michelin chef simon hulstone dinner at matsuri st james - event

Japanese soy sauce is an ingredient best served dark caramel in colour (any darker and it’s had colourings added), only made with four natural ingredients (water, salt, soybean, wheat), and subject to a slow brew over a period of months. 

All qualities Kikkoman achieve, so I learnt from Mr Bing, CEO of Kikkoman UK at their press dinner held at sushi and teppan-yaki restaurant Matsuri St. James in Mayfair.

It’s a brand synonymous with quality soy sauce and the only one I’ve ever used for it. The purpose of the evening was to promote the use of this ingredient as a seasoning in dishes outside of oriental cuisine - it turns out there’s quite a lot it can work with.

To help us understand the range of its versatility, Michelin star Head Chef Simon Hulstone (usually found at The Elephant in Torquay) donned his apron and got to work on a teppan. Tenderstem broccoli (harvested from his 30+ acre Devonshire farm) and caramelised scallops dressed in a soy, mirin, olive oil and sesame oil sauce were shared amongst all. Appetising and savoury and of course, no need to add salt.

Simon spoke of other dishes he cooks often featuring soy as the savoury component, some of which can be found at The Elephant: with chocolate, in soy salted caramel, tarte tatins, cider brandy, even with vodka and beetroot as a marinade for monkfish - I’d eat all of these.

The remainder of the evening involved a lot of rather good food cooked up by the restaurant chefs and Simon attempting to enjoy his meal whilst receiving a grilling from those seated near him (we couldn’t not, really): 

What does a Michelin starred chef eat at home? - anything I can find in the fridge and with minimal washing up - I’ll eat out the pan if I can
What hours do you work as a Head Chef? - around 8am - 11.30pm
Are there any ingredients even chefs hate? - I can’t abide fish eggs or kidneys
What do you think of bloggers? - I have friends who are bloggers - they’re fine as long as they don’t contact me ahead of a visit telling me they’re a blogger and expecting something for it. I hate TripAdvisor
What do you think of people that take pictures of food in your restaurant? - it’s fine if it doesn’t affect other customers, and I’d prefer it with a good camera to at least do the dish justice
Where do you eat when you’re in London? - Hawksmoor, Pitt Cue
What’s big on the restaurant scene at the moment? - learning from the Scandinavians and how they work with vegetables so well

(Thank you Simon, for being so accommodating and such a gent - apologies if we were a handful..)

Starters consisted of seafood and vegetable tempura, along with assorted sushi rolls of tuna, fat orange salmon roe (bet Simon loved that), white fish and scallops, all prepared fresh before us during a sushi making demonstration by Head Chef Hiroshi Sudo. 

Huge hunks of marbled dry Angus fillet steak were briefly introduced to the searing heat yielding middles to our specification - rare was duly red, soft and very easy to devour. Ginger marinated Alaskan black cod was the alternative; equally satisfying I soon discovered, as I dipped a pair of chopsticks into a friendly neighbour’s plate.

A spectacle of theatre concluded the courses as large blocks of vanilla ice cream were doused in Grand Marnier and set alight on the teppan with flames nearly licking the ceiling. Served warm and melting on the outside with still frozen middles, they were presented alongside thin crêpe suzette pancakes and caramelised pineapple chunks.

The moral of this story is, Kikkoman is pretty much the only way to go for your soy sauce needs and works a treat as a savoury umami hit in any dish.

Many thanks to those involved hosting such a wonderful evening.

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to this event.

luiz hara's japanese supper club - review

It’s rarely too early to start with one, so let us begin with a cocktail. 

Take a man with a passion for great food, travel and wine. Add to this far-reaching culinary influences courtesy of Japanese and Italian parents. Have him born and raised in São Paulo and living in London for the past 20 years. Throw in classical training from a diploma at the Cordon Bleu cookery school along with an advanced certificate from the Wine and Spirit Education Trust. Shake up with a history in investment banking and a swish Islington pad, and finish off with a strong desire to share the food of his yesteryears home cooked by his Japanese family in Brazil; decant, serve over ice and savour the very memorable experience that is Luiz Hara's (aka The London Foodie) Japanese supper club. 

