tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90489406813867837932024-03-05T05:48:53.826+01:00Ibiza Chef Blog - Food Cooking Recipes Pics Recipix - La Grande BouffeIbiza Chef to the Stars - Mark Watkin's Blog, Recipes, Recipix, stories and fun from the White IslandLa Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-13929374505538778262017-11-25T12:48:00.001+01:002017-11-25T12:48:34.413+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Spit Roast - Rotisserie verses Rotary</b></div>
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I was recently in a large and expensive hotel in Ibiza Town. I was not there however, I am never there, to experience the excellence of the hotels facilities but to pick up some cheese required for a catering job. The client insists on a particular type of cheese that required me to go this hotel and pick it up from one of his surfes.</div>
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In the foyer I bumped into an acquaintance, a type of fixer, a Celestina for the 21st century. She was surrounded by 10 or so leggy chicks. They in turn were surrounded by their baggage train which, in its turn, was surrounded by the body guards. All these girls were in their late teens, early 20s and looked as if they had been produced in a factory somewhere. An underground factory probably, with its own subterranean train network and lots of men with machine guns and no lines. These girls were identical. All tall, all slim, all had perfect skin. They all wore more or less the same clothes and the same bored and slightly pained expression. Bored because of the endless waiting no doubt, slightly pained because they knew what was in store. The thing that struck me about these elongated nymphs was their hair, falling dark and absolutely straight to below their shoulders. All identical. The sort of hair that had just had more spent on it than the reception clerks earn in a month. This hair must have been one of the prerequisites.</div>
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I had first come across this level of whoring when I did a party for a yank a few years before. Those of us who work in the event industry see each other throughout the season and we all see stuff that might not ordinarily be seen. But this party was different. Everyone who was busily getting ready for the nights festivities was agog at the quality of the poontang. Literally jaw dropping. There are a lot of good looking chicks on Ibiza, I mean <i>really</i> good looking, but this was something other. Something altogether celestial. I found it difficult to work as I couldn't get close enough to my work bench to chop effectively and soon got back pain.</div>
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The housekeeper informed me that the girls draped around the place had been vetted in New York and flown in specially for the party giver's holiday and that night's party in particular. They were all his to be fucked, sucked and chucked as his vacation went along. I later learnt they were used in rotation over the course of his stay - the fucking pool sharing bunks in the basement whilst the beguiling host got his end away in the penthouse with that day's/night's chosen ones. When he had had his fill of one batch they were ordered back down to the basement (or simply to leave if they were local to Europe) and the new lot would be sent upstairs. Of course he, being generous, had invited his many friends to join him doing as they pleased to the lucky ladies.</div>
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At one point in the evening the host and one of these friends went charging upstairs with one of the girls. They chanting the name of a popular love making method more usually associated with cooking chickens, or pigs. We were all struck by the debonair sophistication that only money can by.</div>
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I too was trying to skewer some pork but sadly in the shape of spiced kebabs. In between piercing the meat's flesh with the sharp prong and penetrating the next piece of flesh I got to thinking of this ancient cooking method and its modern counterpart. The traditional spit roast involves a trussed animal being pierced anus to mouth by a metal pole and rotated over coals. In Spain the chicken joints, pollerias (enter Gus Fring), have four birds on one spit and then four spits on top of one another. Each spit rotates the birds, their juices juices dripping onto the fowl below. The more modern method (which I have only seen in British supermarkets and not yet tried) involves the chickens sitting on long wire baskets in a sort of squat Ferris wheel, the wheel rotating in front of the burners and the birds remaining upright throughout. It got me to thinking that this clever man was putting into practice both methods - the girls being sent up to his suite to be spit roast and then down to the basement in rotation. Those yanks, eh? You have to admire their panache</div>
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For spit roast recipes please visit www.youporn.com </div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-26505216515061200142015-05-06T12:17:00.000+02:002015-05-06T12:20:36.586+02:00you fuckers<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;">What a
bunch of cunts. I know that is fucking bad language but Jesus H Fucking Christ
why are we allowing ourselves to be treated with such utter contempt. Is it a
doorstep? Is it a doorstop? Fuck off you absolute heel. Its shit bread filled
with shit ingredients. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;">The 'Little Bit
of British Inspiration in All Our Food?' The inspiration to treat the masses as
ignorant cattle in the firm belief and secure knowledge that we will swallow it
not only without a qualm but willingly too – “all we need to do is point at the magic lifestyle
reflecting mirror with one finger leaving our other hand entirely free to rifle
their pockets with abandon.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Our art
is created with potato prints” – shame they couldn’t put anything as natural in
the stuff they pass as food. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;">“Real
food, hand crafted” – crafted by food handlers wearing hairnets</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;">and surgical gloves scraping a living
on minimum wage</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They,
whoever they are, are so right to treat us as imbeciles, we behave as such.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I had two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-72289917427373689342014-11-24T14:53:00.002+01:002014-11-24T22:39:08.993+01:00Quick salmon ‘n’ salsa<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have been looking for a reason to start writing this blog again and at the suggestion of a friend have plumbed for recipes that can get men who dont usually cook.......to cook. I am aiming at capable, busy men who are being forced by modern times to take on more of a role at home. Men who for one reason or another havent cooked since they began cohabiting with <i>a woman. </i>I am not naturally organised nor ordered but crave both. Many men naturally are or at least like to see it so the recipes are written with that in mind - careful measurements and timings; timesaving methods; ideas for further uses where applicable, how to store and for how long etc. So here goes......</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Salmon ‘n’ salsa. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I put in the ‘n’ because I think food always tastes nicer if you think it is American.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> The
following recipe is super simple and very agreeable to all but the most
irritating diners. It takes half an hour if you don’t know what you are doing
and about 20 mins if you do. Do it 5 times and you will get it done in 15<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I will not
go into the provenance of ingredients. I need to leave that to
others. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;"> I loathe shopping with a passion but it has to be done. The below is all bought in a supermarket. Needless to say you will be closer to God (ie further away from the Devil) if you buy it from the likes of Tony Archer. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Serves 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 fillets
of salmon (most supermarkets have them already cut and if not the monger will
cut you the weight you need)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 level
tea mug of basmati rice<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">200g
spinach<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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ripe mango<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">½ small
red onion (70g +/-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 lime
(give it a squeeze to see it is juicy)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1 chilli<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">½ a small
bunch of coriander (40g +/-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1. Cook
rice - Choose a high sided pan that is is about 6 times bigger than the mug.
Pour the mug of rice into the pan, add just under double the quantity of water
and a pinch of salt. Put heat on full volume, stir a bit and cover. Keep and
eye or an ear open for when it comes to the boil. When it does switch it down
to minimum and turn off 10 mins later. Leave it with its lid on to steam and
fluff up. (see note 1)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2. Wash
spinach – Open bag (presumably it comes in a bag) with scissors, place the
opening under the tap and fill with water. Sluice it around a bit, leave of a
few mins, sluice and leave again then lift out the spinach into a colander and
let it drain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3 Make
salsa - Squeeze lime juice into bowl big enough to take all ingredients.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Peel and
chop red onion into fine dice (see note 2) and put into bowl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Peel the
mango with a potato peeler then cut into slices a similar thickness to an
iPhone. Then dice the slice. Add to bowl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Cut stem
off the chilli and have a lick. That will indicate its potency. Roll the chilli
between your finger and thumb squeezing out the seeds. Then chop the chilli
into tiny ringlets. Add the quantity you know you and your diners can deal with
(and a tiny bit more) to bowl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Chop
coriander leaves and stems nice and fine. Add to bowl<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Give it a
stir and place stylishly on your Ercol dining table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4. Cook
salmon – put fish skin side up and season with salt and course ground black
pepper. Choose a wide low-sided pan that will fit all the pieces with a little
room spare on each side. if they sit too close together the salmon </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11pt;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;">teams </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">rather than </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;">sears</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 15px;">.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Get the
pan hot<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and switch on extraction.
Lay the pieces evenly spaced in the pan skin side down. No oil is needed (see
note 3). Turn the heat down to ¾ volume & leave it to sizzle, hiss and sear
for 4 mins. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Using a
palette knife or similar (see photo) send the tip in between the pan and skin
of the first piece. It <i>should</i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> lift with only the
slightlest restistence. Keeping the fillet between the palette knife and your
finger on the flesh side, flip it over. If the skin does not want to move
without making a mess then it needs a little more time (the more it is cooked,
the easier it comes away from the pan). Repeat with other 3 and cover with a
lid. 4 mins later the fish should be cooked. You will know this because it
should look as if it is beginning to sweat. If you are unsure, lift one out and
break it open with your fingers to see if it is cooked inside. It should have
changed from the uncooked reddish pink to whitish pink. Be careful not to leave it <i>too </i>long. If you do you will recognize this because the sweat will be milky to the eye and th flesh dry to the tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">5. Cook
spinach – in the time it takes from flipping the salmon over you can cook the spinach.
Heat a pan that would fit all the spinach in it were you to squash it all in.
