Collaboration, collaboration, collaboration.

March 30, 2015 / Geoff Griffiths

Rest easy - I’m not on the election trail. This concerns things happening in and within a few metres of my kitchen.

A meal cooked for friends is something my wife and I enjoy planning together but I have become increasingly bossy in the production department, very often claiming all the kitchen duties. The fact that cooking gives me such great pleasure can leave me shame-faced when I realise that I’m sometimes giving in only to offers of help with the washing up! So, this also concerns my effort to relent and allow the proper expression of my wife’s wonderful cooking abilities.

We have enjoyed a spot of North American input for the last couple of years. One of our sons has brought his Canadian girlfriend into our family. We are all enriched by her and she loves cooking! After she had made us a second pumpkin pie and given us her favourite recipe we decided to include it as dessert for a visit of old friends. And I decided to give in gracefully and let my wife make it!

Here are the recipes which formed the menu we offered to our friends:

Eggs in Pots (Oeufs en Cocotte)

Braised Pork with Plums

Chef John's Pumpkin Pie

Please, do watch Chef John’s video - it clarifies things but, best of all, it lets you hear his lovely, lilting, reassuring voice.

I said that I would reference my recently made Chorizo Jam again soon. I discarded all but a simple salt and pepper seasoning for the eggs and served with sourdough toasts and butter… and a goodly helping of the savoury sensation. The combination was just as successful as its first appearance shortly after Christmas.

The main course contained my usual ‘deliberate’ mistake - I forgot to sprinkle on the other half of chopped spring onions before serving. All, including me, were ignorant of this while eating so we were only crest-fallen later! Mum cooked this for us on a recent visit and I’d been keen to try it out myself. Served with rice and green beans. Another must-make dish.

We knew that our friends had recently visited family in Canada and they had tales of China Town cuisine, sushi and meaty meals but no trans-Atlantic experience of the pumpkin pie which was about to appear. Of course, I’m not quite vulgar enough to enter into a discussion about the merits and success of each course but will concede that the pie was perfectly delicious. And, just to prove that my wife still has her touch, this was the one course where our guests asked for seconds!

The recipe is reasonably simple but very rewarding. The velvety texture of the filling is given just enough edge from the spices.

Here is the pie in all its glory. How smashing that we each had at least two more helpings to enjoy after our guests had left.

Over the years, my wife and I have done some amazing things together in the kitchen (and I do mean that in the best possible taste!) Planning, preparing and producing meals are collaborative processes which strengthen the bond between us. I think that getting in each other’s way is essentially more productive than avoiding each other. After her latest foray, I reckon it’s safe to say that my wife’s pie has broken down any last silly jealous thoughts of mine that the kitchen might be my domain.

Now what should I do with these floury hands of mine… ;)

* I don't own a snazzy camera. Some shots look half decent but I'm aware that taking them in the middle of 'service' doesn't always produce the best results - my apologies.

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We're Jammin'

March 27, 2015 / Geoff Griffiths

Last Christmas was no exception. As usual, I succumbed to the purchase of the bumper-bundle, two week edition of the Radio Times. There are so many on-screen guides available that it is fast becoming an anachronism but, whatever the schedule, it still holds a huge wodge of festive nostalgia for me. After careful insertion into the leather RT cover which came as a gift many years ago, it provides, at the very least, a fine, sturdy surface for thank you letter writing!

The BBC is usually under fire from some quarter but that doesn't stop me adding another of their licensed magazines to my Christmas shop. The December 2014 edition of ‘Good Food’ provided the recipe to which I'm linking here:

Chorizo Jam

Such stuff as bacon jam and bacon and cola jelly have their undoubted merits but the kick of chorizo spice here adds a little more wake-up zing to proceedings.

I made this and tried it out on my family for our last breakfast together before sons and girlfriends headed back to their homes for respite from six day assault on their digestive systems. Served with fried eggs and freshly baked wholemeal bread and toast, it went down a storm.

Meaty, sweet, spicy and tangy combine to leave a delicious, flavour-packed imprint, even in small quantities. This is a really simple recipe with guaranteed success in the taste department. Your only consideration will be which side of chunky or smooth you go to in the food processor.

As post-breakfast goodbyes were said I did a most honourable thing and divided the remaining jam into two portions which were duly transported to Hull and Nottingham homes. This meant that the fleeting delight of a newly found recipe could not be enjoyed again here until I made another batch last week.

Here’s where I must show you one of my amazing Christmas presents from son number one (that’s chronologically speaking… we have two inseparably awesome sons!) and his girlfriend. One hundred 116 ml jars and a custom made Cheoff stamp with tie labels was their obvious hint for me to go into filthy commercial production, cornering the market in quaint, but tasty, tracklements. I have resolutely resisted this suggestion so far!

However, the new-made supplies of Chorizo Jam were ideally suited to storage in half a dozen of these dinky containers. I think they look splendid in the picture. I'm so glad I took it because within days I’d halved the supply by giving jars to friends. I often think some of them have developed a sixth sense which tells them when I've been at work in the kitchen!

