fellow shoppers’ chosen items at the checkout. More than their food habits, you can tell whether they were in a rush when they wrote the list, what their choice of scrap paper is, whether they prefer pen, pencil or felt tip, whether they’re the kind of person who crosses off items as they grab them off the shelf, and other interesting insights into their shopping strategies. I have thus resorted to conducting an unofficial poll of other people’s shopping by stealing their discarded shopping lists. I get a mischieveous sense of glee when I spot a cart that has someone’s scrawny piece of paper with their list of scribbles on it. I quickly claim the cart and discreetly put the list in my pocket.

Most of the lists are short, with fewer than ten items on them. That in itself is strange, because ten items can easily fit in a basket, which enables you to use the faster checkouts. Convenience items predominate the lists; milk, bread, eggs and cheese feature prominently. Starches are the dominant food group, particularly pasta, potatoes and rice. Some people encouragingly make lunch for their kids to take to school (“bananas, apples, peanut butter x 2, childrens yog+yog drinks, choc dig./jaffas”), but then sadly disappoint by feeding them rather questionable items at home (“spag. shapes, Bessie Mash x 2, waffles”). Most of the lists are such that you can hardly make a decent recipe out of them, even though you could make it lots of times (“mince lamb/beef, tin toms x 8 [times 8?!?], chick pea x 4, green lentils x 2″ sounds like a lot of stew to me). Others have rather unmentionable items (“decaf, quorn, marg.”). One person wanted to buy a sofa, but then must have thought better of it and decided to buy soda instead. People buy “bog roll” or “loo roll”, but not “toilet paper”. And it’s good to know that people still like an element of surprise in their grocery shopping (“A little something for you”). Some parents have shopping budgets for their kids (“£6 for Freddy, £10 for Theo” – I’m curious to know what Freddy and Theo bought themselves with their allowance. I hope it was something worthwhile, because otherwise all they had to look forward to was garlic, chillis and kidney beans). A torn off bit of notepad paper appears to be the writing material of choice, although a few people use yellow stickies. But my personal favourite is a list written on paper in the shape of a curvaceous womanly figure in a pink flowery party dress from Lady Jayne Ltd.

I’ve often thought of leaving behind a list of my own (“pig intestines, eye of newt, raven’s claw”), although when I bother writing them, they’re invariably in some form of electronic gadget. But with the festive season fast approaching, I might be tempted to leave one with the most important list of all (“…. and a partridge in a pear tree”).

Aunt Jemima: aka How to brine a turkey

Despite my long-held desire to deep fry a turkey, I’m repeatedly told that it’s not a sensible thing to do, least of all in -20C weather. Dunk a turkey in a vat of hot oil hooked up to a propane tank. Really, I mean, what could go wrong…?

So we opted for the brining approach instead, having heard repeated testimonials of succulent brined fowl. Brining, according to the chef dude on the radio, involves soaking your turkey in a saline solution (1 gallon water: 1 cup salt: 1 cup sugar) for up to 18 hours before roasting. It’s meant to draw out the moisture and tenderize the flesh, helping produce a crisp skin and flavourful meat.

“Sounds like fun!”, we thought. And so thus was the fate of Aunt Jemima (our rather irreverently baptised turkey) sealed.

Brining a turkey does require a picnic cooler or  similar container large enough to hold your turkey, which was kindly provided by JK at great personal cost. Please note that this process requires lifting and handling of heavy loads that may result in personal injury.

Having left Aunt Jemima alone for a prolonged bath in her picnic cooler for some 14 hours, the next step was to rinse her thoroughly in the bathtub. We were warned that she might otherwise turn out very salty. Once rinsed and patted dry, the preparation can continue in the conventional way, stuffing and seasoning in your preferred manner. We opted for a sprinkling of orange juice and paprika, stuffing with a clove-studded onion and dressing with a generous rubbing of parsley butter applied sub-cutaneously.

The ceremoniously dressed Aunt Jemima was then roasted breast side down at 190C, half and hour per kilo plus an extra half hour at the end, basting regularly with the fat and butter drippings, which went mostly without a hitch with the exception of a minor emergency resulting from a leak in our disposable baking tray.

Et voila! That’s it. And the result? By all accounts, the best turkey everyone had eaten.

Brine bath

Do not disturb

Desalination

Sub-cutaneous butter application

The carving

The good, the bad and the merely adequate…

A culinary review of 2008.

This blog is dedicated to our favourite recipes of the year, trusty recipes that got us out of a bind, and recipes that weren’t worth the ink they were written in.

