Junk Food

After about four years of increasing food snobbery I appear to be having a small regression, foodwise. Yesterday, I bought (whisper it) frankfurters from (even quieter) Tesco's. They were amazing. I miss them again even thinking about them. I bought a can of Tesco Tuscan bean soup, chopped up the frankfurters and microwaved the hell out of the whole lot. Afterwards I felt replete, filled with meat flavoured water. Yum. To make matters worse, on the way home last night (I'd been out cocktailing with one of my friends who's just got engaged - she won't read this but yay Helen!), I stopped into Akdeniz (awesome, ever-open Finsbury park place) and bought a cuppasoup. Admittedly, was a Tom Yum cuppasoup, so potentially a little classier, but I had it for lunch today and upon checking the ingredients found them reassuringly heavy on MSG. In an attempt to make up for this, I've currently got a vegetarian (plus a bit of chicken since surely that doesn't really count as meat...) curry simmering on the stove (http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/1364/spicy-root-and-lentil-casserole, sort of, but with extra cumin seeds, fresh chilli, mango chutney, tomato paste, coconut cream, cardamom pods, coriander seeds and East End jalfrezi powder - I sometimes suspect that my general success in cooking is really just a result of an excess of ingredients. Half of them cancel each other out but some of them are bound to hit the mark). Not only is this Made From Scratch but it's simmering evenly and softly on my unreliable, always a bit too hot gas hob, courtesy of my mother's birthday present to me - an amazing RUN pan. It's big, black and beautiful, and I've spent a bit too long polishing it with vegetable oil (I was working at home today and avoiding a particularly repellent bit of work - there are so many more options for distraction at home, it's dangerous). So, posh pan, good ingredients - what more can you ask? Well, my redemption continues - I have no real idea what one of the vegetables in here is! My cousin and I bought it from the Vegetable Shop of Joy (I've ranted http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/1364/spicy-root-and-lentil-casseroleabout it before, but please visit it on Seven Sister's Road, is called Frank's + something in Turkish). It's something like an Enoch, but not. Edin, maybe? Anyway, it's white inside and very starchy when you peel it - as slippery as soap on the inside. On the outside it looks a bit like a wizened coconut, with a hairy yet peelable skin. Ah - some googling reveals that it might be an Edo. Anyway, I've just tried a piece and can reveal that it tastes like a very sticky potato - it's actually quite nice, and will definitely use in curry again. To go with my Edo (or whatever it's called), I have celeriac, lentils and carrots, so is a pleasingly unconventional curry. For interesting descriptions of weird vegetables - take a look at this article: http://www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/features/2186.html. Just remembered my pan goes in the oven as well as on the hob!! *Runs off to switch oven on and put it in there, just because I CAN.


It occurs to me, looking back in this blog, that I totally missed the riots. I spent a blog being upset about feeling left out, but didn't feel the urge to document something as depressing, timely and revealing as the riots. Oh well. Clearly this just isn't the kind of blog that covers important world events, and it would be a shame to confuse my profile now. I will just say that I'm planning on volunteering, but still trying to figure out where a slightly confused English student who's irredeemably middle class can best be useful, rather than irritating.

Something rather strange and sad happened to me today. Since my promotion kicked in, I now have an enforced work at home day each week. In theory, this is a time to read manuscripts away from all the distractions my colleagues (who are both lovely and chatty) present. When it's as hot as today, it seems in practice to consist of my staring out of the window and wishing I were in France. The upshot of this (and a ridiculous amount of 'ooh, there's my fridge, I should eat some more cheese') is that I went out in Finsbury Park not wearing enough clothes. As a young(ish) woman in Finsbury park, generally a short skirt means that all your vegetables from the shop are free, but also that all the men in scary restaurant A will cheer when you go past, all the men pouring out of potentially BNP pub B will go silent and stare at you until you feel like you might as well be completely naked and at least four vans will beep. Honestly, if you're feeling unattractive, and you're under 40, come and give it a go - you'll leave with a smile, but potentially also mere metres ahead of a sexually frustrated throng.