This is a no holds barred event of gratification, the level of which has guests ‘wow’-ing from the moment they are greeted at the door to their departure. 

Think of the best dinner party you’ve attended. Triple the number of attendees and add another four courses. Include a handful of volunteers to help plate up, clear down and serve drinks and involve ingredients like lumpfish caviar and Clarence Court duck eggs. Execute this in a generous open plan dining area complete with two full length tables and a breakfast bar to accommodate all 28 guests, with full view of the maestro toiling over a hot AGA. You will then have something close to the well-oiled machine that is this epicurean event.

The menu spoke of dishes mostly unfamiliar to a Westerner unaccustomed to Japanese food created outside of restaurants; apart from a token plate of salmon sashimi (incidentally very good and with a South American twist of avocado and crème fraîche), there was not a sushi roll, yakitori stick or bowl of ramen in sight. 

Spaghetti (not noodles - real Italian spaghetti and entirely authentic to this specific dish, Luiz informed us) coated in a luxurious chilli-marinated cod roe and caviar sauce yielded all the comfort and textural characteristics of a carbonara, but singing of seafood, speckled with black fish eggs and delivering a punch of heat to the back of the throat.

The duck egg received a slow cook sous-vide treatment to replicate the cooking method of the dish ‘tamago onsen’ where they are traditionally submerged in Japanese hot springs. With delicate silken tofu and a mixture of dashi, soy and mirin, the yolk was served at the precise moment just before setting takes place; a sublime physical state of buttery viscosity. 

The flesh of the tempura aubergine had broken down to that characteristic and irresistible mush it does so well, lightly battered and served with umami mirin, as were broccoli florets and splayed oyster mushrooms.

Large tabletop hotpots on individual gas burners were crammed full of fresh sea dwellers: firm squid and fat prawns, sweet clams and meaty cod, along with slippery and transparent glass noodles, yielding tofu, mushrooms and greens. Over the vessels great jugs of miso, soya milk and dashi broth were poured to allow a brief and gentle simmer of the contents before guests dipped in a ladle to fill their bowls. The mild sweetness from the milky brew worked with the seafood particularly well.

‘Buta Kakuni’ consisted of generous hunks of pork belly striped through with inviting layers of fat, slow-braised in brown rice and caramelised in a mix of brown sugar, soy sauce and ginger, resulting in sweet flaking lean and fat that slipped down with ease. Glutinous chestnut rice, crunchy sugar snaps and green beans provided fitting companionship for the meat.

Then there was the flourless chocolate cake with Armagnac soaked prunes. This may well have been one of the best derivatives of the cocoa plant I’ve consumed; the pleasure receptor reader, had there been one, would have blown a fuse.  Along with refreshing green tea ice cream and a cool glass of superb Muscat, this course was in my top three.

I can only imagine the level of knowledge, skill, precision and professionalism demonstrated through the food, the encompassing bon vivant atmosphere, and the diners in full flow of a truly splendid evening are things most supper club hosts (and a lot of restaurants no doubt) could only hope to aspire too. 

It is also entirely appropriate to reference the cost per person for this evening (I’ll always grab an opportunity to induce a simultaneous raising of eyebrows amongst my readers): £40 + service which included all of the aforementioned, plus canapes and a gin and tonic to begin. I’ll reiterate what many have said before: seek this level and quantity of cooking in the high-end restaurant it would be at home in, and you would pay at the very least double that. At the very least.



To say I would recommend attending would be an understatement - it’s an essential visit for anyone seeking out great food for outstanding value and who wouldn’t say no to a wonderful evening out. So I make that, almost everyone*.

Be sure to take a look at upcoming dates for Luiz's supper clubs that cover both Japanese and French cuisine, as well as Japanese cookery lessons.

Bravo Luiz, you were the perfect host - I anticipate I won’t be able to hold off my next visit for much longer. 

