I’m back!

Whoops. Bit of a hiatus there. Fell out of the blogging habit (understandably!) whilst jetting around Asia stuffing my face, then life fell apart a bit and blogging (nor much else) held no appeal… The last couple of months have seen a deep bout of depression, a relationship breakdown, a house move, starting a brilliant new job, and everything picking back up again. Thus the time has come to get back on the blogging horse and share with you all the delicious treats I’ve been cooking up since getting back on my feet.

Candied bacon & maple muffins soon to come..!

How many mango shakes is too many mango shakes?

Trick question. There’s no such thing, obviously.

I’ve now been in Vietnam for just over a week and while it hasn’t been entirely what I expected, the food has not disappointed. It seems like the rules of the world’s other culinary meccas do not apply here. You know how if you eat out in one of Italy’s major cities, if you don’t know where you’re going, you have an equal chance at best of either eating something divine or catastrophically bad? Here, the food is just always good. Eat in a restaurant aimed at Westerners, the food will be very good, although expensive by Vietnamese standards. Eat in a restaurant or street kitchen aimed at locals, and you’ll have one of the best meals of your life for less than a couple of quid, washed down with a local beer that costs 30p. I never thought this could be possible, but I might actually be getting sick of lager.

I’ll try and do a proper write up upon my return, or when I reach a hostel with a computer that doesn’t require you to bang at the keyboard as though your fingertips are tiny hammers, but rest assured… I am not going hungry.

Reverse Bucket List

This evening I was researching what to do on my upcoming trip around Vietnam, Laos and Thailand, or, more specifically, how to pass my very first day in Saigon before I join my G Adventures tour. I came across Saigon Street Eats, street food tours in the city run by an Aussie-Vietnamese couple. Their website led me to find the food and travel blog of the Aussie half of the couple, Barbara, and what a lovely blog it is. My favourite entry so far is Reverse Bucket List. Barbara suggests that the classic “bucket list” of things we want to do before we die is kind of morbid. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but I agree that we should focus more on the wonderful experiences we’ve already had, rather than investing all of our hopes in things to come. So here is my reverse bucket list.

I ate clam chowder in the Californian sun on Pier 39 in San Francisco
I rode a horse, through a river, up a mountain in Southern Italy
I experienced an earthquake whilst drinking a Modelo in a bar over 40 stories from the ground in Mexico City and felt the building sway
I cycled along the canal in Bruges having not ridden a bike in at least 12 years
I stayed on a working farm in rural Sora and drank their homemade wine
I zig-ah-zig-ahhhhhed in the bar of a German Christmas market in Berlin
I climbed as far up the Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan, Mexico, as it allowed… and then up the Pyramid of the Moon as well
I swam in swimming pools carved into the edge of a mountain at Hierve al Agua, and amoungst waterfalls at Cascadas de Agua Azul
I sat alone at night eating cheesecake on Times Square… then finished it at Penn Station at 5am the next morning
I drank the best hot chocolate in the world in the Chocolate Museum in Cologne
I’ve been in love
I’ve spent two years living in the greatest city in the world

And next week I’m embarking on a month long dream adventure in South East Asia… my reverse bucket list will keep on growing as I continue to make the most of my life and the beautiful world we live in.

Women Who Eat on Tubes: A Reaction to the Art Defence

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It’s Art, Bitch

I’ve been doing my best to ignore the whole Women Who Eat on Tubes furore because sometimes it’s just all too exhausting, isn’t it? I mean obviously it’s sexist and awful and weird, but you know, whatever. You can’t get upset over every internet loser out there. Sometimes, it’s just a nice morning in April and you’re just innocently listening to the radio and thinking about what you’re gonna have for lunch, little piggy that you are.

But then the guy who set up the whole thing pops up on Radio 4 and I had to listen to his defence of what he was up to, and I realised he wasn’t just some young lad with too much time on his hands and a perhaps forgivable ignorance about the context in which he was presenting his work. No, he’s a professional grown-up person whose entire defence is…

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Photos from London Coffee Festival and Bestowed Kitchen at Beulah Road Market E17

Gooey Rolo Brownies

Brownies became part of my kitchen repotoire at an early age, and over the best part of 20 years I’ve been testing and tweaking recipes. I’ve made ones with nuts, fruit, chocolate chunks and blonde versions, but only last week did I have the revelation of throwing in caramels. Seems obvious now, huh? So I added an obscene amount of Rolos to my usual recipe, and yes, they were as good as it sounds. My basic recipe can be used with almost endless variations – I like big chunks of white chocolate for creamy contrast against the dense bittersweet fudginess – but the Rolos were definitely a good call.