Anyway, so I went to try out an intriguing Tagine place that I've lived next to for three years and never quite gone to (was ok - but very pre-made indeed, and suspect he microwaved it in the Tagine pot to reheat), sat outside, and carried on reading my manuscript (god bless the kindle and the boyfriend who bought it for me). About ten minutes later, a man appeared on the other side of the restaurant railing. He was white, about 50-60, oddly twitchy and something about him was just a bit off. He hailed me with the words, 'Are you...ENGLISH?' I admitted that yes, I was, and he launched into a story beginning with his brain damage after a piece of grain found its way into his eye (he was a builder). I couldn't hear all of it because of the traffic (I explained he couldn't join me owing to the manuscript/work/because I'm a bit worried you'd pull a knife and somehow you seem like you have a basement I'd never want to visit, so he was shouting over lorries), however the upshot was he wanted to learn to read. He asked if I could help him and I said no. I said no because he was a bit scary, and because some lady on a bus had given him an organisation to google. But after he slumped away, I felt awful. Yes, he was a bit weird, but he could have been telling the truth and isn't it horrible that I felt so unable to even consider giving him the help he wanted? A few years ago, I might have done it, but now all I could see was basement/knife/he keeps using my name in every sentence (oddly disconcerting when said in a very gentle way over lorries). So, well, I don't know what I should have done. Wouldn't have hurt me to sit with him over coffee in a public place for goodness sake.

I felt a bit better because he came back and asked a lot of involved (and extremely strange) questions about my Kindle, which allowed me to put him more safely in the "definitely strange, potentially mad" box which is so comforting to all us normal people. The thing is, after he'd gone for the second time, I realised (I think) what was going on - he was lonely. As simple and horrible as that - he was reduced to creating conversations out of nothing for some human contact. I get a bit wittery after a day of working at home alone - I dread to think what would happen after a month. London is a lonely, mad place for those without friends.

One Who Estivates

Hello all (quite literally, since I don't have anyone specific actually reading this and I suppose am therefore just addressing everyone, or simply my own arse). Anyway, I'm currently feeling an odd twitchiness that comes from feeling angry at a close friend of mine. I can't decide if this anger is fair or not, since it comes from a general weakness I have towards friend-ownershipitus - this is a disease that means you have a strongly negative reaction to your friends becoming friends with each other. I feel like my quite networky friend is stalking a couple who are friends of mine in an attempt to pull them into a smug-foursome. This, I believe, is my own paranoia. However, she has justified her texting her and inviting them to the cinema by saying that her boyfriend likes them, which has had the unfortunate effect of me feeling quite sad that her boyfriend apparently feels no similar desire to see me and my boyfriend, but instead would like to skip over us to the friends he met through me, like some sort of evil social rabbit. *ahem.

Really sorry.

Feel a bit better though - ranting does help, even when I know that I'm going to look back on this and probably delete it because this kind of childish 'that's MY toy' doesn't really have a place in the adult world (or at least it's the fashion to disguise it more successfully). Still, feel quite outraged - I don't like feeling that two sets of people I have introduced find each other more interesting than me, and tbh am not sure most people would like it. What do people do? I'm aware I can't just stick myself in the middle and do a Gandalf ('you SHALL NOT pass!'), at least not without a magic stick, but just can't get over the feeling of 'go away!! get your own friends and do your whole networky icky thing with them - these people matter!' *sigh. What I probably need to do is grow up. It's not like they didn't invite me, I just wasn't the reason that the plan was made - they went over my head. Think what I might have to do is actually chat to some nice neutral third party and figure out where on the crazy scale I have ended up...

