New Home

Dear readers,

I have moved. Since coming back from Ballymaloe I moved to London and have spent the last four months recovering from the culture shock. I now live above an old school in Maida Vale where I cook, eat, read far too many expensive magazines and drink almost enough wine. In light of this I felt The Mild, Mild West could be put to bed, at least for the time being.

I hope you'll come looking for me and my adventures in seasonal cooking at the new blog, http://dinelikeapauper.wordpress.com/ and perhaps give me your news.

TTFN

Alice

Please Don't Eat The Herbaceous Border

 
Hello, reader. It's been quite some time I know but I have good reason.

For those of you who don't know what I've been up to via facebook, twitter or my excitable chatterings, I've been working furiously in the run up to the 12 week certificate course at the Ballymaloe Cookery School in East Cork. That's in Ireland, if the 'Bally' bit didn't give the destination away. Under the extremely watchful eye of the legend Darina Allen I've already spent a week in this amazing corner of the world.

If, like me, you're in to self-sufficiency, sustainable farming and produce that really tastes of something, this is the equivalent of a yoga fan training intensively in and Indian institute. I'm in my temple for the first time and I'm still in awe. Alongside demonstrations and cooking students have tasks like making bread, churning butter, picking salad leave and fresh herbs from the many acres of gardens and glasshouses. A morning's furious (though hopefully successful) work in the kitchens creates lunch for the school, accompanied by the famous lemonade and salad.

The Ballymaloe way of life is as important as the recipes, so day one began with a blustery, wet walk of the farm, where everythingwas and what it did. I was almost overwhelmed by that alone. The following day and a half touring the kitchens, learning the Ballymaloe story sent us, minds reeling, into the first demonstration. Chopping and slicing, making soda bread, making soup and rubarb crumble. Wednesday morning we bowled into the kitchen, were corraled into groups of six and set to learning to chop. This may not have been larks for the few with chef training but for me it was a blessed relief to realise I'm perfectly capable of dicing an onion, when told how!The results of the morning's cooking were brought nervously to the dining room, to be eaten by students, teachers and guests alike.

It's been one week but already we've have talks from Giana of Gubbeen cheese (fabulous semi hard, goes as nutty and sweet as anything you'll get on the continent when smoked), Clarissa Hyman of The Guild of Food Writers and last but anything but least Alice Waters of Chez Panisse. The gasp at the mention of her name was more than audible- it almost pulled the windows closed! My head spins as I go through lecture notes, file recipes and do work orders for the coming day but I'm still excited and will bound into the kitchen come eight tomorrow morning, for black bean stew and basmati rice.

Will keep you all posted, naturally.

TTFN

Dinner Party of a Domestic Mortal

I've been pretty relaxed over the last couple of posts- a soup here, a muffin there, all lots of fun but sometimes you just want to push the boat out. Last week the urge to really get stuck into my kitchen just took me over, twinned with a peek at the most gorgeous loin of Gloucester Old Spot pork in Source. Rare breed a day off coming up could only mean one thing: friends for dinner.

A lot of people I know remember 'dinner parties' as the sort of thing their parents used to face with traditional British phlegm, sipping their beaujolais nouveau through gritted teeth, wondering if these social animals at their table were worth tomorrow's washing up. I was lucky, living in student houses with the likes of La Journalista, a true food nut who just wanted to sit friends down at her table and give them something nice to eat while they kept her glass topped up. I loved those evenings, so much so that I never minded the mountain of dishes, pots and pans I tried to sidestep for the next morning's coffee.

It can be a bit of an art, having people over. My only rule is, they must be people you like. You know, the funny ones, better still the ones who find you funny, who talk, listen and keep pouring. For this evening Card House Theatre and Pretty Little Miss were the guests of myself and The Blonde, though not after the former had mussed up his shirt helping to carry a writing desk up three flights of stairs. Kudos.