Melt 6oz butter, 12oz light muscavado sugar, 2oz cocoa powder, 2tsp instant coffee granules/powder, 2tsp vanilla extract and 4oz dark chocolate (no more than 70% cocoa, the stronger stuff is a bit too heavy going) on a low heat in a large saucepan. Allow to cool a little then mix in 3 beaten eggs. Fold through 2oz plain flour, 1oz ground almonds and a generous sprinkling of sea salt.
At this point you can bake it as it is, or stir in nuts, chocolate chunks, raspberries, mini mashmallows… or 2 packets of quartered Rolos.
Pour the mixture into a lined tin, then dot the top with more Rolos

Pop in the oven at 190C for half an hour-ish – although my tempremental oven probably differs from yours quite a bit, so keep an eye on them. You could serve still warm and gooey from the oven, but I prefer them cold so they go really chewy. Either way, a big scoop of ice cream won’t go amiss – I used Kelly’s Cornish Clotted Cream and Honeycomb. Phwoar.
Afterwards, I realised that another sprinkling of sea salt over the batter before baking would have added a delicious salted caramel edge. No doubt I’ll be baking them again though… next time!

Peppered Oxtail in Ale

My lovely beardy boy suprised me with the most wonderful Christmas present. A long weekend in Norfolk, staying in a little cottage on a working farm way out in the countryside. Yes, I am a very lucky lady. We went a few weeks ago, when the weather was just starting to turn from incessant rain and bleak grey skies to this

Glorious, eh? We took a detour on our journey to the pretty seaside town of Southwold, where that photo was taken. Went to the lovely Coasters, a cafe-bistro tucked just off the high street with a remarkable selection of gins and local beers, plus a simple but delicious menu of local seafood, sandwiches and cakes. I had my vice – a fish finger sandwich – stuffed full of crispily battered cod fingers, and Mark a dressed local crab. I think that all road trips should include a tasty seafood lunch en route.
Southwold is a charming town full of cafes and delis, not to mention a huge Adnams brewery shop. Of course we purchased some supplies! We also popped in to Hutson’s Butchers, a traditional butcher and deli in town. I was hoping for some ox cheeks, but they weren’t available. Toto, we’re not in London anymore! So I settled for some exceptionally chunky, meaty looking ox tail ready for a peppery stew.

The following morning I miixed some plain flour with a WHOLE LOT of bashed up black peppercorns. We’re talking a serious amount of pepper, here. The oxtail was thickly dusted with the peppery flour, and I browned it in a frying pan in a decent amount of beef dripping until the cottage was full of beefy scented smoke and we had to open the patio doors. Once nicely coloured I  deglazed the pan with a good splosh of of delicious Adnams Gunhill dark ale and stuck it all in a casserole dish. Then, using the same frying pan, I browned the bejesus out of some bacon lardons and roughly chopped onions in more dripping. Once sticky and a little bit caramelised I stirred in some more of the peppered flour, cooked out for a few minutes and added a bit more of the ale before  putting it in the casserole. On top of the oxtail, bacon and onions I threw in diced carrot, halved chestnut mushrooms, sliced leeks, sprigs of rosemary and some whole garlic cloves, bashed with the flat of my knife, then covered the lot with some stock made from a Kallo organic beef stock cube – which is the king of all stock cubes if you ask me – and the rest of the bottle of ale. Into the oven at 120 degrees, and we left it to work its magic while we went out for the day.
A short drive took us to Cromer, Norfolk’s best known seaside town and home of the infamous Cromer crabs. Upon recommendation from a magazine, we went to No. 1 Cromer for lunch, a fish and chip shop owned by ‘celeb’ chef Galton Blackiston. I am a girl who’s very big on her fish and chips so was pretty ruddy excited about my battered haddock.