Oh dear. I am going to roast a pork leg for Fish and I this evening and am being slow about putting it on, owing to the above poisonous rant of idiocy. He has therefore come in with a small song to hurry me up and is currently hanging onto my ankles while peering sadly over the screen of this laptop. It's pretty cute, tbh - had better go and I'll blog more cheerful things (poker, yummy sausage and stuffing, Robin Ince (though he's always grumpy), iberico ham and Comptoir Gascon) upon my return.

glastonbury, stock, pork ribs, France and the elegance of the hedgehog

Mmmm. It is good to be at home. I have chicken stock simmering on the stove and thus a ghostly generational chorus of approving Jewish mothers hovering behind me, holding their breaths over every skim. Waiting to go in under the grill are some bbq pork ribs, which the Jewish mothers are kindly ignoring. Fish is beside me, coding away, listening to tech metal and occasionally muttering something derogatory about Coldplay. All of these things - my joy in being home, the cooking bonanza and Fish's Coldplay angst are a result of having spent last week in a tent, exposed to the elements and the new teenage obsession with laughing gas. Yes - we went to Glastonbury.

Fish has been once before, whereas I've always avoided it owing to my disinterest in most popular music (not in a deliberate snobby way, but more owing to an extremely limited memory and sense of timing), hatred of large crowds, relative poverty and fear of not being able to go to bed when I want to. However, I caved in this time as it seemed as though I should experience it once in my life at least, it's fallow next year and it seems unlikely that our group of friends is going to remain so cohesive for much longer. Anyway, turns out that I love it! Everyone was incredibly happy (and not entirely because of chemicals), the mud was an absolute pain but also bought out the best in English stoicism and mad dog determination to be outside and I definitely approve of being allowed to have your first drink before 11am. Also of Beardyman being awesome at 1.30 in the afternoon and of spending Sunday in the park having music played to you while drinking Pimms. Ooh, and of exploding spiders with acrobats on.

Pork is smelling nice now, and stock has been mostly skimmed. All is right with the world. Also, this wine is excellent. Remember, for future reference, Languedoc Rough 2008 is soft, velvety, warm, slightly spicy, not particularly dynamic but soothing and thoroughly delicious.

What else has happened? I've been temporarily promoted, which is nice, and I've just finished The Elegance of the Hedgehog - a translation from the French that feels like a much more charming Chocolat with philosophical pretensions and the occasional thoroughly beautifully phrased sentence. It further fuelled my longstanding desire to move to France and spend my days shelling garden peas, admiring wine and wearing elegant hats. Only the knowledge of how impossible it is for French life to live up to my imaginings stops me. Well, that, my innate laziness (a force that should never be underestimated as it realistically makes most of my decisions), Fish's dislike of all French things, particularly their brand of philosophy (he tends to suddenly become very Austrian at such moments), lack of money or viable alternative career...and the Euro. Don't really have any strong feelings about the Euro, tbh, but I felt I needed an ending.

I've just finished reading Lionel Shriver's 'So Much For That'. Getting older, and working in publishing has made me far less likely to fall in love with an author and track down their other books. I'm not sure exactly why, perhaps firstly because the older I am the more I'm aware that I've got plenty of time to do that so somehow end up doing something else, something easier, and maybe secondly simply because when you have to read an absolute minimum of four manuscripts a week, it doesn't leave you as much time or energy to develop other obsessions. However, Lionel Shriver has been an exception, ever since I picked up 'We Need To Talk About Kevin' and became fixated by her bald, beautiful prose and her almost unhealthy revelling in the darker, shameful side of people.

So Much For That is an exhausting book (if less spiritually annihilating than the lethal 'Double Fault'). Watching Shep (her unusually good hearted and morally straight forward hero) dealing with the slow death of his wife through cancer was hard enough, but much more difficult was her beginning every chapter charting the painful dribbling away of Shep's bank balance, his 'Afterlife' money until the fantastic, uplifting ending. In spite of their eventual escape to Pemba (pause to google it and see if it's as good as it sounded... ). Have ended it incredibly glad that I live in England. Let's be honest, our country is just better. Although having now accidentally watched ten minutes of 'The Only Way Is Essex' I am suddenly concerned that we don't have long left as a nation, and that maybe that's a good thing. Either way, I must remember that the NHS is a wonderful, wonderful thing.