It was yet another cold, January day, so there was no better way to spend my precious friday off than huddled over a stove. Dinner was set for 7.30-8.00, I had set my menu but not picked up any ingredients or done any cooking when I woke up in Cotham. Here's the timeline of a very informal dinner party, if not incident free then surprisingly relaxed.

Starter/ nibbles: home baked focaccia with oil and vinegar and a little mortadella.

Main: roast pork loin on the bone, with cauliflower cheese and white cabbage sauteed in oyster sauce.

Dessert: madeleines dipped in melted chocolate served with mint tea.

10:00 am: finally leave the flat and head to Source to pick up the pre-ordered pork (okay I did order that in advance, on Twitter as it happens) and the butcher Joe and I discussed what to do with how much of it. Well he suggested things and I decided to agree with the pro. That was the right decision- he did a beutiful french trim on the ribs and showed me how to slice off the bone at the base of the cut. Headed home via picking up ingredients for cauliflower cheese and madeleines. It wasn't till later in the afternoon I realised I forgot cabbage. Never fear, roommate supreme turned up with one after work.

12:00 Arrive home, prep pork and leave in the fridge, covered. Had a quick lunch. Well I couldn't see a way to eating before dinner. Anyway it's my day off, I'll do as I please.

12:30 made the focaccia dough and set it aside to double in size while I made the madeleines. They went so well I made another batch today, and I still love them as much as last week.

14:00 stretched the dough to a roasting tin, left to prove for another 20 or so minutes to rise slightly. Washed up the madeleine debris, then baked the bread, 30 minutes in a medium warm oven. I realised I had also forgotten any herbs for the bread, which might have made it a little prettier, so I decided that if anyone asked I would bluff its Italian authenticity.

14:30 while the bread was baking I made the cauliflower cheese. Unlike the recipe I made a roux, then added the milk slowly, the way everyone does. The cheese was Keens cheddar, from Trethowans Dairy. I let both the cauliflower and the sauce cool separately, then poured both into an oven dish, covered with foil and put in the fridge until ready to bake.

15:00- 17:00 shower, tidy, dress, change mind, change clothes, sit down (very important day off activity, sitting down) until The Blonde shows up with cabbage and news of her day. Shred cabbage, set aside for sauteeing later. Pre heat the oven for the Pork.

17:30 put pork in the oven with cider and shallots using Mike Robinson's recipe. This turns out to be a bit early but not the end of the world. Make the base for the sauce in the recipe, then leave to one side when sufficiently reduced.

18:15 turn up oven, put on make up. Have first glass of wine and put out bread and mortadella.

19:00 out comes pork. Shallots are charcoal but meat is perfection itself, with gorgeous crackling. Leave it to rest, covered.

19:30 take cauliflower cheese from fridge, sprinkle with extra Keens and breadcrumbs, put in the oven.

19:45 arrival of guests. Finish the cider sauce with meat juices. Carve meat and saute cabbage, adding oyster sauce to finish, while writing desk is admired, somewhat breathlessly.

8:00 out comes cauliflower cheese, table is laid and dinner commences.

9:00 (I think) the lovely Green&Blacks chocolate brought by the even lovelier Pretty Little Miss melted in the microwave and served with the madeleines and mint tea.



Looking at the timeline it seems like I did a lot but really there were lots of pauses, mainly in order to do important things like sitting down, checking Twitter and drinking wine. The point is, it is possible to bake three times (if you count cauliflower cheese) and roast once in one day.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but then again I would, and my glass just kept filling up with wine after my guests arrive. They were my kind of guests. They are more than welcome to feed me whenever they like.

Winter is for Afternoon Tea.

Well, hot drinks anyway.

January's not the easiest time of year. Christmas is done, New Years resolutions are looking shaky (chocolate and red wine's looking real good after a cold walk home from a long day at work). Everywhere on the internet, in food magazines and colour supplements folks are trying to get me to eat poached chicken and coleslaw made with vinaigrette, not mayo. Stop it, all of you! If I want to eat salad I will, in a dignified fashion, away from people.