Again no oil needed here; the residual water from washing the spinach is
plenty for it to cook in. Add a hand</span>ful of spinach into the pan and stir. Once
it begins to wilt, add another handful and so on till all the spinach is
cooked. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Pour the liquid that comes out
into a little glass and gulp down that delicious spinach consomme yourself.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Put the
rice on the plate with some spinach next to it and the salmon on top. Spoon
some salsa next to it, call the prandialists and <i>glow.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><u>Notes<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- This is
an ultra simple rice recipe, there is no mystique involved, no “oh but isnt
rice difficult to cook?” Nix.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- For the
best way to peel and chop and onion see J.O. link here </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQZtCVkypAo">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQZtCVkypAo</a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The only
thing I would add is that if you don’t cut off the actual root at all you will
cry less. If you do not relish slicing and dicing (which I do, it's legal) then
get an alligator (see photo)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- Minimise
mess and washing up – eg use packaging as a surface for seasoning fish. Wash and
wipe as you go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- Salmon
has copious quantities of its own fat. They start seeping the moment the skin
hits the hot pan. If you add oil yourself your it will burn in the pan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- Use your
common sense throughout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-90793398369441274252013-10-20T22:27:00.000+02:002013-10-20T22:27:15.373+02:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Rovellones</span></div>
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Now is the season of this content:</div>
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click on it to magnify</div>
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La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-591916030000214872012-03-03T14:53:00.000+01:002012-03-03T14:53:00.609+01:00Once Upon A Time.......<div style="text-align: center;">
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715617337227577298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBQF3G1MirJgYGd8VhsuzU7sSudSonNpx-1iBZLBMeAN_d3rZmcwYl0LpMBy9IgrRHsLUysYmkIou6rF6tLS7Bsc7H3RqMiQ8J4z1Mv0wU5xuqoQBiRMq2Zk5n-gZTQVzLmYTONrdsWg/s400/discs.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 299px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">Nothing can prepare you for eating at Noma. Having fallen asleep in the departures lounge and nearly missed the flight, we had flown into Copenhagen for what we thought was going to be lunch but turned out to be a mind boggling journey into a culinary fairytale. The aptly named Redzepi is the triumphant product of Hansel and Gretels' wild coupling on the forest floor. It is said he worked in el Bulli and in the French Laundry but I believe this was just part of his fevered imaginings there in the woods with elves and pixies as his guides and mentors. His early years were spent picking the fruits of the forest and preparing them in fantastical new ways until he walked out of woods fully formed – a nature boy, naked to the world and ready to set up a kind of cooking unshackled by any precepts or preordained code of cuisine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The menu too, which they do not allow you to choose from nor even see until the end (and only then if you are slightly insistent) unfolds like a long slow meander through a fable. You begin by eating a twig that has been sitting right in front of you, hiding in plain view in a plant pot. But the twig is not a twig, it is a malt flat bread with juniper – crispy, crunchy, with a dark musty flavour. Next you are looking at the forest floor. On a plate. Grasses, twigs, leaves, moss. "Eat the moss" urges the waiter. It is white and fragile, dusted with desiccated cep. In the mouth the moss collapses and dissolves leaving you feeling as though are actually <i>in the forest</i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">. It is unthinkable. Incredible. The story continues over a bridge of pork skin and blackcurrant leather and onward through the rest of the 12…......amuse bouche…..? I hesitate to use terminology already recognised in the world of food. It is too mundane.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The waiter has explained at the beginning that the ethos is to steer away from the rather slow and solemn serving of amuse bouche in some of the more stuffy restaurants and that these glimpses of another kind of food will come thick and fast, and they do. One after another after another. On the way through passes a mussel on an edible shell. The rich creamy goo that is the filling of this strange sandwich is reminiscent of the Phat Duck’s crab risotto and crab ice cream in its richness, intensity and depth of flavour. But it was a fleeting glimpse of a remembered world and then it was gone. Back to entirely new textures and flavours, back to the likes of radishes in hazelnut soil. Back to what looked like a cutting from Rapunzel's plait gone fluorescent orange. It was in fact a desiccated carrot on a bed of ash. On and on they went. The room was filled with a handful seated dinners, a regiment of waiters and a brigade of chefs explaining each dish as they served it. The joy and pride in being involved in such an sylvan adventure was palpable in each and every one of the staff. It is a rare atmosphere for a restaurant of this calibre. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">By now I was concerned that after so many dishes the story would be over too soon so asked the waiter what percentage of the meal we had consumed so far. 15% he informed me. I wept with joy. We had been eating solidly for an hour. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The beautiful plates were removed (beneath them I noticed felt discs cushioning the table) and we were asked what we would like to drink with the rest of the food. Until now we had been drinking champagne and water - champagne and water that seemed to never run dry. We went for wine pairing and juice pairing, 2 of each. And so began the next part of the journey. Wines that ranged from a grower with only one hectare, to a grower who had only started 3 years previously, to a wine that had been in production for over a thousand years. The juices were deep sorrel greens, pale apple greens, blood dark reds, pale elderflower whites. Refreshing, pungent, light, heavy. All all. Sourdough arrived with sour butter and pork dripping. (The bread came in felt baskets - so, they even had Rumpelstiltskin out the back).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The starters and mains, eight in all, were neither thing; just a seamless parade of textures and flavours, combining and contrasting in a merry dance across our table, up into our mouths and down our gullets. Douglas fir, beech nuts, unripe sloe berries, pine, pike perch, verbena, beech and malt. Not your average nouns on a menu. One dish, simply described as 'pickled vegetables' was the prettiest thing I have ever seen on a plate, multicoloured tubes of vegetables ribbons holding 16 different types of herbs. Beside these magical stepping stones lay three lozenges of bone marrow. The contrast was startling but so……right.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana;">This chapter also now drew to a close and I began weeping again, though this time in sadness. I knew now that our waiter had lied and his 15% was closer to 30%. We waved the plates farewell and were now into the last quarter. The woe was short-lived though as a pear dessert was brought before us. There were a few delicate peary things on the plate and an enormous piece of light green sponge. Aha! I thought, gotcha – this was something that looked liked it belonged to someone else. Ferran Adria’s brother Albert to be precise. How wrong could I be? This piece of sponge was not sponge at all but a parfait that had been vacuum sealed, sucking the contents into a matrix of peary strands. It was then frozen. As I bit into it, it dissolved on my tongue. Quite simply sublime.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Finally came 14 discs of varying red sat upright in a syrup of sloe berries. The second most beautiful dish I had ever seen. The dish was apparently brown cheese (“sort of like your marmite,” my Nordic godmother said, “you either love it or you hate it”). I loved it – soft and creamy with an underlying dark strength. The other frozen discs were once berries and again melted away until they were no more than faintly remembered dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But this now was the end. We were politely asked to leave our table and take our coffee in the bar. It was 4 o’clock and they needed to get ready for evening service. As we sat with our coffee (wrong) and herbal infusions (right) they brought us a little something in case we were still hungry. Bone marrow. Only this time it wasn’t marrow but salt caramel thickened not with butter as is usual but with the marrow itself. Chewy, gooey, naughty, delicious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Then lastly, and it really was the last thing this time, came what I can best describe as a walnut whip. But what a walnut whip. The finest milk chocolate swirled up into a cone filled with some sort of creamy, airy fondant and sitting on a nutty biscuit. I bit the bottom off it, turned it upside down, nibbled away the point of the cone and begun sucking out the cream. As I did this I could swear I saw out of the corner of my eye three girls skipping off towards the woodlands on the outskirts of town. The girls were strangely familiar even from behind – one with unfeasibly long hair trailing behind her, one wearing a red hood and one with two golden plaits, holding the paw of a baby bear. No, I must have imagined it, it can’t have been. As I came back to the here and now I felt my shoulder being shaken vigorously and I snapped awake to the tannoy calling “Final call for Mr. Van Winkle. Mr. Rip Van Winkle, your gate is closing……….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-17845908558942171402012-02-26T17:43:00.005+01:002012-04-15T17:48:33.589+02:00Deep Sea Troupers<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="date" style="color: #969696; font-size: 11px;">Written by</span> <span class="post_author" style="color: #111111; font-size: 11px;">Mark Watkins</span><span class="date" style="color: #969696; font-size: 11px;"> on March 1, 2012</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; line-height: 17px;"><span lang="EN-US">February is a really good time for fish in Ibiza</span><span lang="EN-US">. The market belies this, as half the stalls are closed up for holidays but the fish that is available from the ones left open is cheaper and fresher than in the summer.</span><span lang="EN-US"> I had to do a tasting for some clients who wanted to try four different fish starters for their wedding in July. I also had to make a fish stew for a dinner party that was to be filmed with yours truly as Mutfak le Chef. </span><span lang="EN-US">So it was to the market I went.