My rating: 4.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

*it goes without saying that if you don't eat seafood, a supper club with a Japanese menu perhaps shouldn't be your first choice, as one misguided diner averse to eating things that swim quickly came to realise..

hakkasan hanway, dim sum sundays - review

Hakkasan is the long-serving establishment that did the slick-lined, low-lit, subterranean celebrity haunt thing before most others. Since 2001 it has served as a dining vestibule for evenings often ending in whichever night-life hotspot is currently most impenetrable. 

It certainly lends itself to this clientèle. The interiors are dimly lit enough for wisp thin socialites of the evening crowd to avoid interacting with the food without attracting too much attention to the fact. There’s a lot of black leather, dark wood and deep pockets. 

And it’s probably one of the only restaurants in London (other than The Ritz) to exercise a desire for certain attire: ‘Our dress code is smart casual. No sportswear. Jeans are permitted as long as they are worn smartly with shoes and a collared shirt. Please do not wear hats inside Hakkasan.’ I’m not sure the girls blinding waiters with full body sequins were planning to do so whilst wearing their Converse.

In an attempt to broaden their customer base beyond tourists, business men and debutantes, Dim Sum Sundays launched in the tucked away Hanway Place branch in September this year. The menu available each week from 12-6pm is a rather good excuse to get sloshed during daylight (but in the dark) whilst eating good food to the backdrop of beats chosen by the lounge DJ (thankfully proving to be nothing more than elevator music). 

There are two set menu options with the main difference being the volume of alcohol involved. If you were hoping for a dry lunch, hope some more; at a minimum you will be drinking two (strong) cocktails. At a maximum add to that half a bottle of Perrier-Jouët Blason Brut Rosé Champagne (blimey). Unless you opt for the non-alcoholic drinks, of course. Witness any good intent to boycott the booze dissipate as the desire to get your money’s worth overrides. 

The atmosphere was freer and less self-obsessed than I recall in my last visit on a Friday night some years ago when the corridor to the ladies acted as a makeshift catwalk runway. But one would hope so, at 1pm on a Sunday afternoon. 

Pre-lunch cocktails were quickly followed by a crispy duck salad with well textured nuggets of meat slightly sweetened from a glaze, lifted by fresh segments of pomelo and sprightly salad leaves.

From the option of seven steamed dim sum, we selected smooth and transparent har gau bonnets filled with firm little shrimp with bite, Chinese chive dumplings with prawn and crab meat topped with goo and a goji berry, spicy seafood sauce and scallop rounds with Thai asparagus and lingzhi mushrooms, and morel mushroom and lemon sole mouthfuls - the superior and most discernible of the four.

Then there was the fried, baked and grilled course and while the same swathe of golden glow adorned all four of our choices, shapes and designs were interesting enough for us to wonder out loud how they were achieved. 

A light and crisp pumpkin puffball encasing a smooth middle of the gourd flesh itself along with the (apparent but undetected) presence of smoked duck, creamy lobster meat rolled in ultra thin rice noodles and fried into something lighter than air, Shanghai dumplings with ground pork, and poofed up pear and taro (starchy root vegetable) balls with another beautiful centre, and in the shape of pears!

From the small eats we swapped out the two available options in exchange for the salt and pepper squid from the alternative menu at the cost of a decent course. 

It came heavily battered and fried; an unwanted vision after previous plates of the same vein. Bereft of the levels of (white) pepper needed to satisfy the two present of Chinese and Taiwanese heritage, it was not befitting of its label; "this has been made for the western palate and is not at all authentic". It was a plate of slightly better than bog-standard calamari and was an effort to entertain.

For mains, a luminescent grilled hunk of Chillean seabass made a vibrant orange from something I don’t believe we ever identified. The Chinese honey coating rendered it too sweet for my palate after a couple of forkfuls, but the flesh was cooked so precisely that despite the sugary mouth, I was unable to leave it alone. Soft and smooth, just the right side of opaque, breaking away in meaty flakes with a slither of crisp fatty skin full of flavour. Really very good.



