burger and lobster - review

Burger and Lobster, Dean Street – delivers what it says on the tin.  It serves burgers (one way), it serves lobster.  And nothing in between.  The burger is cooked to your preference, comes with lettuce, tomato, red onion, thick cut bacon and a square of processed cheese.  The 1.5lb lobsters can come hot, whole and in shell, either only steamed or steamed followed by a lick on the grill.  To accompany it, a garlic and lemon butter sauce.  Alternatively, you can request the lobster cold and in a brioche bun.  All dishes are £20 and all are served with a tin of thin cut fries and a small side salad.

For a menu with just three items on it, a good range of palettes are in fact catered for here. Not many people would turn down a thick juicy burger prior to a night painting the rest of Soho red, or for a brisk bite to eat after a theatre showing.  And for those who are after some lighter, posh chow and a photo opportunity, a whole deep pink lobster spread-eagled on a huge oval plate meets the requirements. It's a venue that has no qualms about its brazen lack of accomodating the vegetarian, and I like that.

My two friends Mel and Reggie accompanied me to dinner, meeting early in order to avoid as much clipboard queue at the door as possible – the restaurant only takes reservations for groups of six or more.  We had all arrived by 6.10 but weren't seated until 6.45.  The venue is cavernous, with a single floor of diners and a huge area downstairs where the toilets could be found, and probably the kitchen.  The format of the dining area are booths and tables, it’s aiming for high-end fast food and a quick turnaround. The odd lobster tank was visible - I suspect these only for display with the big guns that actually supply the kitchen surely needing to be almost room sized in order to meet the huge demand for crustaceans over the evening.

Once seated in the already heaving restaurant, we were greeted by a spritely, American-esque red head who attempted to crack jokes and informed us in her spare time she fenced competitively.  She reeled off the three piece menu – there’s nothing on paper as there isn’t really a requirement with such few items. All three of us came for the lobster which at the same price as the burger, is much better value. My two companions ordered them steamed whereas I requested the steamed then grilled option.  They arrived within a few minutes, huge and attention seeking, ceremoniously placed on our table before us.  Glance over your shoulder or at the table to the side of you, and you’ll see at least one person with a camera or phone taking a picture of themselves and their dining partners raising huge claws towards a cheesy smile, like a sea-dwelling trophy. The concept of this place has unashamedly cashed in the average client's unquenchable thirst to share every waking moment of their existence with the rest of the globe via social media, and why not. That's a lot of free advertising.  

Provided with your meals are disposable plastic bibs with a characteur on the front of what looks to be a stereotyped French waiter with a curled mustachio. While we took the obligatory photograph with these wrapped around our necks, I noticed the waiter that had served our meals was identical to the drawing on the front of bibs. Turns out he’s Sicilian, his name is Michaele and there was a story about his face and the bib somewhere in what he was saying, but his wonderful thick accent and the general noise in the venue prevented me from deciphering it.  Not to mention the fact Michaele’s attention was fully directed at Reggie, with Mel and I not even getting a look in. Funny that.  

All in all, my lobster was ok. The meat wasn’t as sweet as I would have wanted.  The lick of smoke was welcomed, but the thicker parts of the lobster were chewy.  My companions said theirs were fully tender, so I put it down to the effects of the grill causing some rigor in the flesh.  The butter sauce whilst having hints of garlic, had no evidence of citrus as advertised.  Acidity was much needed to cut through everything on the plate and so I had to request some wedges. The crustacean comes with the main parts already separated so you can get on with extracting the meat with the lobster fork provided, but the flesh in some claws were inaccessible and required a lobster cracker. With the waiter pre-occupied with other customers, we all promptly started to bash the claws on the table with the handle end of our knives to create an access point for our lobster forks.  Turns out this was a very effective way to grab the attention of the staff – lobster crackers swiftly delivered.

Whilst the plates seem daunting in their size when first presented, the lobsters aren’t that filling.  And so there was more than enough room for dessert.  Our red-head informed us what was available – a cheesecake or a chocolate mousse with a salted caramel base.  One of each were requested and were delivered in small cardboard cartons.  The cheesecake was far too sloppy – whilst the flavours were good, the texture of the bulk of it was almost liquid.  The chocolate mousse however, with the salted pieces of peanuts covered in caramel, was a sheer delight.  Three spoons attacked the latter and I missed out on the last piece because I was too busy talking.  What’s new. So we ordered a second mousse and promptly devoured it. The three of us were in the full swing of excellent chat when we were very sweetly, but rather annoyingly asked if we could hurry it up a bit.  If a joint is going to serve wine by the bottle, I don’t think it’s fair for them to request you to get a move on when your glasses are still half full - I like to savour my wine.