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; line-height: 17px;"><span lang="EN-US">And there I did see: </span><span lang="EN-US">Shimmering little red mullets </span><span lang="EN-US">with black shiny eyes, </span><span lang="EN-US">vicious scorpion fish </span><span lang="EN-US">looking poisonous mean,</span><span lang="EN-US"> sleek mackerel</span><span lang="EN-US"> with rainbows on their backs, </span><span lang="EN-US">biblical John Dorys</span><span lang="EN-US">, long </span><span lang="EN-US">meaty monkfish </span><span lang="EN-US">tails weighing upwards of four kilos, blah blah blah, </span><span lang="EN-US">mucho pescado</span><span lang="EN-US">. In short, the stalls that were open were piled high with God’s bounty of the sea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; line-height: 17px;"><span lang="EN-US">When I am making fish stew I like to use heavy boned, firm fleshed fish </span><span lang="EN-US">and the market is a jolly good place to go for them. I bought a mix of ready cut J</span><span lang="EN-US">ohn Dory, grouper and monkfish</span><span lang="EN-US"> and then went looking for something for the stock. You don’t really have to make a stock if you have this type of fish but it inevitably makes it richer and deeper in flavour if you do. So I usually make a stock with the readily available monkfish heads. </span><span lang="EN-US">I take these fabulously ugly mothers and boil them for a fully verboten 45 minutes to an hour.</span><span lang="EN-US"> This does make for a cloudy stock yes, but it also makes it stupendously luscious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; line-height: 17px;"><span lang="EN-US">The stew itself can be wonderfully simple</span><span lang="EN-US"> – fry the fish a bit and remove, then sweat some onion, garlic and herbs until soft, put the fish back in, burn off some brandy over them and then cook out a little white wine before adding the stock and cooking the fish till just done. There are a thousand things you could do as well but t</span><span lang="EN-US">his will be damn good as is</span><span lang="EN-US">. Spoon too much proper allioli over it and you will have a good day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; line-height: 17px;"><span lang="EN-US">As I was saying, I had to do a tasting for some clients so got some other fish for a ceviche – dorada, prawns and tuna. </span><span lang="EN-US">Ceviche is, as far as I know, a Mexican dish and one of the few things I enjoyed eating</span><span lang="EN-US"> when I had the pleasure of nearly dying there several years ago. Gun toting police and thieves make that one scary country but eating a ceviche on a long sandy pacific beach at sunset provided a much needed and delicious respite from the ever-present ominous atmosphere<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, serif; line-height: 17px;"><span lang="EN-US">Wanting to recreate that moment of tranquility I cubed the tuna</span><span lang="EN-US">; shelled, split and de-veined the prawns; filleted, skinned and sliced the dorada. I put them in a bowl, squeezed lime juice and poured masses of olive oil over them. I then threw in some cucumber, chilli, cherry tomatoes, finely sliced spring onion and copious coriander. I seasoned it heavily, mixed it all up and served it. </span><span lang="EN-US">Dem some lucky clients</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-50587563925369472072011-07-25T16:13:00.007+02:002011-07-30T15:06:18.299+02:00Leaving Ibiza<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsiz650SItwXyv6NyqtVoHSvJ9MUxBifqAz5Anv4DxsGKy14StFvkz8JuuQwOMN5SKCSk1wwOvNpKcBBkW4zFP2IFo65_jEvRvi7qTGN6EeVaE2xRVGT6EIKdIp8wHFBJSbvFb-C3b2s/s1600/corn+dogging.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsiz650SItwXyv6NyqtVoHSvJ9MUxBifqAz5Anv4DxsGKy14StFvkz8JuuQwOMN5SKCSk1wwOvNpKcBBkW4zFP2IFo65_jEvRvi7qTGN6EeVaE2xRVGT6EIKdIp8wHFBJSbvFb-C3b2s/s400/corn+dogging.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633301364411923298" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Corn Dogging</span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am not sure what that expession means but I have heard it in films. Corn dogging? Don’t sound so nice. I have also heard of corn holing and whilst not compleately certain as to its exact meaning either, I have a fairly good idea of what it might refer to. It is not really the subject for a polite food blog but it does lead me into mentioning that my brother Saul refuses to eat sweet corn on account of its effects in the latrine the next morning. He never misses a chance to advise me to ‘chew well’ when eating sweet corn. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, corn, yes. Tricky subject. Potenially unpleasant. Funny given how it sustains a good proportion of the world’s population. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Sweetcorn is heaven if it is good. The English boil it, cover it with butter then hopefully eat it, though who knows with the internet these days. The Spanish grill it and spinkle it with sugar. They too then eat it. Both ways are delicious but I would always go with the English way if I were to have to choose. It would be difficult to prove that it was more than just familiarity and longing that makes me feel this way but I am convinced it is nicer. But then butter is just so uttely wonderful.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">God knows what the Greeks do with it. It doesn’t bear thinking about.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Clam chowder with sweetcorn is pure and unadulterated heaven. Without question it is one of His recipes. Made with Ibiza potatoes and Carril clams the dish becomes a gateway to Nirvana. But don’t forget to chew.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What is not heaven though and has no credibility whatsoever is tinned sweetcorn. Not on pizzas, not in soups, not in salads and absolutely, definitely not as an accompaniament to one of the finest shellfish available to man – the Ibiza Red Prawn. I have gone on about these little mothers at length elsewhere so lets just leave it that they are good. They are also expensive. Very expensive. €120 a kilo in the restaurant we were eating them at the other day. €34 for 4 prawns. Now that’s a lot, but so it should be, as they are</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">heavenly and these were particlularly big mothers. Sadly mine were a little under cooked, the flesh where the tail meets the head was just too translucent and flaccid. But I can forgive this; it is better than them being overcooked. But what I cannot, will not forgive is serving these kingly things with a salad finished with tinned sweetcorn. Putting low grade processed</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">foodstuffs on the same plate with such quality, freshness and excellence is</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">an abomination. The chef should have his fingers cut off and be put in the stocks for the rest of the season. The public should be allowed to throw the unopened tins of corn at him. That might make him think twice.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Why would you do such a thing? It simpy beggars belief. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Its a bit like leaving Ibiza</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15px;"><br /></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-9872303501923528412011-07-14T23:06:00.003+02:002011-07-18T23:28:36.857+02:00thrashing pop<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxVVZFnmT2b_J1ZFzoetvKEGsmw_lxhqnmLEvSE0wO9FeRfohUDx5KoKyd8Xu7BFWyXWZ-D4S_oAF58UOXVIg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div><br /></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Note Number Three<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">I have been thrashing pop for 100 Catalans. The event was a to celebrate the continuing life of a very old salty sea dog that had been pulled into the depths of cancer hell by a humongous octopus. He had lopped off the tentacles though and had prevailed against this appallingly common disease. A year later he is as fit as a fiddle and wanted to mark the occasion with family and friends by consuming the fear that had embodied itself in the form of an octopus. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Pop is the Catalan name for octopus. It is a nice name but perhaps not so descriptive as its English counterpart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The dish he wanted to eat was similar to the Catalan dish pop amb patatas but there was no way on earth I was going to let on to any of the diners that it had anything to do with a native dish. I had to describe it as a dish from the outer Hebrides that had certain similarities with their version. Had I let on that it was anything to do with the Catatalan version I would have had a fairly unpleasant time of it. If there is one thing that Catalans cannot or will not agree on, it is how to cook any dish, let alone if some jumped up foreign git ie me, was doing it on their turf. No, I had to dissimulate.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The pop had been ordered form a local fisherman a few days previously and when my accomplice went to pick it up, it turned out the fisherman had sold it to others. This meant that we could only get half the required amount from him the next day. The fisherman had obligations to his restaurants. Never mind his obligation to el meu amic. This in turn meant that there was more potato than pop so whilst I was cooking it I had to explain to the sceptical onlookers that the Outer Hebrideans were potato fanatics and the octopus in their version was more of a flavouring than anything else, that the star of the show was the potato. The potato that sucked up and absorbed the stock and tomato sofrito. To confuse my audience still further I explained that the potatoes had flown with me that day from Ibiza. They were agog with admiration. That I had travelled with 10 kilos of Ibiza potatoes as hand luggage earned their respect and they left me in peace a little after that. A little. Fortunately in the glow of there approval I did not relent and tell them I was making pop amb patatas. That would have been fatal. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:11.0pt;font-family:Verdana;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">A word to the wise – if ever you are cooking a paella and there is anyone with a thimble of spanish blood in their veins in the vicinity tell them you are cooking rice. Do not, for God’s sake call it a paella. It will ruin your day.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-39232316384301746432011-07-09T10:50:00.002+02:002011-07-09T11:00:04.178+02:00Leaving Ibiza<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; "><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw3QhbQQgSlIIj2G6raa2BqG240uFedirUPSko_oVEjYTyHm7Zz3budNh7lcOFeyHZ5hfXo4HsGJmzBdUgCXg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Verdana;font-size:11.0pt;">Note number two:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:15px;">The grill restaurants will be difficult to leave behind too. Such easy going, no frills quality. My favourites are Cas Pages and Can Pilot. I love Can Pilot. The chuleton, their speciality, varies from ok to really good. You order it for a minimum of two; they slice it off the bone into thick ribbons, season it heavily with rock salt and bring it to the table raw. At the same time a mini bbq is placed in the middle of the table. The charcoal is at exactly the right stage for grilling – glowing red embers beneath a coating of white ash. The waiter tells you to be careful in the same way a he might tell you a plate is hot. The difference is this is so hot you could brand yourself on it. British health and safety inspectors would have a fit.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Verdana;font-size:11.0pt;">So there you are, sitting at a table with your own bbq, smoke billowing up into the hesion draped ceiling and then out of the w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:15px;">indows filling the village with its wafts of meaty fumes. It is an enjoyable way of eating and because it is potentially dangerous it is a great place to take children.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:5.0pt;text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Verdana;font-size:11.0pt;">DIY BBQ is not the only option - the chugletas are excellent; and the baby rabbit, gazapo(?) is unbeatable, its tiny kidney a particular treat; the fried potatoes are superb; I believe they even do fish (quite why I couldn’t tell you). And if the meat is particularly good then you could just forgoe the bbq and eat it raw. I don’t do it much but I do do it often -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>there is something pleasantly primal about it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-76465403231246465752011-07-04T23:50:00.003+02:002011-07-05T00:02:54.672+02:00Leaving Sa Nansa<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZAEx2i1hrjKy2JKsC4Iiv8_hwCKoTxl0SMKo6JHFI7jmc0JNDWEkqNaa2msY4kELd5dqxv5P_RRIbg8A6LmzeIO_LDYn-rVtBNU9iSVN7ZhrgYPkUs47R4zVTURFNSREPMwDWGeYqpU/s1600/Leaving+Sa+Nansa.