In other news, I went last night to see The Emperor and Gallilean, which is an Ibsen play that's never been performed. In its original state, it is seven and a half hours long, which is the ostensible reason for this unusual neglect. However, having now seen it in its new incarnation of a mere four hours, I conclude that it's never been performed because it is (whisper it for fear of enraging the critics) not very good. It was a very strange, unwieldy thing. Great production, absolutely amazing set (if somewhat overdone at times and given to making leaden parallels with modern times), really good actors, however none of these things managed to distract the audience from realising that Ibsen had some managed to take seven and a half hours to say: 1) paganism and Christianity are both religions and so actually a bit similar if you think about it, and 2) Killing people is always wrong, even if you pretend it's because of God(s). Could maybe see that when it was written, these were more shocking ideas, but still struggle with him needing quite so long to hammer them in. Was a bit like being beaten over the head with a blunt, patronising, anti-religious relic. Not that that has happened to me, but I'm guessing.

Fish is back. As keeps happening recently, we are very sweet to each other from a distance and then end up annoyed with each other within moments of being in the same room. *sigh. Relationships are tricky.

poverty, restaurants and reviews

I am poorer than usual at the moment. The combination of Christmas drinking, misunderstanding of the bonus taxation system, stressful (and ultimately unsuccessful, thus requiring cheering up with tuna steak and oysters) interviewing and 10 days in Israel (really must write out some notes on that) led me to begin 2011 with angry red negative figures. However, I've continued to happily ignore that and instead to go out to dinner lots to distract from my horizontal career. I therefore thought I'd try out a review. I've been devouring the works of the grumbling gourmet and Marina O'Loughlin (sp? But anyway, she is, apart from Keith Watson's reviews, the only reason to ever pick up a Metro again) for ages, and there is something extremely satisfying about reading about restaurants. If it's the same for writing about them, maybe I can cut down on money spent by living every good meal twice...


The Cadogan Arms

Fisher and I decided to go out for a meal to check that we still had something to talk about, so looked on toptable and found a deal for 20 percent off food. I'm very glad we did that, as the meal was a little overpriced anyway, and without the 20 percent off, I think we'd both have felt somewhat hard done by. However, before moving on to gripe about prices or imperfect cooking (and I know, once again the trials of the Western world, but hush - food is a serious issue, as demonstrated by all of those people who are pretty keen on getting hold of some), I'd like to mention the glorious bread. It arrived and we were starving so attacked at once and oh my god - it was the kind of bread that melts in your mouth a little. Cloudy, warm and herby. In spite of everything I've said below, maybe come here officially to 'eat', get them to bring the bread, then run away clutching it. Unfair, perhaps, but not everyone can blow £90ish on a meal for two. Apparently, it's baked there, so maybe an alternative is to make friends with one of the kitchen staff - I'd recommend the quite hot, appealingly new, incredibly polite and faintly clueless one.

Starters were baked Isle of Man king scallops in their shells with prawns, creamed cep sauce and chive mash for me (£9.50) and devilled duck hearts on toast with a fried duck egg for Fisher (£8)



The scallops were lovely - if not exactly numerous - big, juicy and sweet, but there was quite a lot more (lovely, smooth and buttery) mash than scallops and sauce - after thoroughly enjoying the first few mouthfuls, I essentially then had a large shell filled with potato to get through. Still - very yummy, if a bit steeply priced.



However, the duck hearts were just completely fabulous. Go here just to have them - they were outstandingly delicious. I've never had duck hearts before and they turn out to be juicy, faintly sweet and in this case perfectly balanced by a mysteriously spicy sauce (one of those perfectly judged sauces that hits you slowly with the spice at the end of the mouthful). The creamy duck egg added the final touch and I was just sad that I wasn't allowed to steal more without possibly ending my relationship.