The staff we encountered were pleasing, particularly Michaele who was quite the fan of my friend Reggie and making eyes at him at every opportunity.  He told us next time we come to request to sit in the area he serves so he could spend some time with us – I’d like to do that.  I will return - I will try the lobster steamed and request extra lemon in advance.  My company was also top notch.  Dinner started at 6 with the intention of it being a civilised and early evening – events didn’t quite go according to plan and we ended up in a cocktail joint dancing on the bar on a school night until the wee hours.  But that’s probably another story.

Liked lots - staff; atmosphere; novelty of a whole lobster on your plate; location
Liked less - waiting for a table; if you get the burger option the value for money isn't as good
Good for - groups of friends; being raucous; taking London visitors to

Alfiyet olsun.

Pimentón

It’s creeping up behind me. Its horrible, leering presence waiting to pounce.  Biding its time before it makes its move, waiting for a show of weakness before an attack.  No, it’s not a platinum blonde 80’s BBC presenter, but the beginnings of a cold.

And I’m not having it.  It’s a busy time of year, with a hectic social calendar.  I also have lots of things I need to do. Lists to draw up. Gifts to buy. Menus to plan. Curtains to make. Meetings to attend. I do not have the time to pander to the needs of a cold.

And so at the first hint of the fuzzy head, the lack of concentration, that tiny patch of burning in the back of the throat just waiting to multiply and spread, I retaliate.  My weapons of choice – three key ingredients that when combined, create a life giving nectar.  Every glug of broth warming the very marrow in your bones.  This is the thing to consume at the first signs of a cold.  Along with some zinc and Vitamin C supplements.  And I’ll put good money on it working.  Let me know.


Garlic Soup (from La Mancha)

This is a slightly different take on the Garlic Soup with Eggs recipe taken from the excellent Rick Stein’s Spain.

And here’s how he introduces this dish:

“If I were to describe this soup as hot stock with fried garlic, grilled bread and a poached egg, it would sound rather dull, but the fact that it is made all over Spain and is at the very heart of the cooking of Castilla-La Mancha tells you there’s something magical about this combination.”

Agreed.

Makes several portions, but can be drunk by one person over the course of the day / evening.

Ingredients
As much garlic as your family, friends and co-workers will let you get away with.  Try at least a whole head, each clove very thinly sliced.
A kettle full of boiled water
3 chicken stock cubes (I particularly like Knorr)
Olive oil
Pimenton picante (smoked hot Spanish paprika) 
Good quality thickly sliced white bread

Gently fry the garlic in a very decent glug of olive oil in a saucepan until lightly golden, but no darker.

Crumble the stock cubes into the pan and stir until they’ve melted.

Add a freshly boiled kettle of water and bring to a simmer.

Add the pimenton to taste – start with 1tsp and keep going if you fancy it.  I have quite a bit in mine.

Turn off the heat and crack an egg into the pan.  You can do this into a ladle full of the liquid – this way the egg doesn’t touch the pan base and the yolk stays runny.

Grill a slice of bread.  Tear and place at the bottom of a bowl.

Once the egg is cooked, ladle it and some liquid over the bread, until your bowl is full.

Devour and bask in its healing qualities.  Consume the remaining broth during the rest of the evening, slurping appreciatively straight from the bowl or from a mug.

The key ingredient is the pimenton and you can find it in good supermarkets, often in the specialist section rather than in the general spice rack aisle.  Delicatessens are also likely to stock it.  You can see the two brands I use in the images, bought from Waitrose and Selfridges.  
As Rick says, this doesn’t sound like much.  And I’ll be the first to admit the photograph of it is nothing special.  But you simply will not understand the greatness of this simple soup until you try it.  Possibly the easiest thing you’ll ever make, and one of the tastiest.

Don’t ever let your cupboards run out of this exquisite spice.

Alfiyet olsun.

Eating in Marrakesh

Food stock at Stall No. 1 in Jemaa el-Fnaa

I sit here writing this entry on the rooftop of our medina riad, clinging to the last few hours of our time in Marrakesh in the warm November sunshine, with the ubiquitous and obligatory sweet peppermint tea for companionship. It’s a city that has welcomed us warmly, overwhelmed us with its generosity and will be hard to say goodbye to. I shall miss its mayhem, its charm and most of all, its people.  From the softly spoken story telling Nomads and Berbers we stayed with on the fringes of the Sahara, to our always smiling riad hostess and her effortless French elegance at any hour of the day.