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZAEx2i1hrjKy2JKsC4Iiv8_hwCKoTxl0SMKo6JHFI7jmc0JNDWEkqNaa2msY4kELd5dqxv5P_RRIbg8A6LmzeIO_LDYn-rVtBNU9iSVN7ZhrgYPkUs47R4zVTURFNSREPMwDWGeYqpU/s400/Leaving+Sa+Nansa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625620747366721266" /></a><br />Come in Number 9. Your time is up.<div>Shit. We have been here for 10 years and it is time to get along. The years have been good. Really good, but we only meant to stay for 2. Now we are leaving so I gotta take note.</div><div><br /></div><div>Note Number One</div><div>This might be the thing I find most difficult of all to leave behind - long, lazy, <i>late</i> sunday lunches. </div><div>Going out for lunch in Ibiza at 3 oclock is hard to beat and will be impossible to replicate in UK. The only places that will be open at that time will be all you can eat student/tourist troughs - grey, cold and drizzly affairs to mirror the weather. Gone the espardenyas, gone the gamba roja, gone the rice, the whole baked Zeus Faber, the patatas a lo pobre. Shit. </div>La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-77608680489532894152010-12-16T11:24:00.005+01:002010-12-17T18:51:26.755+01:00Rabbit and snail paella<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZXS2F7fW6s1AsJyUgOHrId5u-j-c2eRP6bWQNfaY7G9bX9l3fHs5DwgnPcHT8rTpDuNhQI0UzNd2Iih25BOBUw0FcJcCjyhykpEAp6rMmWNbYp86N6S6xcitQeqcYZ_2cxXgC1LyjYk/s1600/rabbit+and+snail+paella2.jpg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha8NpuTIrJshijQ2x1WPicQLxt88Klsgq_wZVc3T2SmsDim62977d-f0Hd-4M_PzDPN_-lkt3TJ75n6uc1ZU9Cl3IL_MOdQ90UcpfMATr-VKwNEFBD86UPKfXZxvRuLsKPJswKeTDSb9o/s1600/rabbit+and+snail+paella.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha8NpuTIrJshijQ2x1WPicQLxt88Klsgq_wZVc3T2SmsDim62977d-f0Hd-4M_PzDPN_-lkt3TJ75n6uc1ZU9Cl3IL_MOdQ90UcpfMATr-VKwNEFBD86UPKfXZxvRuLsKPJswKeTDSb9o/s400/rabbit+and+snail+paella.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551227138109627714" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">This is another fully hardcore dish. They say it is the original paella, devised by field hands in the province of Valencia making use of ingredients that were readily available – snails and rabbits. Who knows and frankly, who cares? It is a nice story and that is really all that counts.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Because there is something so full on about these two ingredients being placed together in the same dish I wanted to up the ante and make it <i>really</i></span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> strong. Firstly I chopped loads of garlic and dried chilli and fried them in a nice pool of olive oil till crisp and the garlic golden. The oil was then drained* and used as the base for the sofrito into which I added……..yes, you got it……….loads more chilli and garlic. As soon as it began to sizzle I added masses of rosemary and pimenton, stirred it and added some chopped onion and very small diced carrot. I <i>never </i></span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>add these two ingredients to paellas but I wanted to see what would happen today, more of which later. When all this was good and sweated, I added a tin of tomatoes (another ingredient I rarely add to the paella, generally favouring grated fresh tomato) and cooked it down until reduced to a wet paste consistency.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">I now put the paella pan on the ring and heated yet more olive oil. Into this I tipped the seasoned rabbit and fried that segregated mother till golden. When it was good and brown I added the snail, masses more rosemary and a few bay leaves.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">Whilst this was going on I asked Lucrezia and Fanny to whip me up an allioli. I allowed them to use my pestle and working together they mounted this thick yellow sauce with great ease.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">I added the rice and toasted that until vaguely translucent, then poured in the sofrito. When this was all good and mixed up, I added the stock and 2 dessert spoons of allioli and mixed it up some more. I checked the seasoning, shook it around a bit and cooked it on medium till the liquid had all but evaporated. I now turned up the heat (to 11) and and cooked out the rest of the liquid waiting for that crisp frying sound that indicates 2 things: the rice is ready and the socarrat has been acheived. The socarrat is the slightly blackened, crisp ricey bit stuck to the pan; one of God’s greatest gifts to man.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">The result was good. Very good. But very very strong, particularly if eaten with copious allioli. The infused oil added a powerful undertone of heat and potency to the rice but the snails and rabbit themselves were sweet and smokey due to the pimenton. The onion however was a mistake. The rice was too soft and this was due to the excess liquid that the onion brings the party. No good. No more onion. The carrot, strangely, worked really well and I will repeat it at some point. Maybe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">On the whole this dish just added further proof to my iron clad belief that paella is on of the greatest dishes available to mankind. One day it will rise out of the mire of being nothing but a tourist attraction.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">*If you have them to hand, toast some almonds in a pan with a bit of olive oil and salt and once cooled add discarded crispy bits. You will be glad you did.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZXS2F7fW6s1AsJyUgOHrId5u-j-c2eRP6bWQNfaY7G9bX9l3fHs5DwgnPcHT8rTpDuNhQI0UzNd2Iih25BOBUw0FcJcCjyhykpEAp6rMmWNbYp86N6S6xcitQeqcYZ_2cxXgC1LyjYk/s400/rabbit+and+snail+paella2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551227141285004450" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 297px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-30748605164281979722010-11-18T18:45:00.003+01:002010-11-18T18:55:59.820+01:00Biscuits from Heaven<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozfkSeOyZswNvqoeWV4ZihJXE-gXz-0JzhmLYHZTR13g_F0P-KX9gsHk5rJ0LKzGhJY-PQ_vV1A8RHkVzUkEGvuua11ZUuqzJVO9pBtxdAzDHF5aOCTDO3oIGT44g_7lNVXorYICoKHk/s1600/DSCF3051.jpg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOLc2FJ8SH1S1LstbpRy4B2IKVmdt4g27TxDwUsE0y4uey4esuYp8L-hPUarBn8frKMVobobbavEnBRlTYPgNFhRKexasG8Qm41EfW8piPqoUZdk4kp2KixGyiIBdEwe3v6_n2m-TOxI/s1600/DSCF3042.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOLc2FJ8SH1S1LstbpRy4B2IKVmdt4g27TxDwUsE0y4uey4esuYp8L-hPUarBn8frKMVobobbavEnBRlTYPgNFhRKexasG8Qm41EfW8piPqoUZdk4kp2KixGyiIBdEwe3v6_n2m-TOxI/s400/DSCF3042.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540947502551708338" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Each day of the week the boys have to take a midmorning snack to school. Monday yoghurt; Tuesday sandwich, Wednesday fruit; Thursday biscuit; Friday dowhatchalike. At a quarter past eight this morning I realised that it was biscuit day and the biscuit tin was empty. I have been promising myself that I would get into the habit of making biscuits and stop giving them the shit that is generally available. One of the primary reasons being I just don’t trust big food corporations to do right by us.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">I have also been promising them that we will find a biscuit recipe we like and make them together, become expert at them, be able to make them blind folded. They liked this idea and I have failed to produce the goods for weeks, months probably. But today was different. Today I said NO! Enough! The buck (biscuit) stops here! As I say it was 8.15 and we had to leave at 8.47 at the latest. I grabbed a recipe I know is good and started. 32 minutes later I placed a tray of cooling biscuits in the back of my car. Not just any biscuits either. No. These are biscuits you would not be ashamed to serve to God.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">We ate some in the car on the way to school. The cooling biscuits held the still liquid chocolate suspended within it. The outside rim was crunchy and the centre chewy. They were sweet but with that essential undertone of salt. All this in 35 minutes. Boy, was I popular with them kids.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">90g brown sugar<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">45g white sugar<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">125g butter<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">125g of chocolate chopped up<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">1 egg<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">125g flour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">½ tspoon bicarbonate of soda<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">½ tspoon salt</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Get your oven warmed up. 180ºC with fan. Warm that butter and cream it with the sugars. Stir in the chocolate and beat in the egg (we didn’t have an egg so used water). Stir in the flour, salt and bicarb. Bring all together.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Spoon out walnut sized blobs onto baking sheets and bake for 12mins. No matter what you do or what your oven says they will not all cook regularly so just go with it. They are ready when golden on the outside. Remove them and hang around the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gngYV12a0jc">kitchenette</a> until they have cooled. Then eat them<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozfkSeOyZswNvqoeWV4ZihJXE-gXz-0JzhmLYHZTR13g_F0P-KX9gsHk5rJ0LKzGhJY-PQ_vV1A8RHkVzUkEGvuua11ZUuqzJVO9pBtxdAzDHF5aOCTDO3oIGT44g_7lNVXorYICoKHk/s400/DSCF3051.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540947509754971890" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></p><div><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-76168630284364863842010-11-13T08:36:00.002+01:002010-11-13T09:25:47.313+01:00Sunday Morning Coming Down<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiULYvcXSFjopwCClRNI28eatV____7nuBmVT3CidLRwE-sNk21_IWgrVcfuUCuhpIYgz7MAGkV-YoBJv7Kr1oF2MeogxRKi1Be7jnKKaeYUbLgNHJYVGnETnYdWJQcxWb6MutNFouPKE/s1600/anchovies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiULYvcXSFjopwCClRNI28eatV____7nuBmVT3CidLRwE-sNk21_IWgrVcfuUCuhpIYgz7MAGkV-YoBJv7Kr1oF2MeogxRKi1Be7jnKKaeYUbLgNHJYVGnETnYdWJQcxWb6MutNFouPKE/s400/anchovies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538936888313896578" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">Kids love anchovies. Despite all evidence to the contrary - retching, tears, escape – kids really do love anchovies. They just don’t know it yet.