To accompany the bass, pak choi with al dente whites and wilted tops cooked with Shaoxing wine and garlic (I could eat barrels of this), and a wad of sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaf, punctuated with nuggets of sweet Chinese sausage and grainy salted egg yolk.

To conclude, a choice of three desserts, the best of which I selected. A smooth and fudgy dark chocolate bar shot through with a very cherry sauce along the length of its centre, with a sweet and tart cherry sorbet imparting the sensation of submerging my head into a bucket of them freshly picked from the tree. 

Also of note was the elderflower sorbet with the strawberry panna cotta, chantilly cream and elderflower jelly - one lick of the spoon left a ringing of the tak-tak sound of sourness as the tips of our tongues smacked the roof of our mouths. The macaroons were ok, mostly with indistinguishable flavours.

With the meals came endless pots of freshly brewed loose leaf Taiwanese tea; delicate, cleansing, refreshing and altogether more preferable to the cocktails, the post-lunch ones of which remained mostly untouched.

I was duly impressed with all courses, particularly my dessert but excluding the squid. And should one's lunch desires involve a good saucing on a Sunday afternoon, the value is of note when considering the drinks involved; the menu described above is £48 and the one including the champagne is £58. Quite reasonable for an establishment that has retained it’s Michelin star since 2003.

The praises from the Taiwanese and Chinese were a little muted. Whilst they enjoyed it, proclaims of ‘but I have had better’ followed any accolades. The day I too eat truly authentic dim sum in China or Taiwan itself is the day I suspect I may mirror their sentiments. Until then, I'll settle - in the loosest sense of the word - for Hakkasan.

My rating: 3.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

 

pizza pilgrims, soho - review

Part of the charm of street food in London is that the nomadic vans, shacks and kerbside fixtures dishing out all manner of specialist eats have an air of uprising about them.

There’s a ‘we have incredible products to share with the city and will bloody well do so without the need for a fancy pants restaurant with a front door, proper kitchen and seats to sit on. Our sails of success are powered by the winds of hard graft, self-belief and social media. We are clear of the obstacles bricks and mortar present - sky high rents, oppressive overheads and walls - we are free to lay our hat where we please. Punters will entertain scandalous queues under hemorrhaging heavens to get their hands on our offerings because they know just how good they are. And we will continue on in our endeavour to bring great food to the streets of London no matter what - vive la révolution!’ sort of vibe.

And with this gutsy defiance and commendable persistence comes a following. An avid following. One that grows by the power of word-of-mouth and Instagram and culminates in dribbling disciples willing to traverse previously unchartered zones to clutch these holy grails of snack-attacks, followed by the obligatory sticky-fingered tweet.

And yet it seems the true benchmark of success of a street food trader is the transition to stationary selling at a fixed address, in a real building complete with premise number and postcode, also known as a restaurant. And many have progressed down this route with great success. 

Think Patty & Bun (started as a pop-up, now fixed on James Street W1), Pitt Cue Co. (began as a food truck on Southbank, now found on Newburgh Street W1), and Yum Bun (an old regular in Hackney's Broadway Market, now on Featherstone Street EC1) to name a few. 

To this list add Pizza Pilgrims. Taking their launch on Dean Street, Soho in August of this year from a three-wheeled green Piaggio Ape complete with pizza oven driven here all the way from Italy and a presence in Berwick Market, to prime real estate in one of London’s most bustling food quarters. The boys’ (brothers Tom and James Elliot) done good.

Now I’ve eaten pizza in Naples and with no hyperbole intended, it was one of the best things I’ve ever consumed. The sort of meal that on first bite, the wide-eyed unspoken stare of ‘ye GODS - did you just experience the same thing I did?’’ towards your dining companion is all you can manage as your brain attempts to process the pleasure receptor overload. 