Souks

There are a few aspects of Marrakesh that have particularly stood out for me during this trip. The first is the skill of the locals demonstrated in their crafts and art, almost irresistible to any tourist wishing to capture a piece of North African design to lavish upon their friends, family or abode. The souks (open air markets) are vast and Ikea-esque in their format - once you've been swallowed whole it's near impossible to escape, especially empty handed. But who would want to? 

Each sense takes a full on assault as you meander through the labyrinthine alleyways - beckoning hands urging you to come and taste a fresh date or a newly cracked walnut; wafting aromas mingling in the dusty air - cinnamon, olives in brine, donkey manure and young men marinating in too much aftershave; the play of light and colour through intricately forged metal lamps hanging from every available space and the hypnotizing quality of the shifting patterns they cast; the unending stream of rich textiles flowing through the streets - leather, silk, linen, cashmere all fighting for your finger tips; and the familiar white noise of many a foreign city - revving mopeds, the chatter of unfamiliar birds, car horns, banter between locals, the enchanting call to prayer carried on the breeze from the local mosque, stall owners asking you to 'come and have a butchers' and that they'll give me a 'good Asda price'. I don't believe I've ever left a country with as big a bounty of goods as I have from here, along with the unenviable challenge that accompanies such treasures - trying to pack it all safely and stay within the militant Easyjet weight limit. I have everything crossed, particularly for the mirror.

There is then the aspect of the city which I of course came with the specific intention of scrutinising - the culture of food. And I have made several observations.

The sweet life

Mint tea served with almond sweets

Morrocans have a very, very sweet tooth.  Trying to source a dish not containing some level of sweetness was a challenge.  Tagines often contain fruit – apricots, currants, pomegranate, quince.  ‘Fromage’ pastries as labelled in the patisserie were in fact sweet.  Quick snacks and bites to eat are centred around sugar – for example coconut macaroons sold on metal trays throughout the souks or small and sweet almond biscuits. Supermarket bakery departments adorned with bountiful and intricate petit fours, but not a wide range of bread. Pastilla, one of the countries delicacies - a filo pastry parcel containing shredded chicken or pigeon mixed with egg and crushed almonds and topped with cinnamon and sugar icing.  One of the key characteristics of Moroccan cuisine is their ability to blend sweet, savoury, and spices and they do this well and in abundance. But for someone who would choose savoury over sweet any day, it’s a palette that takes a little getting used to.

In addition, mint tea accompanies every conversation, transaction, respite, meal, thought and the general passing of time in Morocco. Each of these small glasses of tea has at least 3-4 heaped teaspoons of sugar in it. I would say the average Moroccan consumes 10 or so of these a day, if not more. Needless to say with dental hygiene routines not equal in intensity to the consumption of sugar, it is all too common to meet folk in their 20's already with a few gaps in their smile. But hey, they are still smiling.

Cheese

Our journey through the twisted roads of the Atlas mountains en route to our overnight desert trip welcomed us with some spectacular landscapes - deep red earth against autumnal greens, yellows and silver foliage of the valleys running through them. And with a sun low in the sky, the long and dramatic dark shadows cast by the numerous peaks only enhanced the majesty of the surroundings. The journey also unveiled to us the most common source of income after tourism - agriculture. We went past many farms with fields of maize and mint, forests of date palms and lots of wild stock - there were many goats and sheep throughout the landscape we journeyed through.

Drâa Valley in the Atlas Mountains

My food related observation here is that for a country bountiful in sheep and goats, and therefore their milk, local cheeses seem to be almost non-existent. For someone who is a) half Turkish where good local white cheese is next to Godliness - the opinion of myself as well as most, if not all, Turks and b) one of the biggest cheese fans one is likely to encounter, this discovery was an quite a blow. Whenever Matt and I visit a country, the breakfasts are the meals we hold out most anticipation for. This is mostly due to the fact that they are likely to involve a local breakfast cheese – this on some fresh and still warm bread with a slathering of honey or jam is one of life's most welcomed pleasures. Turkey, Italy, Malta, Spain, France all do not disappoint. But alas, Morocco fell short. Seeing no evidence of said cheese after two days in the country prompted me to check with our driver taking us towards the Sahara. He confirmed our observations - there aren't really Moroccan cheeses. He did reference a far off corner of the country that makes some (the name of which I didn't catch) and said it was quite delicious, but otherwise the only cheeses you'll find in supermarkets are imported from France and also, Laughing Cow triangles. I found this a great shame.  But I suppose that while a stretch of the country does neighbour the Mediterranean, this is in fact Africa - a continent with an inevitably different palette and requirements to that of the Mediterranean – the diet of which I am much more familiar with.