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">When I refer to anchovies I don’t mean those hairy slithers of brown salt paste baked on to the top of pizzas nor do I mean bog standard supermarket anchovies. No, I mean the real thing. Spanish anchovies from Cantabria or by preference Anchoas de Escala form the Catalan coast. These last ones really are the king of anchovies. You can get them already cleaned, filleted and packed in olive oil or you can buy them whole and packed in salt. Obviously it is far less fiddly to buy the fillets and I am not sure whether the taste and texture benefits outweigh the ease. UNLESS OF COURSE IT IS </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpDlYMzXqmY">SUNDAY MORNING</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">. If that is the case then you need:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">1 jar of Anchoas de Escala packed in salt</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">1 packet of salted crisps (not kettle – too crunchy)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Olive oil<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Flour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Dark vermouth (In order of preference – “vermut” bought from a one eyed hunchback in Barcelona; Punt e Mes; Martini Rosso)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Soda water <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Ice<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Lemon<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DlIc9HpoQ2Q">A version of Sunday Morning Coming Down by Kris Kristofferson (KK)</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=se4fhy5eg6o">A version of Sunday Morning Coming Down by Johnny Cash (JC)</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpDlYMzXqmY">A version of Sunday Morning Coming Down by Willie Nelson (WN)<o:p></o:p></a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpDlYMzXqmY"> <o:p></o:p></a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Begin recipe on Saturday night by drinking enough to achieve an appalling hangover. On Sunday start by putting on the KK version of Sunday Morning Coming Down then put ice, lemon and a generous double double measure of Vermouth in a tall glass and top up with soda water. Gulp it down and make another.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Next find a sunny corner and begin the anchovies. Sipping all the while, take them out one by one. Squeeze off head and discard (or give to cat?). Now gently squeeze along the body and separate flesh into 2 fillets leaving the spine in tact. (The spine will make a fantastically <i>other </i></span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>tapa to go along side). Do this to all of them. Put on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=se4fhy5eg6o">JC version of SMCD</a>. Wash the fillets under cold water to remove salt, scales and any bones that present themselves to you. Dry on paper towel and lay those mothers out. On a plate. Pour over some very good quality olive oil and leave for a bit.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">Meanwhile flour and then fry the anchovy spines in olive oil. Remove and drain on paper towel.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">Pour yourself another vermouth and go back to your sunny spot with the anchovies, crisps and spines. Delight in God’s bounty whilst <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Willie Nelson croons.</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-73226545025768113352010-11-11T21:30:00.003+01:002010-11-11T21:46:30.576+01:00Chinese water torture<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruz1AOwwTEW95sueDf-VS99m80fhwo55MLeWz2EMaJa4iDLhnKKRbHzij_PNFpEZe0Hy4aPX1c5tQBn0oZVehzSN1veNqnUHDAB4X4V_2Mvoa-rjsRaziagxs-eCg9cqdLsw3oO01F_U/s1600/chinese+water+torture.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruz1AOwwTEW95sueDf-VS99m80fhwo55MLeWz2EMaJa4iDLhnKKRbHzij_PNFpEZe0Hy4aPX1c5tQBn0oZVehzSN1veNqnUHDAB4X4V_2Mvoa-rjsRaziagxs-eCg9cqdLsw3oO01F_U/s400/chinese+water+torture.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538394019243859586" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Encouraged by the UK government’s business trip to China and in the spirit of free enterprise I have decided to find out which rice is most appropriate for an ancient method of torture much favoured in bygone times. It is simplicity itself and very cheap to boot. The victim is force fed uncooked rice and then force fed water to expand it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">I am experimenting with 3 types of rice – basmati, white short grain and brown rice. I poured the rices into separate glasses and covered with water. I started at 10am. By 10pm there seemed to be little change but the rice has softened and is like biting little bits of chalk. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; ">I was thinking of cooking it at 38ºC to see what happened but then figured the body temperature might well be at 40ºC or so due to fever so am going to try it at that first.</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-79269494636463178722010-11-08T23:20:00.005+01:002010-11-09T14:36:08.402+01:00Kidz Fude - Raons<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGxzkJD3B5jwpkd48m-LSqkCDkidwoSrGXW8jrRQ1zOK1S826tPGkHF2PqqrU_hhRb4bMV1l-NWBY4-kiKWw3rMRHGWEgfJSjH68jCRY0pohtUEWoJp2rqhCo3UFu3GaiqsZ8cizR35o/s1600/Frankie+Raon.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGZ7WQMd9jGWShUCd2z81T6O8xg0d_GdDISj-iip1LV49Eqes-uzi7lxuS_cySGbY7TlptUW6ZGMyUcwdyCKlDyyRRRPpvgEdeoPX65lL9yfXZZrCxx8JxSeLSBbp8sywRM7YYenhOro/s1600/Raon.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGZ7WQMd9jGWShUCd2z81T6O8xg0d_GdDISj-iip1LV49Eqes-uzi7lxuS_cySGbY7TlptUW6ZGMyUcwdyCKlDyyRRRPpvgEdeoPX65lL9yfXZZrCxx8JxSeLSBbp8sywRM7YYenhOro/s400/Raon.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537310320039442818" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">I am assured by the mongers of the new market that raons are peculiar to the Pitiusas’ waters but I am assured of a lot of things by a lot of people much of which I don’t believe. Whatever the truth it matters little. These superlative little fishes are divine. So beautiful, their wide flat bodies are the colours of the rainbow - they positively <i>glisten</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">I had bought them (at €69 a kilo) because a food writer doing a piece on the Mediterranean was coming to meet and eat with me that afternoon and I wanted to show her something nice (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcmkN84sl4Q">Miss McMichael</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">). I bought four of them so we could each have two. In the end we only had one each because I felt bad depriving Lucrecia and the boys of this little luxury.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">The meet and eat went well (yanks do meet and greet, I do meet and eat) and there were still two left. Not wanting them to languish unsavoured I asked Primo if he would like one. This was just before bed. He looked at the fish, stuck his finger in his mouth, gave the matter some thought and said “Yes. For breakfast.” With that he about turned and disappeared out the kitchen.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">At breakfast the next morning I salted and then fried those little mothers in a nice pool of very hot olive oil giving them about 45 seconds on each side. Because the minuscule scales are not scraped off and are edible the skin crisps up beautifully and beneath this delicious golden coat lies the sweetest flesh of any fish I have eaten. Primo and Slim shared half each then fought for the tail whilst Lucrecia regally ate hers with a look quiet but intense pleasure. I looked back at Primo - he was busy carefully removing the tiny cheek oyster. A treasure indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGxzkJD3B5jwpkd48m-LSqkCDkidwoSrGXW8jrRQ1zOK1S826tPGkHF2PqqrU_hhRb4bMV1l-NWBY4-kiKWw3rMRHGWEgfJSjH68jCRY0pohtUEWoJp2rqhCo3UFu3GaiqsZ8cizR35o/s400/Frankie+Raon.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537310323420751346" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-70307336826836921412010-11-06T18:31:00.005+01:002010-11-06T18:41:28.075+01:00Kidz Fude - Snax<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mrSRyZ22By0kRjXTz6N59H4BAmELjPq-qh6AZxL73nqgsbMVTRLvMAIFJub9wMOe5Ii26B7zSR2vnAk0BbltsOsYLdzVppkGFGdYWko1iCzWi9RZqCuRzB3fcG5muKNSya7iOJEyowI/s1600/cheese+cracker.jpg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-aVC7aIEBxKVlPxdCBBAqLTIrrtfwb3HAB-2i2vMDUGiUW3J5mKQQxvpWIsB1I5XDcueKHCJHTebjbKvOB450klcQsvxHxPnKRqEOkRHKHdWCUmBF7a7hVEusiwvhfXlEm1I16nlZ2k/s1600/cheese+cracker2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-aVC7aIEBxKVlPxdCBBAqLTIrrtfwb3HAB-2i2vMDUGiUW3J5mKQQxvpWIsB1I5XDcueKHCJHTebjbKvOB450klcQsvxHxPnKRqEOkRHKHdWCUmBF7a7hVEusiwvhfXlEm1I16nlZ2k/s400/cheese+cracker2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536492784740607554" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><u><br /></u></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><u><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">kidz</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">snax</span><o:p></o:p></u></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><u> <o:p></o:p></u></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">“<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hmmm</span>….what I like about it is that it is soft on the top and crisp underneath and the cheese is really creamy but then a bit bitter too.” <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Primo</span> is talking about a little something we just had to keep the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">lobo</span> at the gate. The crackers are long, thin, uneven tongues of crisp water biscuit.</span><span style="Edwardian Script ITC"font-family:";font-size:18.0pt;"><span style="Edwardian Script ITC";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";font-size:18.0pt;"> <!--StartFragment--><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Edwardian Script ITC";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;mso-fareast-language:EN-US">“</span><span style="font-size:18.0pt;font-family:"Edwardian Script ITC";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;mso-fareast-language:EN-US">Il Panaté” by Mario Fongo – Le Lingue di Suocera. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:Helvetica;mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;mso-fareast-language:EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span><!--EndFragment--> </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Helvetica;font-size:12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span></span><!--EndFragment--></span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>Each one is about a palm wide and a foot long, or would be were it ever to stay whole. Its undulating surface is pinpricked through here and there, golden in the troughs and sandy in the mounds. Snapping it makes me feel like I am in an advert – slow motion, bursts of sunlight, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">blonde</span> women with white teeth. It gives me wood.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">The cheese is T<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">aleggio</span>. I discovered this delectable come hither cheese several years ago melted alongside some G<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">orgonzola</span> bubbling on top of a tomato and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">polenta</span> gratin. Hooked. Right there, right then. The Italians get <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Taleggio</span>. We get <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Dairylea</span>. Typical.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Just cut and cold it is good but melted it is as close to heaven that melted cheese is able to get. Anyway, cut thin slices of cheese, place on top of the cracker and blow torch until the cheese bubbles and melts. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mrSRyZ22By0kRjXTz6N59H4BAmELjPq-qh6AZxL73nqgsbMVTRLvMAIFJub9wMOe5Ii26B7zSR2vnAk0BbltsOsYLdzVppkGFGdYWko1iCzWi9RZqCuRzB3fcG5muKNSya7iOJEyowI/s400/cheese+cracker.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536492790448143890" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; " /></span></p><div><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div> <!--EndFragment--> </span><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-71012760741704564582010-10-24T02:06:00.003+02:002010-10-24T02:25:34.873+02:00Kidz Fude<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSNe0hk0jfP-jqJi8tBj4RZjCGoRgPpAaljUOzUuDIA6PwwN4eYmsZLS1kxsrrFIhLEOcGVlIfbQi3twhn9RnEIbQj2WYLRCHWL5MuvbxxrewU3Or50KWEEuEL8wqwmG2lvf2IgN9oiR8/s1600/kobi+carpaccio.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSNe0hk0jfP-jqJi8tBj4RZjCGoRgPpAaljUOzUuDIA6PwwN4eYmsZLS1kxsrrFIhLEOcGVlIfbQi3twhn9RnEIbQj2WYLRCHWL5MuvbxxrewU3Or50KWEEuEL8wqwmG2lvf2IgN9oiR8/s400/kobi+carpaccio.