Yes, I overindulged over christmas, actually I overindulged more on New Year's Eve (went back to the Montpelier Basement, eight course extravaganza) but rather than cut back too far on calories or carbs I'm opting for eating lots of the good stuff. There are still plenty of customers to run around after at work and this sudden chilly turn makes me want to curl up with something hot and good for the soul. I don't really like tea, I occasionally find it soothing but never refreshing and these muffins may be low fat but they're also pretty filling.

Gruyere, Courgette and Pine nut muffins.

The base of the muffins I got years ago from Delicious Magazine (always quote your sources) and I find for a savoury muffin it's hands down the easiest formula. Buttermilk's available from big supermarkets but low fat natural yoghurt will do fine. In place of the pancetta, cheddar and spring onion I put in a large, finely grated courgette, about 100g gruyere with extra grated on top and a couple of handfuls of toasted pine nuts. On reflection the gruyere wasn't as strong as I'd hoped, but a good strong one would do. Gorwydd Caerphilly would be lovely or good old mature cheddar.

Hot Spiced Apple and Ginger

I had a glass of hot ginger and apple juice in a cafe in Bristol city centre (it shall remain nameless as service and prices weren't worth celebrating). It hit the spot on a cold day, so much so that I made my own version at home to blow away a cold. Don't be chintzy with the ginger, the warmer the better. If looking for a twist on the classic hot toddy I reckon one might add a little whisky or better still, cider brandy.

enough for 2, or one very thirsty/cold filled person

350ml apple juice, not from concentrate
about 2 inches cubed of fresh ginger, grated
squeeze of lemon juice
1 heaped tsp honey
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon, better still a cinnamon stick
plenty of fresh grated nutmeg

heat up the honey, ginger and lemon slowly in a small saucepan. When bubbles appear pour in the juice, stir to mix with the syrup base and let it continue to heat up slowly.

When the juice hits a simmer add the cinnamon and grate in lots and lots of nutmeg. Let it simmer away for about 5 minutes, give it a taste, add something if you want or let it simmer for another couple of minutes till the scent of spices and ginger fills the kitchen, then pour into two glasses using a tea strainer or sieve.

I'll be back soon with more seasonal recipes and Bristol profiles now the world has righted itself and work isn't stuffed to the gills with office parties. I must admit inspiration's been slow coming as all I wanted to eat the week after christmas was hummus and carrot sticks! However I'm back, baking and ready for dinner.

TTFN

Winter Warmer: Curried Sweet Potato Soup with Goats Cheese and Creme Fraich Dressing

I know, right, a soup recipe. Anyone can make a soup. Veg, stock, a stick blender and you're set, from raw ingredients to dinner for as many as your pot can handle in less than an hour. That's its charm and also what makes it feel a little ordinary. It's the meal you eat curled up on the sofa with a film you'd never admit to enjoying in public. That's all well and good but if you've a guest or two and no cash for flashy ingredients this will be an elegantly rustic dinner with sufficient polish you'd happily scarf it down in your local bistro for a mark up.

Serves 4

4/5 sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped to to an even size
1/2 an onion or 1 banana shallot (which I used) finely diced
1 carrot, peeled and finely diced
1 celery stick, finely diced
1 heaped tsp hot madras curry powder (or medium, or mild as your taste specifies)
1 level tsp smoked paprika
1 ltr good stock. I used chicken but I admit vegetable bouillon would be just as tasty and healthier.
Handful parsley, chopped, four pinches to one side for garnish
50g soft goats cheese (I went with Capricorn, having removed the rind. It's easier to beat into the creme fraiche)
2-3 tbsps half fat creme fraiche

Before any of this I made up a batch of dough for six Fougasses according to the recipe in Richard Bertinet's excellent book Dough. If you really want to learn how to make bread then this gentleman's writing answered all my stupid questions without once patronising me- not bad for a seasoned pro. I let the dough rest to double in size while I made the soup. Homemade bread in pretty shapes for dunking: show-off step 1.