Favourites
There are a few things we ate in Marrakesh that we particularly enjoyed.

Baghrir - a sponge like pancake with little open-air pockets on the top, similar to a large crumpet.  We were served these for breakfast in the riad every morning – delicious with honey.

Riad breakfast with baghrir

Raib - home made Moroccan yoghurt made with orange blossom water and vanilla. A little pot of these were also served with breakfast in quaint glass flip-top jars. One of the best yoghurts I've ever tasted - completely divine.

Berber tagine omellete - something in between a frittata and scrambled eggs, these were cooked in a tagine with tomatoes, onion, coriander and a hefty dose of cumin. Served still sizzling and with a chilli sauce side, of which the waiter informed me was a ‘viagra natural’. Thanks for the tip.

Berber omelette

Ghoriba - a coconut macaroon, excellent after dinner with a glass of mint tea. They have a chewy texture as expected from a macaroon, but the semolina content also gives them a wonderful crunch.

Coconut ghoriba

The last and best supper
It's near impossible to visit Morocco and not encounter a tagine or two. They are presented to you with a grand unveiling at your table from beneath a conical terracotta lid, revealing a pyramid of stacked vegetables with the meat of the dish sitting at the centre. We sampled a couple of chicken tagines with preserved lemons. They varied in quality, with the more superior being the one had at our riad. They were OK, but I wasn’t swept away on the crest of a wave of flavour and spices. I'm almost certain I've made better ones. We did have a beef one too, where the slightly charred and sticky edges of the meat pieces stuck to the base and these nuggets of concentrated flavours were very pleasing. But again, not as good as I had hoped or anticipated.

Cooking at Stall No. 1

Four days of similarly underwhelming tagines sent us towards Jeema El-Fna on our fifth night, the square and market place central to the old part of the city (the medina). Each evening as the sun slips away under the horizon, hundreds of cooks and waiters cart their equipment, ingredients, table and chairs into the square by donkey, setting up for another night of frenzied cooking and serving. This is the place to eat in Marrakesh. Under every stall, long stainless steel tables are covered with paper (replaced after each customer) or just wiped down between servings. Benches are crammed with locals and tourists alike sitting elbow to elbow. Dishes are served on stainless steel plates with a round of bread of which you pick up your mouthfuls - only the tourists request cutlery and that's at the risk of it being rinsed in a bucket of tap water - best avoided. And don’t bother asking for a serviette – there are none.  The cooking areas sit within a circle of tables for each stall - men toiling at every station for supply to meet demand. Calloused and scarred hands revealing the longevity of the cook, no longer even flinching at the popping and splatting of searing pan oil onto their skin. The bellowing cooking smoke rolling out from under the canopies and spiralling into the night sky can be seen from some distance.

Your appetite is only restricted by your imagination and bravery is embraced in the square - from cauldrons of boiled snails served with toothpicks to separate meat from shell; whole goats heads on a plate including brains and eyes; tripe and testicles; and everything in between. Alas, I'm not that brave.  So on our last day we took a seat at stall No. 1 as advised by many favourable online recommendations. It also seems to be the only stall out of 100 or so run by a woman. Turns out, this was the best meal we had in Marrakesh. And it was the cheapest, with the least amount of frills – and isn’t this just always the way.

First we were presented with a khübz each – a round and flat loaf with a small plate of almost luminescent tomato sauce to dip it in.  We ordered starters of spiced and smokey aubergine dip called zaalouk, alongside cooked chopped spinach. For mains we had a mixed brochette (grill) with skewers of chicken, lamb, beef, merguez sausages with their hot and wonderful oiliness bursting between your teeth, and kefta - minced balls cooked in a tagine.  And my goodness, the meat was truly excellent.  I’m rarely successful in eating lamb cooked over coals as I always find it too chewy. But the lamb with this meal was impeccable – tender as if beaten into oblivion, marinated in a sublime set of spices, breaking away in your fingertips from the skewer.  The keftas were generously spiced and incredibly tasty, with the rest of the meat following suit.  To accompany them, Matt ordered a vegetable couscous.  Of which I had little intention eating.  I saw it as a fodder dish to ensure you leave full, rather than something you order to specifically savour the taste of.  I mean, how good can a vegetable couscous be?  After all, it’s just couscous – with vegetables. VERY - is the answer to that.  I’ve never tasted a couscous like it – nothing like the bland and boring couscous I’ve had back home, that can only be saved with lashings of lemon and mountains of parsley.  This couscous had none of the flavours of the Mediterranean that I’m used to or would expect from this dish, but was absolutely delicious and far superior.  After the first mouthful with a hunk of bread as my utensil, I cast a wide eyed and confused gaze at Matt:

‘Matt – have you tasted this?
Isn’t this couscous?
Bloody hell it’s so good!
I don’t understand, how can it be so good?
What’s in it?’
And so on.