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531400901936884770" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">I had a breif spell as a chef for the household staff of an oil magnate a couple of years ago. The crisis hit, Shakey lost a couple of billion and decided to save money by firing me. This was a shame for two reasons, firstly I lost the very welcome winter income and secondly and more importantly I lost the guinea pigs I had to feed and with it the funding to do as I pleased foodwise. Previous to this, winters had been fairly barren creatively with no clientele and 2 v small children who I couldn’t really try out too much stuff on.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">All the above remains the same except that les enfants have grown and so has their interest in food. So now I’m going to cook just whatever I feel like and see their reaction.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">Day 1 Carpaccio of Kobi Beef with parmesan and black pepper</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">My butcher gave me 5 frozen, pre-sliced, vacpacked, 80 gram portions of Kobi carpaccio. He said it had too much marbling to be able to sell it but I think he was trying to give me a gift cos I spent so much goddam money in his shop this summer. Anyway I took the stuff home, defrosted it, plated it up and seasoned it. Les enfants devoured it. I didn’t mention the perceived marbling problem and they didn’t either. They loved it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">I found it to be grey and wet and a little too pungent, a little too musty. Jolly edible and all that but what is the point? Kobi beef is supposed to be the culimation of bovine excellence so why would you want it 1. Vacpacked and 2. Frozen? I understand that we wouldn’t be able to have it if it wasn’t like that but surely that’s the point – don’t have it unless it is at its best. </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-86756300699493706062010-02-11T12:26:00.004+01:002010-03-09T21:12:55.208+01:00Artichokes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHGWgOteSZ7ivwy0f2tVkwedmjCot-vndBb-_0ls1YGoI1ZRR_A0XUe_9eeU49q56T6K8bl9vaDrF2B4kkGNIai4ttD3fFoDRKJ7_Rjixr4_CCcA_BfB9iu-2CvgYibbmJKXHvV4xYpY/s1600-h/artichokes+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHGWgOteSZ7ivwy0f2tVkwedmjCot-vndBb-_0ls1YGoI1ZRR_A0XUe_9eeU49q56T6K8bl9vaDrF2B4kkGNIai4ttD3fFoDRKJ7_Rjixr4_CCcA_BfB9iu-2CvgYibbmJKXHvV4xYpY/s400/artichokes+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436948697406640450" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnl915Ep2Uh01dtBcGKsGhwhdFjwREuVkpx2oDX2r5IvNyto0dqiUab3dy4jcfoNgyEk0n8Zs7jcUt-PliBZtJakcZF-5wrlGT5d3X8Qmrk4K5Q02X8NmKb_Cxirq-NpjDvKNVzAUb9Y/s1600-h/artichokes+1.jpg"></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">Artichokes are weird. The word is weird, they look weird and they taste weird. And if that wasn’t enough two vegetables share this name and they are about as alike as asparagus and carrots. Today we are dealing with globe artichokes. There is a sweetness about them that is enticing.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">There is something alien about the globe artichoke. Perhaps it is something to do with their similarity to the Triffids. They are also great big thistly things with nice spikey leaves and they are generally uninviting until you get to know them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">My favourite way of eating the artichoke has the added attraction of being the easiest to prepare – cut off the stalk, hold it in your hand and bang the opening against the work surface. Through the opening sprinkle salt, pepper and olive oil in that order and then bake upright at 200 with fan (220 without) for one hour. (Put in some baked potatoes too, they take the same amount of time).You will have a blackened crispy thing that looks hopeless but become intensly delicious as you work your way in, nibbling off the base of each leaf. To, my mind, it knocks spots off boiled artichokes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">They go well in stews and are good braised too. Below is the recipe for Italian Artichokes a la Romana.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;">Artichokes a la Romana<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">8 artichokes</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">1 small bunch of parsley</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">1 small bunch of mint<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">3 cloves of garlic<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Olive oil<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Salt<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Pepper</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;">Lemon </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Cut the stalk off about 5 cm from the base and peel them. Pull of the outer leaves of each artichoke until you get to the paler, softer leaves. Cut off the top part of the leaves about 5cm above the base. Stick a teaspoon into the heart and scoop out the choke.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Chop the herbs and garlic together and mix with salt and pepper. Spoon some of the mixture into the centre and rub some more in between the leaves.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">In a pan that will hold them all fairly compactly, heat some olive oil and then fry the artichokes upside down on a medium high heat until beginning to brown. Pour in some water until the bottom is just covered. Put a lid on, turn to low and simmer until they are soft, about 15 mins. Serve them with a squeeze of lemon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family:Georgia;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnl915Ep2Uh01dtBcGKsGhwhdFjwREuVkpx2oDX2r5IvNyto0dqiUab3dy4jcfoNgyEk0n8Zs7jcUt-PliBZtJakcZF-5wrlGT5d3X8Qmrk4K5Q02X8NmKb_Cxirq-NpjDvKNVzAUb9Y/s400/artichokes+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436948687134298338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-53241566311893427182010-01-18T11:09:00.006+01:002010-01-18T14:51:09.943+01:00Bread? Yes, but……..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TOTbWy10VsqxCE7u8TeEF6ZA4x81weOAZ0oPhlgB1zIETKpfnKfrKwxvXbPrq094WFgVqmy-_bKZUX5wP8JNGmyZeztlJ6RgsBHxGdyxLyP2uRBM2QNPrt269Svb5KQOoxAYEzU12Ek/s1600-h/bread+9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TOTbWy10VsqxCE7u8TeEF6ZA4x81weOAZ0oPhlgB1zIETKpfnKfrKwxvXbPrq094WFgVqmy-_bKZUX5wP8JNGmyZeztlJ6RgsBHxGdyxLyP2uRBM2QNPrt269Svb5KQOoxAYEzU12Ek/s400/bread+9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428021680540497170" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghi1H4xtBhXpCMWm90TPG0FoVrzC600pX13e8sxiJ1ARt2XDrYr_0OrOUT-LcOPl2RPzgZWJHvy-svfrcX2smxf5TOoooIGlSY7gt4ZUFjSBcY1wcARERFKQszXm8tPQZRqKeUwIFy9gg/s1600-h/bread+6.jpg"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqizCFtImLTuLdTzmnStMODzaaU5s69vObftNLGp1jLeSbbi4ztOmZJkev_TqP2pypwDBZrunwIvwiQerD3kptmOre-rnK4GKj_WPwGxDtQbi0wyAIG2uisX4zlDMCbRemOvgA4Rt0QQ/s1600-h/bread+8.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br />……..not bread of heaven. And the result I am after is very much bread of heaven so this is a failed attempt. The bread itself was ok, but no more. Its crust was like rice paper, the dough too tight and flavour wasn’t all there. (The 15 grammes of salt was by no means too much).<br /><br />The dough did finally rise, not the foretold 45 minutes but the actual 4.5 hours<br /><div>I don’t understand the point of having a starter with hardly any yeast in it when you then go ahead and put the normal amount in the actual bread mix. No comprendo. Why not just forget the starter stage? The timings also were all wrong to my mind. Not enough kneading time nor proving time.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghi1H4xtBhXpCMWm90TPG0FoVrzC600pX13e8sxiJ1ARt2XDrYr_0OrOUT-LcOPl2RPzgZWJHvy-svfrcX2smxf5TOoooIGlSY7gt4ZUFjSBcY1wcARERFKQszXm8tPQZRqKeUwIFy9gg/s400/bread+6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428021671537847490" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHAangUWJ68QfSplQv7H4Jhjc_5NtMTuxnrk4AY5PuupQufuUKCxHbypnUF3_RnYIGskZDWkmVt4VqFVIcZilcHnteJW6TpeYzEzVWZTDuVOcBRVoqLsJl3ab8OI9hzjbvdyXViwL2t3k/s400/bread+7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428021656386236466" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqizCFtImLTuLdTzmnStMODzaaU5s69vObftNLGp1jLeSbbi4ztOmZJkev_TqP2pypwDBZrunwIvwiQerD3kptmOre-rnK4GKj_WPwGxDtQbi0wyAIG2uisX4zlDMCbRemOvgA4Rt0QQ/s400/bread+8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428021663972154242" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>As directed in the recipe and as shown above, I pulled out the dough and kneaded for another measley 5 minutes then shaped the loaf, cling filmed it and let it <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">rise again</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I am sure the flour is not up to the job. Next time I’m going to use 00 pizza flour and see how that comes out. I would use unbleached white flour if only I could find it. The recipe called for a pinch of rye flour and, due to store cupboard lack, I put a sprinkle of integral spelt flour instead. I wonder what they use in Bread and Wine. I bet it its unbleached bread flour from Shipton Mill. The unbleached colour only adds to its attraction.<br /><br />I was supposed to spray the loaf with water 10 minutes into its baking time but the spraygun was full of some sort of detergent so I flicked it with water. This did not work well at all.<br /><br />So……<br /><br />Better flour<br />Longer kneading<br />Longer proving<br />Water spray<br /><br /></div>La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-8533417841927350882010-01-16T18:38:00.005+01:002010-01-16T19:21:26.648+01:00Bread – day 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIN7_5lIcR-UDzDU1HtzwicwK9hv-SOdWrJSJLuv5j3tXrJ1wBIviNj-26wms7HHHZ4pPlXltmrOzBnPVfYiDyHq9fpfLQNKzT-vFnzkwL-IvCFDJt6QioHsS4-2K8wzwmxkRfxBNhdIM/s1600-h/view.jpg"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNwhPWtKP2KImrCdZGbj7UNYACnbxbGKL2N7uQx7FBITstlBcW24nUbF1AE_1h0tpJPsRY2r4j1pzM6Fa5ZX0sGk3NuQ851Ipewr3MOPgXBeYpxduBM5tuLOj00sWbyACzchIaJK_go8/s1600-h/bread+5.jpg"></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48ntHIw3k8_gA6H4B8d7-SqreOJK-_3llzW6WrYy-AY2EqDVRRoqPQ__8p-lm28t7lv-KJY6qIy2jHhyphenhyphenMiaFPYt75EgpLCfjnkl2p_M7IuacPKsfiE2HG8sxLZvVUwcAKLr5pPIQdl2Q/s1600-h/bread+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48ntHIw3k8_gA6H4B8d7-SqreOJK-_3llzW6WrYy-AY2EqDVRRoqPQ__8p-lm28t7lv-KJY6qIy2jHhyphenhyphenMiaFPYt75EgpLCfjnkl2p_M7IuacPKsfiE2HG8sxLZvVUwcAKLr5pPIQdl2Q/s400/bread+3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427403221147513810" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">Yesterdays starter looked like this. Not massively impressive.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;">I have just finished the next stage which is :</span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> 500g starter</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> 200ml blood temperature water</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> 3g yeast</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> 250 strong flour</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> 15g salt</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> Pinch of rye flour</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Bring all the ingredients together bar the salt. Just as mix comes together add the 15g salt. Place dough on floured surface and need for 5 minutes. Cover and rest in a warm place for 45 mins.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family:Georgia;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNwhPWtKP2KImrCdZGbj7UNYACnbxbGKL2N7uQx7FBITstlBcW24nUbF1AE_1h0tpJPsRY2r4j1pzM6Fa5ZX0sGk3NuQ851Ipewr3MOPgXBeYpxduBM5tuLOj00sWbyACzchIaJK_go8/s400/bread+5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427403236031326818" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i>He talks of kneading the dough without fighting with it which is lovely. He has good expressions. One of the recipes calls for a gesture of salt. That’s up there with the squeezing of a lemon. </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i>On the subject of salt note that this recipe calls for 15, that is FIFTEEN<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>grammes of salt. No wonder his bread tastes so good. There are certain guidelines about quantities of salt in food production. I am unaware of them but appreciate they must exist. I love salt and all my food gets a generous allowance of it, but 15 grammes for this dough seems a lot. The more the merrier if you ask me.