The chips were great, fluffy and slightly crisp, but the rest of the meal was a bit disappointing considering the restaurant has a michelin starred chef’s name attached to it. The haddock was moist but the batter a bit thin, lacking the crunch good fish and chips should have. It was the kind of batter that would be great in a fish taco, when you need something a bit more delicate, but when you’re having fish and chips you don’t want delicate! Also my pickled onion tasted like it has been macerated in sambuca. ANISEED IS THE DEVIL’S FLAVOUR. Fennel seeds, dill, star anise, I don’t know what they put in the liquor exactly but it completely overwhelmed any hint of onion. Finally, the buttered roll I ordered was dry and tasted like it had come out of a Hovis packet. I’d have rather had some plastic white sliced to be honest. Despite the flaws though, I still wolfed down most of it, leaving no room to try out their rather delicious looking homemade ice cream. I’ll have to stop by for a cone next time.
After a few hours strolling the town we went back to the cottage to check on the stew. The smell that hit us as we opened the front door was INCREDIBLE. A meaty fug had filled the entire cottage. I removed the casserole from the oven and gave the oxtail a prod. FALLING OFF THE BONE. Into the thickest, richest looking gravy. This was the stew to end all stews.
I let it sit in the oven while I made some mash. I don’t need to tell you how to make mash, but I will tell you that I added a drizzle of double cream, lots of chopped chives and a good grating of the Snowdonia Cheese Company’s beechwood smoked cheddar. If you’ve never tried it before, hunt some down. This is the GOOD SHIT.
A pile of fluffy, cheesy mash, with rib sticking stew, crusty bread, good local ale and a beardy man to share it with meant I was a very happy girl indeed.

Picnic loaf

I don’t know about you, but I go slightly insane when the weather first starts to pick up. My food obsessed brain connects the first glimmers of “sunshine” and “warmth” with “BARBECUE!” “PICNIC!” “AL FRESCO TAPAS FEAST”. Normally I’d at least make it to April before I start getting overexcited, but it’s been GLORIOUS, hasn’t it?
I spent much of last  summer talking about making picnic loaf. Picnic loaf, if you didn’t already know, is the genius idea of essentially using a loaf of bread as a lunch box – hollow out the fluffy middle and fill the shell with all kinds of deliciousness. Unfortunately though, last year was not a year for picnics. I spent the handful of sunny days we did have either in the kitchen at The Lexington, rolling pizzas under a gazebo for my old street food company The Britalian Job, or drinking off the previous night’s hangover in a Romford beer garden.

This summer I will make amends.

I used a Sainsburys Taste the Difference french boule thingy for my loaf – solid crust, dense crumb and mild tangy flavour seemed a good vehicle for a wodge of tasty fillings. I sliced about a third off the top and pulled out most of the pillowy insides. This is basically the best thing about making a picnic loaf. When else is it acceptable to yank wodges of soft bread straight from the loaf and dip them into salty butter as you potter around the kitchen? Leaving about an inch thickness, I drizzled the now bowl shaped loaf with garlic infused extra virgin rapeseed oil. Of course, you could use olive instead. You can fill a picnic loaf with whatever you like, really, but sunny weather really lends itself to Italian inspired flavours. I roasted some sweet red peppers and courgettes with seasoning and oregano until soft, and bought a pack of mixed proscuitto and salami, mozzarella and basil leaves. Olives, artichokes, sunblush tomatoes and hummus would all make great additions… in fact, the possibilities are almost endless. A layer of each over and over (with plenty of seasoning in between) until the loaf was bursting, and then the lid went back on. As tempting as it was to eat it then and there, I wrapped in clingfilm and weighed down with a couple of cans until we were ready to hit the park.

Best eaten cut into great wodges and washed down with gin from a tin.