For the mains, I had roast whole Yorkshire partridge, bread sauce, smoked English bacon, Hunter’s potato, braised red cabbage and juniper jus (£18.50), and he had rib-eye steak with Béarnaise sauce, hand cut chips and bone marrow jus (£22.50)



After the smug boyfriend's definite win with the duck hearts, I was hoping for something to crush him with and the partridge delivered, if not a crushing blow, definitely a superior wallop. It was beautifully cooked (though I do like it very rare, so might be too bloody for some). The good meat was lifted to excellent by the stunning juniper jus, which was a perfectly balanced concoction of 5 spice, star anise, wine and junipers and cut the meat with the culinary expertise of a sleek, Japanese butterfly sword. I remain certain that bread sauce, even at its best - and this was excellent - is essentially a slightly lumpy white thing tasting mostly of bay leaves. If I'm wrong, do tell me. Once again, only quibble was the price - this was very good, but at £18.50 I think I'd normally expect something more complex. Still, the victory was mine.



Now the steak was really, really yummy, but as Fisher says, 'a steak's a steak, and that was my misteak.' I'm slightly less sure on this one - I thought it was a fantastic piece of meat, and even though the bone marrow jus wasn't as lip-smackingly gumptious as it could have been, for steak that beautifully cooked then £22.50 is not overwhelmingly expensive. However, the problem with the Cadogan Arms is that it sells itself as a sort of Gourmet Tavern, so you don't come here expecting to pay central London fairly posh restaurant prices. I think that if we'd been in some extremely luxurious setting, with shining tablecloths and little dancing waiters and everything else that comes with a really lovely restaurant atmosphere, the prices really wouldn't have seemed like so much of an issue. However, when you're in a cosy, wooden walled cavern of a place with an outsized boar's head on the side and the hobbits wouldn't seem out of place, £22.50 for an extremely capable steak with lovely meat somehow feels less ok - essentially, they hadn't hypnotised us enough into believing the experience justified the cost.

Final note on the food - the deserts were definitely uninspiring (not even any photos were taken) - my treacle sponge was sharply sweet with no depth to the flavour. It was very odd - it smelled fantastically but left your mouth casting about with the faintest tinge of tin. Fish (as in all restaurants) had the sorbet. The mandarin and blood orange scoops were very nice, but the lemon sorbet had a distinctly chemical aftertaste that was very unpleasant. I'd suggest giving these a miss.

Wine: Can't remember what it was, but we paid about £25 and it was a good red, juicy and punchy with darker undertones. Not sure it was worth that much money, however. Tasted more like a £15/16 wine. However, it may be a product of a generally low budget that I expect any wine over £20 pounds to leave me speechless for at least a moment!

In conclusion, not bad - go there for the duck hearts and the pheasant if you're feeling flush, but get a deal and prepare to pay more than the surroundings seem to suggest. There's also an offer to eat, drink and play pool for only £10 - and the general level of cooking would suggest to me that this is an Amazing deal. Oh, and we decided that we do still have some things to talk about, even if they are mainly poor steak puns.

experiment, chicken stock, demi glace, trials of western world

Tonight, I am trying an experiment. In an excess of boredom (tube strike prevented me from getting into work and the failure of the remote server precluded any other useful activity) I made two enormous pans of chicken/turkey bone stock yesterday. This means that, for the very first time, I have enough to play around with. So, I currently have three pots on the go, aiming to solve a couple of things that have bothered me. Firstly, what is demi-glace, is it worth making and freezing? Secondly, does straining stock through muslin really make that much of a difference/are new tights really a fair replacement? And thirdly, does star anise work in chicken soup?

Now, I've rather failed on the demi-glace front as apparently it's a combination of: "Espagnole or brown sauce, beef or veal stock, and Madeira or sherry, which is reduced by half." I have, as formerly mentioned, chicken stock. Veal and chicken stock are similar enough, I reckon (and I did include a pig's trotter). However Espagnole sauce is a rather different thing. It appears to be made from browned onions, celery, carrot and tomato concentrate,mixed with a 'hazelnut brown' roux, and simmered for about 2 hrs. Basically, well, bugger. The Espagnol sauce and the stock are then combined with sherry or madeira. I stopped at the crappy station M&S (the shop for people who are frightened of ovens but the only one open after my pubbing went on for longer than planned) and bought, mistakenly, port. *sigh.