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i>The starter seemed dense to me but then it did have the tiniest amount of yeast. I followed the instructions and by the end had an ok dough but were I not following this recipe I would have given it more of a knead. I find it a little lumpy still. I also thought bread needed more, ahem, kneading do get the glutens stretching.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i>Also the 45 mins seems to be a short proving time.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">As I said yesterday I think to be a baker is <i>the</i></span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> profession. I wonder what my Chinese doppelganger would consider it to be.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">One of the things I love about making bread is the kneading process. It is so contemplative. I doubt whether a masseuse would get the same satisfaction even if it is a similar movement. I really like any activity that makes answering the phone impossible and kneading is one of those things. I have a lovely marble surface to work the dough on and I look out of my kitchen window at this:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family:Georgia;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIN7_5lIcR-UDzDU1HtzwicwK9hv-SOdWrJSJLuv5j3tXrJ1wBIviNj-26wms7HHHZ4pPlXltmrOzBnPVfYiDyHq9fpfLQNKzT-vFnzkwL-IvCFDJt6QioHsS4-2K8wzwmxkRfxBNhdIM/s400/view.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427403240970454834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:Helvetica;">so the more i knead the happier I am.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="">An hour and a half has gone by and well, there doesn’t seem to be a huge difference. I am going to leave it until something happens. However long that may take.</span></o:p></span></p><!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--> <!--EndFragment--> </div>La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-16195776677561510002010-01-15T15:11:00.004+01:002010-01-15T15:22:42.838+01:00Bread<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQXoJDYQV5ab_tXAloft8uIhBb86ThPgtmGOvCEVPHMWoIqfR4u6Yt12FGZp_W4wPJh7j8vM6fCxRlkNkKJJhUU4CnkcYCTvlc2-nCM-E6PRxDGeqr2QNLxnzQ3pn_UeYpPrta2nxMsQ/s1600-h/bread+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQXoJDYQV5ab_tXAloft8uIhBb86ThPgtmGOvCEVPHMWoIqfR4u6Yt12FGZp_W4wPJh7j8vM6fCxRlkNkKJJhUU4CnkcYCTvlc2-nCM-E6PRxDGeqr2QNLxnzQ3pn_UeYpPrta2nxMsQ/s400/bread+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426969944367248642" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Bread. There can be no more earthy, primeaval, <i>important</i></span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> profession that to be a baker. Jesus was a carpenter and I know that’s right up there too but to me he should have been a baker. Man cannot live on bread alone but it would be fatal to try and live without it. Imagine no toast.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">The bread at the restaurant Bread and Wine, Commercial St, EC Something, is the best I know. It has every thing - it is airy but hefty, it is beautifully elastic, its crust is a joy to behold and the sourdough flavour is better than any I have had anywhere. They serve it with butter and salt and there can be no greater beginning to a meal.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">I have tried and failed with sour dough lots of times. I can get it to rise and start smelling pretty bad but I always kill it one way or another. I have tried with grapes, I have even tried with strawberries but they always die on me. I was just looking through Nose To Tail Eating, a block rocking cookbook by Fergus Henderson and saw that it has a bread recipe at the back. Now Fergus Henderson is owner of Bread and Wine SO could this be it. Cook books rarely give the real deal but its got to be worth trying. If I can achieve anything close to that bread’s excellence I will die a happy man.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">So here goes; the bread recipe from Nose To Tail Eating:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family:Georgia;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxfSXFQjwqSrajgVcCY5YhQqzVd-v_USHbaAlEXJvZHugjvXUZj1pGPBxGXyTYJNVNDr-k6kb2ABGM-nSi253_4BSaz0tsaDOjW6lUE0DfxJc2wynk3DsbUsm5nYOxgy9YG7UVHJtFhc/s400/bread+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426969937050296370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">1 kilo of strong bread flour (I am going to use Harina de Mallorca brand, it comes in a nice packet and besides, Shipton Mill is a long way away from Ibiza)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">500ml of water at<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>blood temperature</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">A pinch of natural yeast</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Mix them together, cover and put in the fridge till tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i>So I did this. Literally drew them together, covered and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>refridgerated</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i>Tomorrow I make bread with the starter. This is TOTALLY different to my previous attempted methods. If I can get close to UberLoaf............</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><i>Very excited.</i></span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-22928391645962038982010-01-13T00:34:00.006+01:002010-01-13T00:46:17.415+01:00Heston Services<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHu-PJZglQZAD2MXffQZfaFmLbQZEJaXBsNXslh3HnTP4-JMrMh9jpSg-kb5XUKxktp2j15OvxCx_nBiB7szKnNgPwSFx66fNYtY28EBYKcLQxPhWGc0Ws62QJeLhaAy9SgPZRXmgZ7I/s1600-h/little+chef.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHu-PJZglQZAD2MXffQZfaFmLbQZEJaXBsNXslh3HnTP4-JMrMh9jpSg-kb5XUKxktp2j15OvxCx_nBiB7szKnNgPwSFx66fNYtY28EBYKcLQxPhWGc0Ws62QJeLhaAy9SgPZRXmgZ7I/s400/little+chef.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426001083148044994" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Heston B was named after the motorway services near Heathrow so perhaps he felt he owed it to service cafes in general to begin lifting<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> them</span> out of the mire of horror in which they has resided ever since their birth. I have heard there are good ones but then you hear all sorts of stuff and frankly, seeing is believing.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">The telly is a powerful thing and when the Popham Little Chef reopened after HB waved his wand it was full from 7 in the morning till ten at night sometimes with a 2 hour wait. But of course the initial telly-generated interest<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>couldn’t last so time would tell if the experiment worked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">We were driving sort of that way on Sunday, towing a boat to Portsmouth,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>so we made the detour to see what was going on. I love Heston Blumenthal. He is the Willy Wonka of our age, constantly testing us and leaving us agog. I remember when he took over from Rowley Leigh at the Guardian on Saturday. His stuff was immediately jarringly different and the complaints came flooding in. “Who is this guy?” “How can he think we can do these things at home?” “Its impossible.” Blahblahblah. His response? A recipe for carrot chips that finished with the line “….and leave them in your oven at the lowest temperature for 2 days”. You gotta love him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">As you arrive at the Chef Petit it is immediately different. The sign says so and the fat little logo that we know and despise from childhood has had a designer unleashed upon it. As you enter the restaurant (and finally this word can be used in the same sentence as the Little Chef) you know something is up. It looks great. It<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>has bright red tables and loads of booth seating next to big windows. In the middle is a communal table . The walls are done with bevelled edged rectangular white tiles and grouted in red. You look up and the ceiling is a cheering yet slightly eerie photograph of a blue sky with birds flitting across it. The chefs and waiters are sprightly and interested and the whole thing makes you want to sit down and eat instead of emigrate instantly.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">The menu is gastro pub fare – pork belly, lamb shank, steak, sticky toffee pudding, with some 70's throwback stuff like prawn cocktail and black forest gateau etc. We had the prawn cocktail to start that was straight out of my childhood and mussels that were straight out of a iron pot shaped a bit like a mussel and probably costing more that our meal would come to. Staub I believe the make was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The finger bowl that came with dehydrated hand cloths was also by Staub. In a Little Chef!!!!!!! The mussels were little ones in a beautiful liquor but they definitely had that precooked almost crumbly texture. Shame.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">On to the mains. Hake in beer batter that was a bit greasy. The big chips were so much better that the usual fat ones but not anywhere near as nice as the French fries served with the burger. The<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>burger itself<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>was good and I was happy to feed it to my son (usually I fear for his longevity if a low grade burger is demanded) but I found it a little on the small side. The bun it was served in was lovely coming dusted in semolina flour, a touch I adore. My other kid’s Tag Bol was very child friendly, to the point where I wondered if it hadn't had sugar added to it. Having said that, a star system on the menu actively encourages kids to order healthy stuff. Order three things with a star (Innocent smoothie carries one, Coke doesn’t, for example) and the child gets a badge.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Everything so far had been pretty good and way, way above the norm of Little Chef but my Braised Ox Cheeks in red wine blew me away. I didn’t really even feel like eating stew but could not pass up ordering beef cheeks in a Little Chef. You just gotta love that man. He is so naughty. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">I think it was amongst<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>the best beef stews I have ever had. The cheeks were melted away in the mouth without the vaguest hint of dryness or toughness and the sauce was sticky and rich. I have never hade stewed meat like it. The mash that came with it was dry but suited the dish perfectly and was all the better for it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">I asked one of the chefs (who I had spied from a photo at the opening) who made what and where it came from. He told me that they only really finished things off, the majority being produced off site. The menu has obvioulsy been designed that way - provide things that can be produced in large quantities off site yet still maintain a high quality when it reaches the table ie instead of mass producing crap, mass producing quality. Nice. The chefs were visibly happy to be part of it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">The thought<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>behind everything and desire to please and be different was noticeable throughout. The toilets were fascinating – the walls have food facts<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>all over the place and on the speaker system I heard the sound of veg chopping, chefs shouting, that ghastly gastronaut Roahl Dahl reading extracts of his his food obsessed books and weird bits of music. Uncanny canned music.