Anxiety Noodle Soup

I have not been blogging lately. I have not been doing much of anything lately. Every so often a dark cloud from my long history of depression and anxiety surfaces. It’s a much milder form than when I was in my teens and early twenties, when sometimes I was a barely functional person, but alas there’s a slight shadow that comes and goes every now and again reminding me that I’m not quite 100% ‘better’, and I probably never will be. Thus for the last few weeks my routine has mainly consisted of getting up, going to work, coming home and getting in bed with my duvet over my head, or staring blankly at my laptop with no motivation to do anything productive. When you’re spending 90% of your free time in bed, you find you don’t have much to blog about. And even if I did, I doubt I’d have had the motivation to do it anyway.
This weekend it peaked and I’ve really struggled to even go outside. I managed a short trip to Sainsburys on Sunday, grabbing a chicken and a few bits of veg then legging it home while my heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest. After two hours back in bed I thought I’d better at least make something of the day. So I decided to put the chicken to use and made some stock.
Jointing a chicken is strangely calming. Roughly hacking off the wings first, and throwing them into the pot. Cutting through the thigh joints, and then where the thigh meets the drumstick. Slicing the breast away from the carcass. Crunching the knife through the carcass into smaller pieces. I reserved the breasts and thighs, and the carcass and drumsticks joined the wings in the pot. A few litres of water, a sprig of rather mangey looking rosemary, half an onion and a bit of carrot and the stock was ready for the hob.

I went back to bed. For 3 hours. In the middle of the afternoon, on the first properly warm day of the year.

After those 3 hours, the stock was done. Except I couldn’t be bothered to do anything with it, so I left it there to cool and had no dinner.

Today I felt slightly more capable of facing the world, or at least the chicken. But still not good. Needing comfort, I decided to make a Vietnamese inspired noodle broth.

I poached one of the reserved chicken thighs in my stock with a large knob of ginger sliced into stubby matchsticks,  a roughly chopped stalk of lemongrass, a fat garlic clove sliced as thin as I could be bothered to (ie. not very) and a small yellow chilli. Once cooked I removed the thigh and shredded the meat into the broth. Along with the chicken, in went some baby pak choi, sugar snaps and babycorn. Simmered for a minute. Then I added two nests of rice vermicelli noodles. One would have been plenty. Clinical noodle addiction is on my list of mental health issues. A generous glug of dark soy, a sprinkle of lime juice, a handful of chopped mint and a good squeeze of sriracha finished my broth. If I’d had coriander and fish sauce they would have gone in too, but I didn’t, and today is not a day for going to the shop.

Hot soup. Slippery noodles. Soul soothed.

Carbonara with leeks and peas

Whenever asked what my fail safe dinner dish is, I always reply “carbonara”. Salty, smokey bacon and a dense pile of carbs smothered with cheesy creamines which can be ready within 20 minutes of bursting through the front door, it’s pretty much the perfect weekday supper when you’re feeling a bit below par – which is pretty much my default state at the moment. I like to freshen it up with some greens for an extra dimension, not to mention some bonus vitamins! Sometimes I use broccoli, either the traditional calabrese sort or leggy tenderstem, sometimes wilted spinach or savoy cabbage, but most commonly I love sweet buttery leeks and a handful of frozen petit pois. This is how to make my variation.

Stick a full kettle on to boil and wash and slice a medium leek per person and saute gently in a large dollop of butter. Once meltingly soft, remove from the pan, add a little oil and ramp the heat up. Throw in a couple of rashers of chopped smoked (always, always smoked!) streaky bacon each. While the bacon’s crisping up, fill a large saucepan with water from the boiled kettle and add a generous shake of salt, then chuck in your pasta – I used farfalle but I think carbonara is one of those sauces that will work with any shape. Now the bacon should be crispy and burnished so add a fat, finely chopped clove of garlic per head to the pan too and let it caramelise slightly before taking off the heat.

Once the pasta’s been boiling for 5 minutes or so add the petit pois to the water. As it comes back up to the boil seperate one egg per person and put the yolk in a bowl or jug, saving the white for an after dinner whisky sour. Mix with a generous slug of double cream, grated parmesan and more black pepper than you’d think necessary. Fastest sauce ever!
Drain your pasta and peas, leaving a small amount of water clinging to the pasta, and stick it back in the saucepan along with the buttered leeks. Then quickly stir in the eggy sauce allowing the heat from the pasta to cook it through.
Decant into an absurdly large bowl and shower with grated parmesan. Scoff whilst watching Midsomer Murders with a bottle of Cab Sav.