I’m not sure what sent this humble grain into the next dimension for me.  But it tasted rich, buttery and had a beautiful creamy texture.  I don’t even think there was that much to it, but it worked so well with the spiced meat whilst also valiantly standing it's own ground.  I would have been happy just to have eaten that.  Needless to say, I promptly ate more than half to Matt’s great disappointment.

The whole meal came to just over 100DH, which was around £8 for the two of us.  Wet wipes at the ready, we handed over a note, paid our compliments to the woman running the gaff, and wondered over to a lady balancing a tray on her hand with the other on her hip, to buy a couple of macaroon biscuits for dessert – about 20p each.  Climbing two flights of stairs to a balcony café overlooking the square, we ordered a mint tea for two, sat back and absorbed the atmosphere of the outdoor spectacle that is Jeema El-Fna on our last night.  Sated, smug and contemplating a return.

Alfiyet olsun.

roast red pepper, spinach and goats cheese tart

It’s the last couple of days before we’re off for a week. Off to a bustling city full of heady spice, labyrinthine alleyways and turbaned potion sellers.  I’ll tell all on my return – but safe to say I’m expecting some excellent material to write about when I do.

The process of getting to the destination you seek out when it comes to travelling is more often than not plagued with mediocre meals and insipid flavours. 

The majority of us (who can’t justify flying anything superior to economy) are either faced with a Boots meal deal to take on the plane (is there anyone who doesn’t choose Innocent for the drink?) or worse, decide to risk the in-flight meal - a brick of a chicken breast which when hacked into is as hot as the sun, alongside an array of sorry excuses for vegetables that have been microwaved into another dimension.  Top that with a dessert so sweet you won’t get a wink of sleep and a stodgy side roll. Delicious.

So I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands by taking a picnic, of sorts.  I’m after something that we can have to eat the night before we leave, can sustain us en route to the airport and on the flight, is easily transportable, is in separate portions, and can be eaten cold. And if possible, something that demonstrates a bit of skill.

The word ‘tart’ comes to mind.

Roast red pepper, spinach and goats cheese tart

Makes 8 slices

A bit like a quiche but with a healthier yoghurt and egg filling rather than cream and egg – great hot or cold.

For the shortcrust pastry

Makes enough to line a 23cm/24cm (9”) tart tin.  Make sure your tin is loose bottomed.

You could buy a ready made pastry case for this and just work from the filling onwards. But why do that, when you can make it yourself.  It’s one of the easiest pastries there is, and it’s much more fun.  All you’ll need is a rolling pin.  This recipe for shortcrust is from Paul Hollywood’s How to Bake.

250g plain flour
Pinch of salt
125g chilled unsalted butter
2 medium egg yolks
50ml cold water

The golden rule when making this pastry is not to overwork it.  The less handling time it gets, the more crumbly and melt-in-the-mouth it will be when cooked. So once it’s brought together, avoid any further handling.

Put the flour and salt into a bowl and mix together.  Add the butter cubes.  Rub the ingredients together lightly with your fingertips until all the cubes are incorporated into the flour and you’re left with a breadcrumb consistency.

Add the egg yolks and being to mix with your hands, then slowly add the water and mix until a paste is formed that leaves the sides of the bowl clean.

Tip the pastry onto a lightly floured surface and shape into a ball – remember not to overwork or handle it too much.  Flatten the pastry into a rough disk with your fingertips (this will help with rolling out later), wrap in cling film and keep in the fridge for as long as you can – minimum half an hour, over night is really best.

Once chilled, take it out and place on a lightly floured surface.  Roll it out so it’s larger than your tart tin – you want it to line the base, sides and have extra hanging over the sides that you can cut off.  The thickness of the pastry should be just short of the width of a pound coin.

Carefully roll the pastry onto your rolling pin to help you lift it and lay it over your tin. Using your knuckle, push the pastry right into the corners and the sides.  Slice off any excess with a sharp knife while rotating the tin.