Heat some oil in a large saucepan and toss in the soffritto of onion, carrot and celery. I should note here that the soffritto element of this doesn't have to be finely diced as the end product will be blitzed but the finer the base the quicker it will cook off and you can add your sweet potato. Stir in the spices and parsley and let the vegetables sweat with the lid half on for about 10 minutes.

Pour in the stock, bring to the boil, then reduce to a simmer. Leave simmering on a low hob for 30 minutes, or when the sweet potato is cooked through. Put your oven on to its highest heat for the bread. Blitz the soup with a stick blender and mind out for spatter. Actually never mind, if you're making fougasses you're probably covered in flour anyway. I always am. Keep the soup hot and, shape the fougasses (good luck with that, mine looked like spaceships) and bake according to the good book.

While the bread is on, whisk the goats cheese into the creme fraiche with some vigour. Put the bread on a nice, decorative board with some decent butter (mine this time came from my first visit to Ruby and White. Gosh darn it they're good). Show-off step 2. Ladle the soup into bowls, top with dressing, top the dressing with the remaining parsley and if you really want to make it look pretty drizzle a little extra virgin olive oil on top of that.

Dust off the worst of the flour and join your friends for dinner. And remember, ye who cooketh, washeth not up.

More Peasant Food, thanks to C & T Licata and Son

I don't know if you've twigged this yet, but if there's any one style of cooking I truly love, it's Italian. Italian cuisine is the perfect food for those on a restricted budget: it knows when to take cheap cuts and slow cook them with pulses till all is unctuous and savoury, it knows when to throw the freshest, brightest ingredients together for a crisp finish with no unnecessary cooking to muddle things. All in all it is the style of cooking I always lean towards, as my father toward classic english cooking (his ultimate dinner: steak and kidney pudding) and my mother toward French peasant (the very thought of her chicken casserole is enough to send me hurtling to the nearest train station). Their cooking makes me think of the home of my childhood, while Italian cooking brings sweet memories of the homes I have since made for myself.

The very first dish I cooked successfully from scratch was a risotto with baby leeks and mascarpone and it tasted like being a grown up. The next was baked polenta topped with mozzarella and parma ham. But for me the apex of Italian food, that which as had me hooked since I was a fussy child, is pasta. Perfectly cooked, with a little bite, silky from a splash of the starchy cooking water, this ingredient needs almost nothing to make it sing. I am putting up this dish as a shout out to everyone across the world who subsists on pasta, for every bloke who dusts off his mum's spag bol recipe for a girlfriend and student who buys a new pesto jar every week (been there) and the fussy child given plain as plain can be spaghetti and butter in restaurants. I ordered this dish in a tourist friendly restaurant in Venice and the memory of it has lain dormant in my mind ever since. On my last day off I was in C & T Licata and Son, saw a bag of orechiette and was halway there. On my way to the till I passed a fridge with some spicy Calabrian sausages and the dish just came together in my head. I must note here that if you're not a huge fan of spicy sausage then a very good butchers or a herby lincolnshire would make a happy replacement, better still an intensely garlicky Toulouse sausage.

Orechiette with Broccoli and Spicy Sausage.

serve four, generously

500g pack of dried orechiette
1 head of broccoli, florets cut off with a sharp knife, stalk chopped roughly the same size as the florets
1 tsp dried chilli flakes
roughly 200g parmesan, grated
1 generous tbsp garlic puree
4 Italian sausages (entirely optional, the pasta is superb with the sauce if vegetarian)

Cook the broccoli. Bring a pot of salted water to the boil, add the chopped stalk and cook for roughly 2 minutes. Then add the florets and cook until just cooked, when a sharp knife pierces it with ease. Drain and set to one side while you put the pasta on (I had to do this as I only have one large saucepan, feel free to put both on simultaneously). Then put the broccoli, stalk and floret, into a food processor and blitz to a coarse paste.

Put a frying pan on a medium to high heat. Add a splosh of olive or rapeseed oil and a generous knob of butter. When the butter is frothing add the chilli and garlic puree and fry a little. It will smell like everything you ever liked about Italian family restaurants, but don't get carried away. Add the blitzed broccoli and fry, stirring only very occasionally. The smell just gets better as you go.