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">You gotta love him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-43556675805334704182010-01-07T17:31:00.004+01:002010-01-10T22:17:46.860+01:00Beef Gravy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejCmT3F_VCR8qzLFgHeNftwGG1da3WoZH68VbHIg0nvazs2c75WuS3T3U4HndbgWpGT1UDiWndev6SSQtO4KpZ6ISKzaskayeeYIt-4RgEMeufGgQtqaKuVN1IGd-O1tvsrJRwv2opn0/s1600-h/beef+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejCmT3F_VCR8qzLFgHeNftwGG1da3WoZH68VbHIg0nvazs2c75WuS3T3U4HndbgWpGT1UDiWndev6SSQtO4KpZ6ISKzaskayeeYIt-4RgEMeufGgQtqaKuVN1IGd-O1tvsrJRwv2opn0/s400/beef+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424038027040852258" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">This supreme forerib joint weighed 10 kilos and had been aged for 32 days. It was for 12 people, 3 of whom were under 10 years old. Approximately 1 kilo per person. That’s a lot of beef. An awful lot of beef.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">The sides were trimmed as they were getting slightly high and then the thing was weighed and the timing calculation was made*.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was then was rubbed with salt and in it went.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">I always roast joints over a pool of water. This serves two purposes, one; it keeps air in the oven moist and two; as the juices drip out of the joint they don’t burn onto the roasting pan and can therefore be used for the gravy. You do of course get some even if you didn’t put water in the pan but this way you get them ALL.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">When the joint came out I set the meat to rest in a warm place covered with tin foil and loads of dish cloths to keep the warmth in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I poured all the juices from the pan into a high sided vessel and waited for the fat to rise. After a couple of minutes I ladled off the fat and set it aside to make dripping. (In The Little House On The Prairie books they make candles out of beef fat). I then added ½ a bottle of decent red and boiled it for a few minutes. When the meat was rested (1 hour) and the potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and cabbage were ready I poured the further juices that had accumulated under the beef into the gravy as well and brought it to boil.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">This gravy was absolutely delectable. Pure, thin, strong. Try it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:12.0pt"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">*40 mins in a hot oven (220ºC) then 20 mins per kilo in medium oven (180ºC)THEN 1 hour resting. Achtung!!!!!!!! Resting essential. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-19152695994194145252009-12-06T12:14:00.010+01:002009-12-11T20:39:38.303+01:00Maximus Porcus Pius<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqT4qWeRmhP4DLugOOhdS81oSoIUHb4WDXUs-gaMWPtCvKIG2IlTxAZ4Kcz-bOza2Ap0drHcx9EGqU5S_JhsRFSbWZ1CpGkERovfe8g0Z_8LSbn5CPgYbxeMJseOljVKmv-7rkgzKoq4Y/s1600-h/brunel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqT4qWeRmhP4DLugOOhdS81oSoIUHb4WDXUs-gaMWPtCvKIG2IlTxAZ4Kcz-bOza2Ap0drHcx9EGqU5S_JhsRFSbWZ1CpGkERovfe8g0Z_8LSbn5CPgYbxeMJseOljVKmv-7rkgzKoq4Y/s400/brunel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412198261935812210" /></a><br /><br /><br />A few weeks ago I was going on about the satisfaction that making terrines gives and that making pork pies produces a similar feeling of wellbeing. 3 years ago I got into making pork pies and loved it. Soooo satisfying. Last week the opportunity to sell some pies arose so I got myself together to make some. As I got to try and make money out of it, this requires doing larger than domestic quantities so requires more money and more consideration. Also I gotta get the time taken/quantity produced equation right or my family will die of starvation.<br /><br />I went through my files and found no record of “how to make 10 pork pies before Doomsday” so had to poke around in my memory. It took me two days before I could remember. Lots was easy to remember but there were vagaries - the pins and the baking parchment? Where the hell do they come into the process? <br /><br />The measurements I give are for 2 pork pies the size of the ones in the photos. There are lots of stages which can be done over a couple of days or all together but they are all simple and very satisfying.<br /><br />I put a couple of split pigs trotters into a good chicken stock and set it to simmer for a few hours. The trotters will have completed their job only when they fall to pieces when you try to pick them up. When it is at this point, strain it and allow it to cool.<br /><br />The hot water pastry is lovely to make. It is quick, easy and forgiving and you end up with a lovely warm dough that would make a nice bed. If only you were a pixie. Heat 200ml water and 200g lard until lard melts. Pour it into 550g flour with a good pinch of salt and break an egg into it. Work it till it comes together into a dough. Split the pastry into 2 pieces. One 2/3 size and one 1/3 size. Squash them flat and cover with film. Leave them to cool a bit.<br /><br />Next you make the meat mix. Pork is well suited cos of its high fat content and ability to stand up to long cooking – the hot water crust takes a while to cook. Game pies are good but tend to be dry I find. So I got 500g pork shoulder cut into small cubes, 250g belly minced fine and 125g of good bacon. I added ground juniper, thyme, nutmeg, pepper, a little ground clove and a lot of salt and I mixed it. If you got some sort of Kenwood or other mixer, use it. Not only does make the mixing easier but I think it does something good to the finished texture. Same with sausages.<br /><br />Take a bit out, fry it and try it to test for seasoning. Adjust as necessary.<br /><br />Now roll out the bigger piece to normal pastry thickness and then lay it over a mould. This can be an upturned glass, pan, flowerpot or something. It has to have high sides. You are going to mould the pie case by hand to a shape and size that will fit all the meat in. You start off this process with your upturned receptacle that is about the right size. Think about the finished product and what you want to achieve – you want something that looks like a pork pie, not an apple pie nor a stovepi(p)e hat. <br /><br />Once you have laid the pastry over the mould, press the pastry against the side and flatten any overlap with your fingers. Squish the sides to the right height and ease it from the mould onto a floured surface. You should have a piece of pastry casing the shape of a cup that looks a bit like it might melt. Don’t worry, it will hold its form.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEeGiTIDWqgggaayNF1_ZqEnmBtpsnMdXyF0-DBSKw5txhjy933yNM-YSMyttM2N_BhYMrf6aafaXOBVVD0e6X9BIuRB2Jk_a82Hc7rCHA-opY6OtX9GnGz7xZK6FR3j0C8vz23LO4BcE/s1600-h/pork+pie+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEeGiTIDWqgggaayNF1_ZqEnmBtpsnMdXyF0-DBSKw5txhjy933yNM-YSMyttM2N_BhYMrf6aafaXOBVVD0e6X9BIuRB2Jk_a82Hc7rCHA-opY6OtX9GnGz7xZK6FR3j0C8vz23LO4BcE/s400/pork+pie+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412199138074747906" /></a><br /><br />Quickly roll out the lid piece to just bigger than the rim of the casing. Make a little hole in the top. It is through this hole that the stock will be poured later on. Put the meat into the casing and push it down and into the corners. It should go out to the sides and rise up to the rim. Then wet the rims of both pastry pieces with water and put the lid on. Crimp the edges together between your two first fingers and thumb making sure it is sealed all the way round. Pin a baking parchment collar around it to help it stay upright whilst it cooks.<br /><br /><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIyJaTIl1hRpLe6JHzKA_3j1YGOOjoeOcna8snLUQQb-dPZ1Suo3EbG7ZnuvkCDPKsG-NZPraLq3cprm4wZCJ14fgvSQvy6pRCDRjmMR8DwWd_PCRZqkpYwQ2rGnlJmS2UFISiuLv7-g/s400/pork+pie+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412539166585870610" /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd4GfV-v8noqKaRdj0bL-IWt3j3plrglJJgNMEg9GDIOwNJr9ag2V_l4WjFNwUdCYTfa91RHl5qwQ7RtG0_ENakqaQxqpGZHSZzW1eP_5UhjC5-hQq5ne1VdvffMBzIvewLYI9B1ruYY/s1600-h/pork+pie+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd4GfV-v8noqKaRdj0bL-IWt3j3plrglJJgNMEg9GDIOwNJr9ag2V_l4WjFNwUdCYTfa91RHl5qwQ7RtG0_ENakqaQxqpGZHSZzW1eP_5UhjC5-hQq5ne1VdvffMBzIvewLYI9B1ruYY/s400/pork+pie+3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412539173532856594" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rK5rzmXGx8SkIlVWHI5zNKI6RAiPT2Thw8242aFP4s8v52bfhQxg6tfB_gE-SQ43oj8kNtzn_m7bkmSh_6_lHc_jSZVaxeIRFeMd-wxzgZdCgpb88rmMbqCeFkSNJp3KlL_6fgcM6SE/s1600-h/pork+pie+4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rK5rzmXGx8SkIlVWHI5zNKI6RAiPT2Thw8242aFP4s8v52bfhQxg6tfB_gE-SQ43oj8kNtzn_m7bkmSh_6_lHc_jSZVaxeIRFeMd-wxzgZdCgpb88rmMbqCeFkSNJp3KlL_6fgcM6SE/s400/pork+pie+4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412539179258802802" /></a><br /><br />Put it in the oven at 180ºC without fan (140 with) and cook for 40 minutes. Remove the collar, glaze it with a brush of milk and cook for a further 20. When the meat juices bubble through the aperture in the lid, it will be done. If you want to make sure, poke a skewer into its middle and test against your lip. Be careful. It will be hot. If it aint, cook it some more.<br /><br />Let it cool and contract, a good hour or so, and then pour in the stock. Let it cool properly so the stock becomes lubberly jelly and then eat it. It will last for a couple of weeks like this but if you can manage to get the cooking, contracting and jelling bit done in one day, you will eat a pork pie unlike any you have had before.<br /><br />This really is a product you can hold in your hand and contemplate as a thing of beauty. When I was making them before loved them so much I would carry one around with me in a cool bag, as well as a small chopping board and long switch blade so whenever I came across a likely taker I could cut them a slice.<br /><br />I reckon pork pies must have come into existence for two reasons. The first that it is a self contained piece of delicious sustenance and the second that it has good longevity, an important consideration pre-refrigerators. The jelly in the finished pie stops the air, and thus bacteria, getting to the meat. This increases its shelf life considerably.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" uk="" services="" player="" bctid="1568089576""></a><br /><a href="http://video.telegraph.co.uk/services/player/bcpid1138370360?bctid=1568089576">A good pork piece is a piece of perfection.</a><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGQrDjQm1QJEG194Y_neKE1ld1nGoYK0TP7Up9PPF4VgCFPhaUh9RC1nSjjYo5IisaOQZVGNLYvtGLquCjkKTlyPdXIGWIxHKIxDo7j40tgRh2eIMMaaVYxbEEq_B9iBZgHNvEN0J5X8/s1600-h/Pork+Pie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGQrDjQm1QJEG194Y_neKE1ld1nGoYK0TP7Up9PPF4VgCFPhaUh9RC1nSjjYo5IisaOQZVGNLYvtGLquCjkKTlyPdXIGWIxHKIxDo7j40tgRh2eIMMaaVYxbEEq_B9iBZgHNvEN0J5X8/s400/Pork+Pie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412539184840036642" /></a><br /><br />200Water<br />200 lard<br />550 flour<br />1 egg<br />500g pork shoulder cut into small cubes<br />250g belly minced fine<br />1/2 tspoon ground juniper<br />1 tspoon thyme<br />1/4 tspoon nutmeg<br />ground black pepper<br />1/4 tspoon ground clove<br />a good tspoon of salt</div>La Grande Bouffehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470263179981482249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9048940681386783793.post-44539687572678454902009-12-01T16:55:00.000+01:002009-12-01T16:55:57.959+01:00chilli and clam fideua<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;">find yourself a beach and make this. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/E072E1zkh94&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/E072E1zkh94&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span><br />
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