Now you need to blind bake the pastry case.  This process partially cooks the pastry before any filling is put into it.  This is needed if the filling would take less time to cook than the pastry, which is the case in this recipe. Preheat the oven to 180C / fan 160C / gas 4.

Prick the pastry all over with a fork to prevent the pastry bubbling and going out of shape – do lots of holes and right to the edges.  You want them as deep as you can without breaking through the base.  Chill the pastry for at least 15 minutes – the colder it is at this stage, the less it will shrink from the sides during baking.

Get a large piece of baking paper much bigger than your tin, and grease one side with butter.  Place the sheet over the tin butter side down, and push right into the sides. Now fill this paper with baking beads (available in cookware shops and good department stores) or uncooked rice.  This weight will prevent the pastry bubbling and ensure an even cook.  Ensure the paper is touching the pastry all over, right up to the edges.

Bake for 10-15 minutes until the pastry is cooked and opaque.  Carefully remove the paper and beans / rice (if any bits are bubbling up at this point, prick again with a fork) and return the empty tart case to the oven for 10 minutes or so, or until the base is dry and crisp and the top edges just start to turn golden.  Leave in the tin and continue with the recipe.

For the tart filling

2 red onions, finely sliced
3 roasted red peppers, quartered (roast them yourself until soft or buy a jar of ready roasted to save time)
4 tbsp balsamic vinegar
200g sliced goats cheese – try and get something French
Fresh thyme leaves
3 medium free range eggs
150ml Greek yoghurt (get the strained Total brand as it has less water content – I used the 0% fat one)
2 tbsp toasted pine nuts
Small bag of spinach
Olive oil
Seasoning

Gently fry the onions in some oil on a very low heat for as long as you can give it – you can do this while you’re blind baking your pastry.  The longer and slower they cook, the stickier and sweeter they will be.  For the last few minutes, add the balsamic vinegar and cook until it’s reduced and you’re left with caramelised onion marmalade.

Spread this over the base of your pastry.  Arrange the red peppers and slices of goats cheese, and sprinkle with the thyme leaves.

In the meantime, wilt ¾ of the small bag of spinach in a pan – put 2cm cold water in the pan, add all the spinach, put the heat on medium and keep the lid on.  They’ll wilt in no time.  Drain the spinach and using kitchen towel to soak up as much of the water as possible.  Then chop the spinach up a bit.

Mix the eggs with the yoghurt, add the cool cooked spinach and the toasted pine nuts. Season well with salt and a good amount of black pepper.  Pour this mixture over the tart filling.  Bake in the oven until the filling has set and the pastry edges are golden brown. Serve hot with a side salad of rocket or spinach, or enjoy cold and on the move.

crisp and dry bottom

The goats cheese cuts through the sweetness of the onions and peppers, and the pine nuts provide welcome texture.  The pastry is just wonderful – thin, buttery, crumbly and completely dry.  No soggy bottom – Mary Berry would be proud.

This tart is quite versatile in the sense that you could fill it with anything that doesn’t have a high water content, and then pour the egg and yoghurt mixture over it.  For example roasted artichokes, sun dried tomatoes, charred asparagus spears to name just a few.

Once you have the pastry nailed, you can experiment with any number of fillings.  The yoghurt and egg mixture on top is a great replacement for the high fat cream and egg mixture of a standard quiche, especially if you use a low fat variety of yoghurt.  

I don’t believe there’s any detriment in using the 0% fat Total yoghurt over the full fat – this is a good (but rare) example of there being little difference between the two.

My preference of unsalted butter whenever I make pastry is the President butter from France.  It’s so beautifully pale that when I’ve chopped it into cubes, I must consciously remind myself not to mistakenly think it’s cheese and scoff a piece.  

The aroma it gives off not only when being baked, but even at the very first stage of rubbing the butter into the flour with your fingertips, is completely delicious.  You’ll easily find it in any supermarket.

Sliced and protected with some foil, this tart would do well on its short voyage to the airport. How much of it realistically makes it out the door in the first place though, is a different matter. Two pieces seem to have already disappeared whilst writing this entry.  Dammit.

Alfiyet olsun.

Au pistou

Some of the greatest meals start with the most humble of ingredients. ‘Chop and fry an onion’ – the beginnings of a rich coq au vin, a wholesome cassoulet, or any number of countless recipes that set off on the same promising foot.

A pan full of these humble ingredients along with some herbs creates a key staple used across the board as a base of substance – vegetable stock.  An excellent example of an often overlooked but fundamental component of many dishes.

A vegetable stock in its traditional form is a mass of liquid that has taken on the flavour of the vegetables and herbs that have been gently simmered in it.  Other ingredients are then cooked in the stock to provide them with a base of flavour that can then be built upon. 