We’ll start by saying that our most successful culinary experiments have come from Alford and Duguid’s Mangoes and Curry Leaves, with Nigella Express coming in a close second. Particular highlights from the former were Zinet’s chicken with tomato and greens, Colombo chicken curry (note that this isn’t called ‘Colombo chicken curry’ in Colombo. Trust me, I’ve asked…. I think they probably just call it ‘chicken curry’) – a brothy, zingy dish made with rice vinegar, yogurt, cilantro and lots of onion.  Also delicious were the ginger-lamb coconut milk curry, and Katchhi village potato curry. In fact, there hasn’t been a recipe that we’ve tried from that book that hasn’t been a resounding success, as this blog will prove.

Regardless of what you may think of cookbooks that promote the shortcut route, Nigella Express does have some handy tips for those office-till-late, crazy-commute-home, can’t-be-bothered-to-cook weekday evenings. Naan pizza has been one of our most popular recipes this year (the variations are endless….).  We’ve even gone as far as testing all the varieties of naan available from the major supermarket branches (branch T won out). We also loved her delicious pear and ginger muffins.

And as for those recipes that were, at best, merely adequate… Well, let’s just say that flaked haddock and Camargue red rice cakes may sound nice on paper, but in practice, these structurally unsound creations are not worth the aggravation and frankly, become rather tedious after the second one. And the second day. And the second week…..when they become simply inedible.  We may have discerning palates, but it takes a lot for us to declare a recipe as unworthy of repeating.

The disaster with the Camargue red rice cakes, however, did lead to the resounding success of the filo pie from another of Nigella’s cookbooks, which was actually improved by the substitution of Camargue red rice for plain rice.

Finally, for those trusty staples. Our standard granola recipe (from Mollie Katzen’s Sunlight Café) has undoubtedly been our most-used recipe, largely encouraged by any sane person’s refusal to pay £3 for a bag of Liz’s granola (to say nothing of the £8 you pay at Borough Market for 600 measly grams). And the gooey chocolate puddings – a recipe courtesy of SN – which are great backup in the event of a dessert emergency (every other day, really….).

What will 2009 bring? We’ll keep you posted. I peer over at the Culinary Institute of America’s Breakfasts and Brunches as I type (a recent addition to our collection)….

Sunlight Café granola

Naan pizza

Chocolate pudding

It’s not nut-loaf…

…it’s Nigella’s chickpea and courgette (zucchini) filo pie, and it’s SO much better than any nutloaf.  For those of you unfamiliar with the nutloaf phenomenon, let me explain.

The Sunday roast in the UK is a deep-rooted tradition.  Pubs everywhere have a Sunday roast special and with the changing tastes of Britons, the traditional beef roast has expanded to include lamb, pork and occasionally, chicken.  The widespread popularity of vegetarianism brought about the infamous nutloaf.  Think meatloaf…with nuts, vegetables, etc.  There’s nothing wrong with a good nutloaf, but I pity vegetarians who really only have one option at a Sunday dinner.

A few weekends ago we invited some vegetarian friends for lunch, and decided to try something a little different than the usual fare.  Enter Nigella.  To be accurate, enter Nigella’s How To Be A Domestic Goddess.  For a few years, I’ve harboured a secret desire to have this book on my shelf (more for the title on the spine than anything else), and my wishes were granted just days before the lunch party.  As usual, I spent a few hours reading the book and found this recipe, which sounded suitably tasty and unusual.

We made alterations – substituting French Camargue red rice for the Basmati rice – and next time would consider other types of squash instead of the courgette/zucchini and add more chili.  Making a pie in a springform pan out of filo pastry was lots of fun, and for any one with a fear of filo, be not alarmed.  Filo pastry is actually much less fiddly than rolling out dough.

This dish is definitely in the running for our Christmas meal (for the vegetarians, of course – the rest of ‘em can eat turkey)!

Canadian Thanksgiving, European style……

Well, it wasn’t nut loaf after all, for which C was extremely grateful.  Rather, we sourced two large free-range chickens, accompanied by mashed potatoes, roasted root vegetables, home-made bread, browned brussel sprouts with walnuts, finished off with apple pie and cream.  No, there was no cranberry sauce, stuffing, gravy, or pumpkin pie, although we did have a traditional Canadian dip made out of chickpeas and sesame paste…… Like we said, this was Thanksgiving European-style.  There was, however, talk of the impending Canadian election, and the sad realisation from one of our guests that after 5 years away from the homeland, you are no longer eligible to vote.  I gave thanks for still being allowed to send in my ballot, in its multiple layers of envelopes.

But getting back to food…

Our chickens were named Hilda and Frida, and the intrigue of the afternoon was provided by asking our guests to choose which one they preferred, before revealing the chef responsible for each chicken.  Frida was stuffed with lemon, onion, butter, LOTS of garlic and mint, while Hilda enjoyed an orange and rosemary.  We’re still not sure what the overwhelming favourite was, but I’m convinced Frida’s garlic aromas tainted Hilda’s delicate citrus tones.