With a benchmark set so high, I’m not sure a Neapolitan pizza made outside the region will ever match what I ate in Naples, and in all honesty I don’t expect it to (air miles of ingredients travelled, absence of technique passed down through generations, the tenacity of resident Neapolitans safeguarding the authenticity of their prized pizza demonstrated through the execution etc. will all play their part). But Pizza Pilgrims certainly make a commendable effort.

They’re careful to advertise their wares as ‘Napoli inspired’ on the website which is a fair description considering the menu of toppings extends beyond the only two variations you would ever find in a true Neoplitan pizzeria - a marinara (tomato sauce, oregano, garlic, no cheese) or a margherita (tomato sauce, cheese, basil). 

I stuck to the margherita to establish grounds for the fairest comparison against what I ate in Italy and because I wanted to give the few ingredients present the chance to take centre stage and have a waltz over my tongue. 

Certainly the best component of the pizza was the base - edges soft, risen and blistered from the circa 450-480C heat treatment of the oven, middle elastic and slightly chewy. It was very good. 

The chosen cheese of the establishment is fior di latte*, mozzarella made with cow milk rather than buffalo milk, and therefore quite a bit cheaper. While the former is certainly acceptable for an authentic Neoplitan margherita according to the original Italian Ministry of Agriculture document defining "Pizza Napoletana" for the EU (yes, such a thing exists and rightly so), my personal preference is made-that-morning milky buffalo mozzarella, creating a slightly soupy sloppy puddle of cloudy goodness in the middle of the pizza base, ubiquitous in quality margheritas across Naples. The cubetti of fior di latte used here was rather uninteresting and added little to the plate.

*The folks at Pizza Pilgrims HQ have kindly pointed out to me (post post-publication) that there is in fact a menu item of Bufala - a margherita with buffalo mozzarella. How I missed this on the night is not entirely clear (although also not wholly unbelievable - caught up in the excited anticipation of a good meal I've missed lots of things on menus before). It is this I will certainly order on my return.

In addition, I’m a garlic fiend (think roasted cloves into double digits consumed in one sitting) and the tomato sauce used in the margherita had no presence of it. Which is in fact correct, authentically speaking (it’s the marinara’s that can contain garlic, less so the margheritas). But there was a garlic shaped hole in my pizza (figuratively) that needed filling. With garlic.

But I did enjoy it. And I finished it, even ahead of my two companions despite getting my pizza last out of our trio as I was initially brought one I did not order (the music is loud and I can see how marinara and margherita can sound similar, but the waitress should have confirmed before leaving the table). It was good enough to make a blog post, which means I would return. But on return I would order the marinara - exclude the cheese, add the garlic and enjoy the excellent base.

The other reason to pop my head round the door once more is for the frozen desserts supplied by Gelupo based in Piccadilly Circus and one of the best places to get a gelato in town. Vanilla ice cream with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and sea salt crystals - a novel flavour combination for me and one I thoroughly enjoyed. Not to mention the blood orange sorbet served in the orange skin which was rather tart and sweet and wonderful and delivered in a brown paper bag. Cute.

The venue is loud, happening and relatively hip. Full of tourists, the young after work crowd and some Italians if my ears served me correctly. With the main dining area below ground, walls are adorned with Italian poster paraphernalia, table cloths are green and checkered, and it is altogether relaxed with a warm but slightly industrialised feel.

A central spot to hang out and eat pretty good, very reasonably priced pizza. The location does not lend itself at all to the feel of the genuine, narrow, washing line adorned, speeding scooter festooned death-trap that is a true Napoli back-street. And neither does the venue, but I don’t think it’s trying to. What it does do is make a decent stab at creating an authentic Neoplitan pizza here in London town for the flocks of people who continue to come and eat it. The regular clientele won’t be going anywhere else for pizza any time soon.