But I do have an issue with this:

‘Strain the liquid’.

After the vegetables have been simmered, the liquid is strained and reserved – this is the stock.  There is no longer a need for the vegetables – they’ve given you their clean and fresh flavours and you are now expected to turn them out to the cold.  And why not – a carrot, a stick of celery, an onion – they’re two a penny.  Who cares? 

I do.

I take the straining of the liquid personally.  You’ve got the flavours you’re after. There is no real necessity to discard all that fibre.  And so, I often don’t.

This is a great one-pot wonder recipe that lets the flavours get on with their job.

Bean and Vegetable Soup au Pistou

Makes about 3 portions

300g dried beans of your choice (my favourite are butter beans)

For the veg stock
2 sticks of celery thickly sliced
2 carrots thickly sliced
1 white onion chopped into chunks
3 cloves of garlic 
3 bay leaves
3 sprigs of rosemary
10 whole peppercorns
Olive oil

For the pistou / pesto
A pistou is a cold sauce made of garlic, basil and olive oil and is the French version of pesto - the main difference is it doesn’t contain pine nuts like pesto.  It’s more traditionally stirred into soups but you could absolutely use pesto as a replacement. If you do however, I urge you to make your own – it’s so incredibly easy, much cheaper than buying a jar of it ready made, and the freshness will fight its way through and have a dance on your tongue.  

Pistou
Basil leaves
Garlic
Olive oil
Parmesan 
Salt and pepper

Pesto
As above, but with toasted pine nuts.

Soak the beans in plenty of cold water over night. Rinse well and drain.

Place into a large heavy based pan, add plenty of cold water and bring to a simmer.  Remove the scum that will appear on the surface as it comes up the boil.

Once the water is boiling, add all the vegetables, herbs, a good glug of olive oil and a decent amount of salt.  Bring back up to the boil and then reduce the heat so you are left with a comforting and very slow simmer – blip blip.

Keep it like this for 1.5-2 hrs giving the beans a stir now and again to prevent them sticking to the bottom of the pan.  It’s ready when the beans are tender and have no resistance to a bite.

To make your pesto / pistou, mash all the ingredients in a pestle and mortar or wazz it with something electrical – I often use my stick blender. Then add a little oil at a time until you have the required consistency.  It’s that easy.

You’ll notice I haven’t specified how much of each of the sauce components to add as it’s completely down to your taste.  My advice would be to start with 1 clove of garlic, a heaped tablespoon of toasted pine nuts, a small handful of basil leaves, a little pile of parmesan gratings, a good glug of oil and a big pinch of black pepper.  Then adjust according to your taste.

Once your soup is ready, pour into a bowl and dollop a tablespoon of your delicious home made sauce and stir through.  Serve with a crusty roll.

This is a simple, wholesome and nutritious soup with the delicate and fresh flavours of the vegetables taking centre stage.  The buttery and creamy consistency of the beans provide a wonderful texture, and the pungency of the garlic sauce with salty cheese will give every mouthful a little song to sing about.

Making these for work lunches as I did, may have been a little misguided. Raw garlic and afternoon meetings don’t marry as well as one might think. Just as well I have considerate colleagues.

chocolate fondant

I am once again left with egg yolks going spare from the egg white cookies of yesterday.  Readers may recall the option I took the last time I was faced with this predicament – crème brûlée   This time, I’m going with chocolate fondants.

These are bleedin’ excellent.  They’re incredibly easy to make, very difficult to mess up, and look the business. Is there anyone in the world that doesn’t love a gooey middle? What’s even better is they're perfect make ahead desserts.  They can be popped into the freezer after being made up and cooked in the oven straight from frozen.  Excellent if you want to get ahead for some dinner party planning.  But even better than that – simply knowing you have them in stock for when you’re hankering for some sin.

Chocolate fondant

I challenge anyone to resist them.

45 mins prep plus 15 minutes cooking

Makes 4

Some melted butter for brushing
Cocoa powder for dusting
100g good quality dark chocolate
100g butter
100g golden caster sugar
2 whole eggs and 2 egg yolks
100g plain flour

Tip I find the Stork available in the plastic tubs are perfect for cake making – it’s already soft so it's great for brushing.  If you’re making pastry, that’s when you want cold hard butter bought in blocks.  Not what we want this time.

You first need to get your moulds ready.  Get four standard sized ramekins and coat the whole of the insides with butter.  I tend to use a clean kitchen towel for this.  Then pop in the freezer.  After they’ve all been given a coat, get them out and give them another coat of butter.