I do know that previously mentioned son found at least one good use for the ‘jam’ he took away; here is his baking later in January with a certain spicy topping crowning his rolls!

My remaining three jars are already under attack with small amounts used for a starter course, details of which I'll share here soon. So much flavour in just a spoonful... Chorizo Jam is really worth making!

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'Lush' Is Not Always About Fresh Handmade Cosmetics

March 11, 2015 / Geoff Griffiths

A ruddy great boned shoulder of lamb was surplus to requirements over Christmas and ended up frozen in two slabs. Last weekend, following a chance reminder on Twitter, I decided against the idea of a South African approach, defrosted one portion and went for this bloke’s recipe:

Tom Kerridge's Slow-cooked Lamb Shoulder with Boulangere Potatoes

Tom is currently not so physically large after a bit of dieting but his flavours remain as big and insistent as ever. As usual, read my words for further encouragement and then go straight to your butcher, put a copy of the recipe on a kitchen surface and get prepping.

I peeled some garlic cloves and halved them to make slit-stuffing wedges. A teaspoon of vegetable bouillon powder made up the standard chicken stock cube to 600 ml. I’d run out of home-made stock for the potatoes… gah!

The simple, raw ingredients were already making it obvious that this Sunday would be one to remember.

Lamb is my wife’s favourite meat and I know if it’s making an appearance that mint sauce also has to be on the menu for her. I muck about with various amounts of chopped mint, balsamic or wine vinegars and sugars. Hey, try Pedro Ximenez sherry vinegar and cover all bases at once!

So, here’s my mix of mandaTORY sauce… a LABOUR of love for the one I will always love… ready for LIBERAL use. There - I believe I have DEMOCRATically included the major parties in time for the forthcoming elections… phew!

I’m pretty sure that any wine recommendations would include a drop of Spanish red. The one in picture was on offer at Sainsbury’s and certainly did the job. Crianza, maybe, but still with enough mellowed fruit to give cheeky competition to more aged relatives. I really should investigate ways of taking a fee for this blatant product placement!

Once the lamb and potatoes were in the oven, I gave thought to accompanying vegetables. We still have clumps of baby leeks among the full grown and I pulled and trimmed one of these. Blanched in boiling water for five minutes, they were drained and sprinkled with parmesan. They are ready to have a fifteen minute oven bake just before serving.

Carrots and parsnips were cut into careless chunks, seasoned and drizzled with a light olive oil. They go in during the last hour of cooking and need only a couple of tosses or turns to reassure them that they aren’t being neglected.

Turning the oven up to 200 degrees while the meat was resting left us with really delicious chewy, caramelised vegetable ‘toffees’.

The potatoes are introduced to the stock early on. As cooking progresses they enjoy the unexpected but inevitable delight of soaking up the fatty juices of the lamb as well. I guess you could eat the spuds alone. There is so much richness here from humble ingredients.

The beauty of slow roasting is that it leaves you with a bit of time on your hands. No walk, church or pub for me… instead, I painted the hall ceiling and glossed the stair woodwork. I managed one traditional task and made a serious start on the Sunday crossword.

At the allotted times all comes together. The lamb rested while carrots, parsnips and leeks had their final blast. The Kerridge connection ensures that you end up with food oozing glistening goodness. I carved the lamb into offensively thick slices but you could just as well go for the ‘tear and share’ option.

What a smashing way to slip out of the weekend. This is life-enhancing stuff for months with shorter hours of daylight. Which means that I need to gather a larger set of diners soon. A full shoulder cooked on the bones is just screaming to be given the same treatment for family and friends before the clocks are put forward.

Grateful thanks must go to Tom Kerridge, Graham, my butcher, and to one much respected sheep.

“Lush”? Oh, yes… but you will struggle to mumble words of even one syllable once you have cooked this glorious dish!

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VW Pigeon Pie

February 02, 2015 / Geoff Griffiths

Please don't fret. This isn't the precursor to a succession of posts about camper vans and 'Beetles'. The 'VW' on show here is the undeniably sleek and fabulously engineered Val Warner. His writings are never far from my kitchen. Here is much that is 'red in tooth and claw'. The natural bounty of the countryside leaps and flies into and out of his recipes. There is also plenty of foraging from the static natural world which is waiting to be picked or harvested... good, honest stuff.

Mr. Warner seasons his text with idiosyncratic words, phrases and descriptions. These will distract and delay you. Let them do so - they are worth the price of admission alone. What follows is something that I neglected for too long but finally made just after Christmas.

I’m pretty much decided on the approach to my blog. When I recommend a recipe, I’ll simply try to show that it’s approachable… “I’m a cook, not a chef!” So, please read this and then discard it temporarily - you’ll be welcome back any time later. Arm yourself with a laptop, iPad or print-out of the online recipe and don’t wait as long as I did before making it.