Good for: catching up with friends, a quick cheap bite, a longer cheap bite

Liked lots: pizza base, oven, location, Gelupo ice cream and sorbet

Liked less: the choice of fior di latte over buffalo mozzarella (they do have buffalo mozzarella margheritas - I just missed it on the menu - see above comment), the music that was too loud for easy conversation, you can’t make reservations (could result in queues on busy evenings) 

My rating: 3/5

Afiyet olsun.

sabrina ghayour's persian supper club - review

I know a great local Indian (where Indian people eat too, believe it or not). Also a fabulous Thai, a wonderful Turkish mangal joint (obviously) that also does a mean buffet breakfast, and even my favourite places to go for Korean (which is New Malden in general as it has the largest population of Korean ex-pats in Europe and is a 10 minute drive from my home - a wonderful coincidence, I know). 

However, I don’t believe I can say the same for my local Iranian (or Persian, if you like). I don’t think I have a local Iranian. In fact, I think I’ve been to one Iranian restaurant ever, which was actually pretty good if I recall correctly. But my point is, unless I live in the wrong part of town or have been a bit slack in my dining establishment observations of late, I just don’t think there are that many Iranian restaurants out there.

The thing is, I know I would really enjoy Iranian food. Partly because it sits next to Turkey to the east which means a delightful mingling of ingredients, dishes and techniques across the border in both directions (and we all know how much I love Turkish food). Partly because food from the rest of the Middle East is some of the best out there - think labneh, hummus, falafel, manakeesh, baba ghanoush, fattoush. And partly because as I understand it, Iranian food is based around meat, fish, rice and vegetables often with the use of fresh green herbs, fruits and nuts, and characteristic flavours such as saffron, dried limes, cinnamon and parsley, and what’s not to like about all of that.

Whether there are great Persian eateries out there or not, I need little excuse to snap up the offer of a three-course-eleven-dish home cooked Iranian extravaganza, executed with all the love and attention of someone out to impress the in-laws by wowing them into submission.

And that’s pretty much what Sabrina Ghayour knocked out of the park at one of her Persian Kitchen Supper Clubs, held in her apartment in West London last week. While she toiled in the kitchen, persuasive aromas penetrated our olfactory bulbs moments before plates with equally impressive aesthetics were delivered to the table.

A huge platter of feta swimming in lemon, herbs and shallots required all the self-control of a recovering addict to prevent me from picking off every last cube - zingy, creamy and salty and a joy smashed onto the warm lavash flat bread, then dragged from rim to rim to mop up the divine marinade dregs. Aubergines were dealt with in that way that anyone who has eaten them like this wishes for them to be dealt with forever more, with flesh disintegrated into smoky magnificent mush after the fruit is held against a naked gas flame until the purple skin chars and blackens. Combined with garlic, tomatoes and eggs, this produced an exceptional aubergine dip which will in one way or another almost always involve itself in a Middle Eastern spread.

Regular readers may recall my vocal distaste for the fresh hell that is liquorice and all associated flavours: aniseed, fennel and so on (see my post the 10 most hated foods of the nation). Well, turns out that is no longer entirely accurate. Sabrina presented us with a fennel and Sicilian orange salad with a fresh dill, sumac and lemon dressing and it was, well, utterly gorgeous. Crisp raw vegetable, zippy dressing and the aroma of orange all up in my grill, mastication punctuated with bursts of the ruby jewels that are pomegranate seeds. The presence of aniseed was mild with any hard edges softened by the citrus. Turning what I thought I knew I liked right on its head, thanks Sab.

With these were spiced lamb meatballs with fragments of sour cherry wallowing in a rich San Marzano tomato sauce, so tender you could squash them between your tongue and the roof of your mouth with negligible effort. And because Iranians, Turks and everyone else over that way are at the complete mercy of yoghurt, there were bowls of it thick with dried mint, golden raisins and rose petals making the rounds.

Mains consisted of three handsome whole trout packed with a citrus-spiked herb and pine nut stuffing, and a slow roast shoulder of lamb dark with a concentrated spice blend and readily shedding its flesh from the bone at the whisper of a fork. Hunks of tangerine coloured squash topped with a vibrant green pistachio pesto, crumbled feta and piquant red barberries provided splashes of colour, while the steamed basmati rice with sugar, almonds, pistachios, sour orange peel and barberries was one of the most aromatic dishes I’ve ever waved my nose over and an entirely novel and delightful way to consume this otherwise very ordinary carbohydrate, even if the citrus peel was just a little too bitter for my preference.