Now coat the insides with cocoa powder.  The best way to do this is tip a load into a ramekin, hold it so it’s almost on it’s side, then rotate the ramekin so all of the sides are coated in the powder.  You don’t want to leave any part uncovered.  Do this over your pot of cocoa powder so any that falls out falls back into the pot – no need for waste.  This preparation ensures they’re easy to get out once cooked.

Melt the chocolate and butter.  Recipes always tell you to do this over a bowl of simmering water – I see this effort as unnecessary.  Put the chocolate and butter in a bowl and microwave for a few seconds at a time – give it a good stir each time you check it.  As long as you don’t over heat it, this is a much quicker way of melting chocolate.  The risk here is that if you leave it in too long, the chocolate will overheat and split – so keep an eye on it.

In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs, yolks and sugar together for a good 10 minutes until they’re thick and pale and the whisk leaves a trail.  I would recommend using an electric device for this.  

Sift the flour into the eggs, then beat together with a wooden spoon or with the beater attachment of an electric stand mixer.

Pour the melted chocolate and butter into the mixture in thirds, beating between each addition so the mixtures are fully combined before adding more.  You’ll end up with a loose cake batter.

Take a large spoon and equally fill the four ramekins with the batter.  Chill for at least 20 minutes before cooking.

Tip At this stage, you can cover them with cling film and pop them in the freezer.  When you want to cook them, simply carry on as stated and add a few more minutes to the cooking time.

Heat the oven to 200C / fan 180C / gas 6.  Place the fondants on a baking tray and bake for around 10-12 minutes.

You’re looking for a crust to have formed on the top, and they should just start to come away from the sides of the ramekin.  When they’re done, remove from the oven and let them sit for a minute before turning them out.

I find the best way to get these out is to get a sharp knife round the edge to ensure they’re fully detached from the sides.  Then with the ramekin in an oven glove, gently tip it onto a plate.  They look much better the right way up, so I then tip this back onto another plate.

I’ve made these many many times and have never had a problem with teasing them out.  If you do – it doesn’t matter.  They’ll still taste incredible.

Enjoy with a glass of milk and a sullied conscience.

Alfiyetolsun.

The Egg

Tonight was one of those nights in culinary terms, that many will be familiar with.  After a hectic day at work and a rumbling stomach by 5pm,  I try to recall the odds and ends idling in the fridge on the way home to see if my mind can conjure a concoction of substance before I reach the front door.

Whilst the vast chambers of the fridge are mostly vacant this evening, there are some glimmers of light. The things of note are leek, pancetta, some taleggio that’s been hanging about.  Along with a box of eggs.

The humble egg.  One of the key vertebrae along the backbone of fundamental ingredients in the culinary world.  Possibly the single most versatile food item that has ever existed.

Almost ubiquitous in its occupation - you’ll find them hiding in cakes, pastries, desserts, breads, quiches and sauces.  Then there are the dishes that proudly shout about their presence – omelettes, egg and soldiers, scotch eggs, hollandaise, carbonara, egg fried rice, egg and chips to name a small few. They’re used for binding such as in meatballs or burgers.  As raising agents in Yorkshire puddings or soufflés. They’re used as a wash to give colour to biscuits and pastry. 

The various ways in which eggs can be cooked all have one thing in common – they are quick.  Try them baked with spinach and anchovies; fried sunny side up sitting proud upon a tower of crispy rashers; scrambled with smoked salmon, dill and a squeeze of lemon on rye; soft boiled with asparagus spear soldiers; hard boiled, quartered and scattered alongside large crunchy croutons over little gem with an anchovy olive oil sauce; poached, pierced and gently cascading like sunshine lava over a fresh and toasted muffin.

A promise of such wonder encased within a thin and fragile cocoon. When digesting the full and ranging repertoire of the egg, it’s easy to forget that this exquisitely simple yet intricately complex unit is made up of just two components – the yolk, and the white.

The whites are whisked to add structure and stability, producing miraculous meringues and marshmallows. The yolks add moisturising fat which help to emulsify, giving baked goods a smooth and creamy texture and are essential for custards and mayonnaise.

I cracked open three of these wonders, gently whisked with a little milk, added to sweated leaks and crispy pancetta, sliced the tallegio and flipped one half over the other.  Et voila -  an omelette.  Your fridge’s way of mopping up the remnants within and presenting you with something of note. The weary cook’s ultimate and often leaned on fail-safe. 

All hail the wondrous egg.

Alfiyet olsun.