Four days later and we’re still eating mashed potatoes, vegetables and chicken.  Clearly we still have work to do in estimating how much food is required for 6 people!

Note the elaborately carved maple leaf...

The Hoxton Apprentice

The Hoxton Apprentice, 16 Hoxton Square, London N1 6NT, http://www.hoxtonapprentice.com/

After much deliberation about where to go for dinner on my birthday, we finally settled on this place, which I’d wanted to try for some time.

Set in trendy Hoxton Square, the eponymous Apprentice is housed in a converted primary school, now a modern restaurant with a popular bar, exposed brick interiors and a mezzanine. The restaurant provides training and jobs for the homeless and long-term unemployed in the community, helping them to find jobs in the hospitality sector. The menu was designed by the legendary Prue Leith (she of the annoying trio of judges in The Great British Menu), who also serves on its board.

The Apprentice serves what I think is nowadays referred to as “modern” British, presumably to differentiate it from the pile of boiled mush that British restaurants of the non-modern kind used to serve. “Modern” also means that things come in stacks, or what in culinary terms would be referred to as a Crip restaurant. [Editor's note: 'Modern' also means that some dishes came with the ubiquitous FOAM, which looks less like something edible and more like something my cat threw up].  The good thing about the menu is that a lot of the dishes are available in both large and small portions, so you can either have the traditional appetizer and main, or choose several small dishes to share around with friends. Or if you’re complete pigs like us, choose lots of small dishes to share around and then have a main.

On the whole, the meal was good, although both meat and fish were slightly overcooked for my liking. Some dishes were a bit unbalanced; roasted fennel was too overpowering as an accompaniment to scallops. The macaroni with black truffles and Arbroath smokie fish cakes were delicious, but the best dish of the evening was the bread and butter pudding (with candle) – warm, moist, not too sweet. Excellent. Service was friendly, informative, but unobtrusive, and we befriended the couple at the neighbouring table, who seemed rather amused at our continual food photography. They turned out to be interesting company, even if the man called G an American (AR called him a Scot, so fair’s fair…..), and we had coffee with them until closing time!

Scallops with roasted fennel and pea cress

Pork loin with black pudding and chorizo hash

Bread and butter pudding

Where have all the turkeys gone?

It all started off so well.  The idea was to celebrate an annual Canadian festival with close friends, some Canadian, and some not.  What could be complicated about a dinner party with fresh, in-season produce in honour of the harvest?  Well…it seems that if you are in need of a certain type of poultry, this is NOT the city in which to live.  Oh yes, London has turkeys.  It’s just a bit complicated if you want a small turkey for eight in October.  Ask a butcher and you will get strange looks when you not only want a turkey in October, but you want a bird of only 4 kilos.  Apparently you can only eat turkey at Christmas and Easter.  In some select neighbourhoods, the various chain grocery stores will stock turkeys for American Thanksgiving.  But woe betide any homesick Canadian who wants to eat turkey in October.

We have spent countless hours scouring the internet to source the elusive poultry with absolutely no luck.  The only grocery store (for legal purposes, we shall refer to it as chain W) that even stocks frozen turkeys fooled us into a false sense of hope when we saw assorted sizes and types of turkeys (organic, free-range, and other – presumably raised in small cages?) on their online shopping catalogue.  So close and yet…apparently if you live where we do, all you can purchase online is a frozen turkey crown.  What, we asked, is a turkey CROWN?!  And what happened to the rest of the bird?

So here we are, less than 2 weeks away from our dinner, faced with the prospect of serving our guests a nut loaf.  To console myself, I made some cookies…

Oh my, apple pie…..

What do you do when your 93-year old neighbour has two apple trees loaded with delicious apples, and tells you to take as many as you want?  If you are C’s brother-in-law, you con your family into climbing said trees to pick a large boxful of apples, and rake up all the ones that have fallen to the ground, just to be a kind neighbour.  You then talk them all into returning the following weekend to spend a Sunday afternoon making pies and crumbles, making it sound like the best possible way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

And so we found ourselves last weekend, peelers and paring knives in hand.  I was given pastry duty and was soon covered in flour, while others spent several hours peeling and cutting endless piles of apples.  Two pies and three crumbles later, and we had to eat the fruits of our labours.  Never have we eaten so many apple-based desserts, and I think it’s safe to say that we’re quite happy to hide the remaining pies in the freezer for at least a couple of months.

We had to decide if Canadian apple crumble was superior to British crumble…the primary difference being the more ‘crumbly’ topping on the Canadian version, and the mushier apples in the British version.  Oh, yes, and the definitively British tradition of serving apple crumble with hot custard.  A firm verdict wasn’t reached, but I still maintain that hot custard takes a distant second place to a nice scoop of vanilla ice cream.  In fact, I’m still quite sure that putting hot custard on pies, cakes and crumbles doesn’t really float my boat…