The evening soon reached a point where myself and the other eight guests were floundering in our digestive juices, with only one able to entertain the dessert of spiced carrot, pistachio and almond cake at the table - the rest of us opted for a doggy bag to enjoy the next morning post food coma and with a very necessary strong coffee.

I’ve been to a handful of pop-ups and supper clubs in my time, but this was my first experience of dining in someone’s home, on their turf, in their personal space, with a bunch of people (bar a friend I brought with me) I’ve never met before. But it’s a superb format - like-minded individuals with an appetite for the unrivalled accolades of home cooked food who are after an evening of good chat, good wine (BYO of course) and an introduction to a cuisine and style of cooking they may not have been exposed to before. 

Not to mention all this was cooked in someone’s kitchen, in their home, with a normal domestic oven and hob and cupboards and plastic green chopping boards like the rest of us. Which leads us to believe that perhaps we could cook this stuff too. Which I’m sure is part of the whole point of Sabrina’s endeavours - to bring Iranian cooking to the masses and into our lives.

Sabrina has worked in some of London’s finest 5 star hotels, Michelin-starred restaurants and top catering companies, and has since turned her had to running her own events and catering business, teaching private cookery classes, and of course hosting these increasingly popular dinner evenings from her home. She has a whole host of other supper clubs coming up over the next few months covering a range of cuisines. I strongly suggest getting in touch with her to find out what and when and how to get in on the action. You can reach her on Twitter @SabrinaGhayour or drop her an email at sabrinaghayour@hotmail.com.

My rating: 4.5/5

Cost: £40 (please note this may vary)

Afiyet olsun.

beetroot and pecan brownies - recipe

Putting a vegetable in a cake is nothing revolutionary. Naturally sweet root vegetables add lightness and aid moisture retention during cooking, and who doesn’t like a fat slice of carrot cake. Hell, I’ve even made a parsnip cake in my time. And as the nights draw in and we up our duvet tog counts, this time of year demands sustenance to satisfy the sweet tooth in all of us. The addition of beetroot to these brownies provides an earthy undercurrent that works so well with dark chocolate. Throw in toasted nuts of your choice for added texture and you have a perfect accompaniment to a vat of tea.

The recipe for these are based on Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstal's from his book Every Day, with a few changes.

Beetroot and pecan brownies

Makes about 20

250g fresh beetroot
250g unsalted butter, cut into cubes
150g dark chocolate, broken into pieces (I used Lindt Excellence 70% Cocoa Bar)
100g dark chocolate with a touch of sea salt, broken into pieces (I used Lindt Excellence A Touch of Sea Salt)
3 medium eggs
250g golden caster sugar
A pinch of sea salt
150g plain flour
2 tsp baking powder
50g toasted pecans, roughly chopped

First prepare your beetroot. Cut away the stalks but leave the beetroots whole and boil until tender. Drain and allow to cool. When cool enough to handle, use a teaspoon to scrape off the skin which should come away easily. Finely grate the beetroot and set aside - I used a hard cheese grater.

Grease a shallow baking tin, approximately 20 x 25cm, and line the base with baking parchment. If you prefer, you can grease the base with butter and dust with cocoa powder which will also prevent the brownies from sticking.

Put the butter and chocolate in a heatproof bowl and melt. I do so in a microwave for about 30s at a time, giving the contents a good stir each time. When almost everything has melted, keep the microwave times shorter, say 10s or so. If you overheat it the chocolate will split.

Pre-heat the oven to 180°C/Gas Mark 4.

Whisk the eggs and sugar together in a large bowl until thick and pale and then beat in the melted chocolate and butter until smooth. 