When the pasta is almost cooked cooked, remove a big mug of the starchy cooking water, if not a bit more, then drain the pasta. Add a splash of the cooking water to the sauce base and stir it in, enjoying how silky and creamy it's becoming. If it even starts to get dry, add more water. This is not like pesto, it is a sauce. Add the pasta and let it finish cooking in the broccoli sauce, then stir in the parmesan.

Heat a second pan then fry off the sausage meat, removing it from the skins and stirring with a wooden spoon. If you fancy deglazing the pan with a little wine then feel free, why waste those lovely caramelised bits left behind?
Serve the pasta in bowls, spooning the sausage on top. There should be enough even to feed four hungry blokes, with plenty of that meaty kick they often require. If there are any vegetarians I'd serve it on its own as it stands alone very well, but a little wilted spinach would be another dimension.

Bread and Brunch.

It's the height of the Real Bread campaign this week, Mark of Mark's bread was giving a class at work this week and some sort of national baking week has been announced. Have I managed to celebrate this week with some baking? Not quite, no. But I did make it to a quiet Harts Bakery today at around noon as the bakery wound to a close. It's a beautiful place, where Laura Hart produces sourdough, baguettes, hand rolled croissants and danish pastries (which almost no one does), bicycle shaped biscuits and recently some truly fabulous jams. If you live in Bristol and can get to Cotham before 1ish, pop in and try to leave without buying something. I dare you. I'd also point you to the excellent article written by Slivana de Soissons for The Foodie Bugle, which says anything I'd like to say on the subject of Laura and her lovely business. Luckily for me it was a quiet tuesday and I had a choice of breads and pastries. Baguette and Gruyere and ham danish for me, plus an inviting jar of homemade apricot and vanilla jam.

As I hikked up Whiteladies road munching on my danish I was wondering what to do with my 'French stick', when I remembered the previous sunday's late breakfast with Card House Theatre. Went to bed (to the soundtrack of miscellaneous metal, a party was still in full swing) convinced there were both eggs and bacon in the kitchen. Woke to find eggs and a large baguette still safe and a pan smelling of bacon fat on the hob. I had a vague memory of a Tamasin Day-Lewis recipe for tumbled eggs in french bread as a brunch recipe, which we threw together over strong coffee. It was pretty good, with a little spread on the bread, eggs spooned in with grated cheese and a little hot sauce then bunged in a medium oven to heat through. It was just the thing to set the day off and so here is a slightly ponced up version for your delectation. Perfect for brunch with coffee or bucks fizz or as a very easy dinner after work.

Serves 2:

4-6 eggs (depends on your appetite) in my case from Source
small handful of chopped parsley
big handful any hard cheese, grated (I used Gorwydd Caerphilly from Trethowan's Dairy)
about 12" french stick
good quality butter

Preheat your oven to about 160/150 fan/ gas mark 4 and stick in a baking sheet. Cut your bread to roughly 6" each (no jokes, please) and break open down the middle, preferably with fingers and thumbs. Butter liberally and leave to one side while you cook the eggs.

Beat the eggs while you melt more butter in a frying pan (nobody said this was a healthy dish). When the butter is foaming add the eggs and scramble with a wooden spoon slowly to make big, creamy curds of scrambled egg. After about a minute add the parsley, sprinkling so as to avoid clumps of herb in the egg. Cook the eggs to your taste; I like them barely cooked, creamy, with great big curds. Season with salt and pepper (it really is better to season the eggs after cooking rather than before) and spoon into the bread. Add the cheese and stich in the oven for 5-7 minutes till the bread has warmed through and the cheese has melted.


Then the only thing to do is serve and eat:
Yes I made it look fancy with a bit of salad, but honestly the best way to have this is with a really hot cup of coffee, sitting on the kitchen top with someone who'll pretend not to notice all the egg spilling on the floor.