Oh well. I've decided to make a demi-glace inspired reduced stock, which I'll then freeze in ice cubes, plus a chicken soup/stew thing for tomorrow. My pots are therefore as follows:
1. (the thin bottomed white crappy one incapable of diffusing heat) Contains chicken stock with a healthy pouring of port, plus tomato puree and bay leaves. On a medium heat.
2. (the thick bottomed but ludicrously small one) Contains chicken stock that has been sieved through some tights from the pound shop opposite, also with same balance of port and bayleaves. On a very high heat.
3. (casserole dish, missing one handle) Contains chicken stock, one star anise and a bouquet garni, plus a couple of drops of fish sauce as I was about to turn it chinese before changing my mind. This is over a very gentle heat and will soon have pearl barley, garlic, chicken and cabbage added to it (and potentially some soy sauce, rice vinegar and more fish sauce if it doesn't taste of anything). Am wishing very much that I had an onion, but it's too cold and miserable out there to brave it. Hmmm. As irritating boyfriend would say, 'oh, the trials of the Western World...' I notice, however, that he only says that if I'm moaning about having lost my lovely panda hat and having to rebuy it, and not when he's moaning about his xbox not loading up as fast as it used to...)

It is now 11.11pm, and results so far are as follows:
1. Still reducing, tasting ok, a bit porty (may have added slightly more or may be a result of not reduced enough yet). Now have turned on high heat to test difference to pan 2.
2. Slightly gloopy seeming (yet actually simply liquid), very black, almost dark liquid. Absolutely gorgeous. Could reduce on very high heat, ferocious heat without queering the flavour, owing to having removed impurities beforehand (supposedly) and this appears to be the case.
3. Star anise was working, whereas crappy bouquet garni (which was dried) made it taste like tea. Took it out and have put pearl barley in. Tastes ok, but not greatly rich - though wasn't my best stock. Put pearl barley in far too late, and will probably have to cook this over night in the oven. On the good side, if it's not nice I can just add some of pan 2 and it will become the yummiest thing in the world.

Fisher is soon returning from his sister's, and I have a present for him - a lego advent calendar! Very excited as think I've been sneaky enough for this to be an actual surprise (rare as normally I get impatient with not getting the credit immediately after having spent the money and start dropping lead-like hints at an early stage).

Right, now it's 12.02, and I really should go to bed. Fish returned, to be greeted by a manic girlfriend rushing between three pots. I gave him a taste of the best reduced stuff (from the small pan, sieved through tights) and he said, 'hmmm. Have you reduced that whole pan down to make that?' *sigh. Both pans have a fantastic depth of flavour, but that flavour isn't quite balanced (over sweet/salty, not enough 'brownness'). Have a feeling that some heftier beef stock would definitely have helped, and can see that sherry/madeira would be more subtle and less vibrantly sweet and winey, plus the slow cooked vegetables would have added a caramel flavour that would have been amazing. Anyway, all the reduced stock/demi-glace is now in ice cube trays and in the freezer. The chicken/cabbage/pearl barley/whatever thing is in the oven on slow, and all is right with the world.

In conclusion: - demi-glace is extremely complicated and requires beef or veal bones. Will try making Espagnole sauce though, as sounds both straight-forward and cheap. Approximation of demi-glace is good, but try with white wine or simply strained stock in the future, as will be more versatile for soups etc. Worried that putting my attempt in anything will make it taste the same, and Fisher will end up banning it, like rosemary. (*sigh)
- straining the stock through tights actually did some good things. Not so much for the taste (though think was slightly cleaner) but the texture was less greasy and far fewer impurities while boiling. Also surprisingly easy to do. Try again for normal stock.
- star anise is too strong for chicken soup - started ok but began to dominate, so I took it out. Light tone ok, but think would be better added with fennel.
- if presenting advent calendar as gift, remember to do so before boyfriend falls asleep and you have to wake him up by switching the big light on. The reception will be better.