Combine the salt, baking powder and flour, sift them over the chocolate mixture, then gently fold in with a large metal spoon. Now fold in the grated beetroot and pecans – be careful not to over-mix or it will make the brownies tough.

Pour the mixture into the prepared tin and smooth the top with a spatula. Bake for around 1hr or until they are done. When a knife or skewer is inserted in the centre it should come out with a few moist crumbs clinging to it. Don’t be tempted to overcook them or they will be dry. 

Tip: If the batter rises like a cake sponge, take the back of a ladle and compress it down - you’ll still obtain the familiar brownie appearance.

Remove the tin from the oven and leave on a wire rack to cool before cutting into squares. 

Keep these airtight and they’ll remain moist and wonderful for a good week. Enjoy with a hot drink and a comfortable armchair.

Afiyet olsun.

crispy moroccan lamb pastillas

It seems my love of lamb and treating it with spices has not raised its hands and waved them about completely unnoticed (I wonder if the several lamb entries in my Top 10 Things to Eat in Istanbul had anything to do with this..). So much so that the nice folk at Jamie Oliver HQ have been kind enough to send over a pretty awesome sounding recipe from this coming Monday’s episode of Money Saving Meals for me to share with you all. They’ve even given me a gorgeous shot of it too.

So here you have it, hot off the press, here on this humble blog before being published on JamieOliver.com and before its TV airing on October 30th, I present to you something wonderfully fitting for Monday and a perfect way to use up leftover lamb from Sunday, Jamie’s brand-spanking-new recipe for crispy Moroccan lamb pastillas - ta daa!

Crispy Moroccan Lamb Pastillas

Serves 4

100g couscous

2 onions

4 cloves of garlic

60g sultanas

Olive oil

1 tsp ground turmeric

½ tsp cumin seeds

250g leftover cooked lamb

70g feta cheese

4 large sheets of filo pastry

1 tbsp flaked almonds or sesame seeds

1 heaped tsp icing sugar

½ tsp ground cinnamon

4 tbsp fat-free natural yoghurt, to serve

1 tbsp harissa or chilli oil, to serve

Pop the couscous into a small bowl, just cover with boiling water, then put a plate on top and leave for 10 minutes. 

Peel and finely chop the onions and garlic along with the sultanas and place in a large pan on a medium heat with a lug of oil, the turmeric and cumin seeds. Fry for around 15 minutes or until softened, stirring occasionally. 

Finely shred the lamb, add to the pan and cook for a further 5 minutes, then remove the pan from the heat. Fluff up the couscous and stir it through the lamb mixture with the crumbled feta, then season to perfection, going heavy on the black pepper.

Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/gas 4. 

Working fairly quickly, as filo dries out easily, lay out the pastry sheets on a clean work surface and brush with oil. Divide the lamb mixture between them, laying it along the shortest edge of each sheet. Roll each one up halfway, fold in the sides, then continue rolling up like big cigars. 

Place them on a non-stick baking tray, brush the tops with a little oil and crumble over the almonds, or sprinkle with the sesame seeds. Sieve over the icing sugar and cinnamon from a height, then bake for around 25 minutes, or until golden and crisp.

Serve with yoghurt rippled with harissa or chilli oil for dipping. Delicious with a simple green salad on the side.

Tip: feel free to mix any leftover meat with these beautiful Moroccan flavours – whatever you’ve got will be delicious.

Taken from Save with Jamie, published by Michael Joseph
Recipes ©2013 Jamie Oliver Photography ©2013 Jamie Oliver Enterprises Ltd. Photos by David Loftus.

To watch it executed by the thrifty chef himself, tune into the show on Channel 4 at 8pm on Monday. It's also worth checking out the rest of the Money Saving Meals recipes as there are some real corkers.

If lamb is your thing (who’s ‘thing’ is it not? - vegetarians need not respond), you can take a look at more lamb recipes from JO and some of my own with Mediterranean / Eastern twists: Turkish spring lamb with green beans, lahmacun (Turkish street food), moussaka, Mauritian butter bean curry.

Afiyet olsun.