Here is the recipe for VW's Pigeon Pie

Ah, yes... one more thing and then I really will give you the low-down on this smashing feast. Graham and Karen opened seventeen months ago just down the road from us. Since then, Brown's Family Butchers has provided all our fresh meat needs and a fair few items from their 'home made' selection. The pigeons here came from them. Five of them in all. I used all the carcasses and four of the breasts, freezing the others. Modify amounts like I did or stick to the recipe for six.

If you haven't yet done so, go and find your own nearest 'proper' local butcher. I assure you that there are enough to go round. Seek them out beyond the supermarket also-rans.

The carcasses were chopped up using a santoku which came courtesy of a special offer from one of those recently-mentioned supermarkets. The blade served its purpose but I was soon reminded that a superior item might fit nicely on my wish-list.

Once the stock is bubbling the house begins to fill with pervading clouds of glorious vapour. This is probably the time to ensure that no laundry is hung out on a clothes horse. There are some limits to the spraying of this particular cookery cologne.

More careful, regular chopping is needed for the rest of the filling.

If you follow @ValentineWarner he has recently tweeted to advise "Should you want to make a game pie Resist urge to use bacon as it tends to dominate and mask the flavours of the furred or feathered" I agree almost entirely but the lardons I used were the last of some which were unaccountably bland - no real harm done.

Pigeon breasts: plump and skinless... in the process I found a couple of reassuringly authentic shot pellets... no empty cartridges for my photo-shoot though!

When frying the breast pieces the idea is to do surface damage only. Full heat and speed are vital to avoid anything but minimal cooking.

The meat and veg filling is combined. My choice of pie dish catered for a generous twosome. The whole thing is beginning to promise something rather special now.

Flour, butter, salt and water. What a quartet! Many recipes forgive you for using shop-bought pastry. On no account are you allowed to do that here. This golden, crunching, melting crust that topped off everything almost stole the show.

Tenderstem broccoli was fine but provided little distraction from this almost perfect pie. I'll be honest and repeat that warning about the flash-in-the-pan browning required for the breast meat... mine was ever so slightly 'over'. Still the most enjoyed meal at home since recent Christmas highlights.

You have the recipe at your disposal. Go to it... better still, order The Good Table and enjoy a plethora of further scrummy dishes. This one appears as 'Roast pigeon and ale pie' on page 104 in my copy. No further mention of boozy content is made but I can assure you it would not add very much.

That'll do for now. I trust you'll be inspired (so much better than being insipid!)

Oh, dammit, no... let's just take one more look at a thing of true beauty:

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Homage

January 27, 2015 / Geoff Griffiths

Amongst other things, I love to cook. Unlike many other people, my mum didn't teach me to cook.

My mum cooked like fury as I grew up. That's only an expression to convey the wealth of activity in her kitchen... she actually conducted proceedings in the most calm and controlled fashion. The results were always delicious and always had the attention to detail that someone being paid very good money would feel obliged to offer. But Mum, by this time, was out of 'the world of work'. She was a wife, mother and 1960s pop star... OK, the last one is stretching it a bit - but she was glamorous and cool (I guess we said ‘with-it’ in those days) to my brother, me and our friends. No contract other than that of marriage and certainly no salary; but she still operated at high executive level in every role she took on.

Our kitchen was the focal point of the house. At breakfast, on coming home from school with eager pals and through to dinner and still-hungry teenage evening snacks we made a beeline for the kitchen to perch on a stool or lean over worktops while Mum quietly went about her business.

Those schoolmates would walk right past their houses and on up the hill to ours, knowing that the best flapjack and rock buns were waiting. As we grew older Mum judged the correct time to ask us for the filthiest joke that we’d heard at school that day. If we drew a blank she would happily say, “That’s fine - I’ve got one for you!” Mum’s flapjack AND a dirty joke was a great double feature.

For quite a few years there were paying guests who took bed and board from Monday to Friday and helped contribute to the housekeeping. Many have kept in contact though their stay was decades ago. All were men involved at the time with jobs at nearby Gatwick airport. I’m fairly sure that most returned home at weekends to awkwardly (but faithfully!) pretend that my mother’s meals weren’t a patch on their wife’s!

On those painful occasions when I wasn’t allowed to share grown-up evening meals and dinner parties, I could always rely on second-hand pleasure as the guests’ loud verbal praise for each course bounced through the house.

What they, my dad, brother and I were treated to was an ever-changing menu of perfectly cooked food. Mum had moved beyond the confines of sound recipes and techniques learned from her own mother and embraced, well, just about anything you care to mention which was trending in the late sixties and early seventies. I’m pretty sure that ‘trending’ wasn’t a much-trending word then!

We were witnesses to the first-known appearance of pilaf in deepest North Downs Surrey. Pasta Bolognese was likely to take second billing with Milanese taking the limelight. Tarragon was added to chicken and to pears. We sometimes faced the shock of fresh asparagus rather than tinned. Close family were already fairly well inoculated against strange new ingredients and had come to relish the prospect of finding out what had given a different flavour to their meals but when I first brought home my future wife her taste buds were seriously challenged.

In all this exploration there was actually one thing which I remember as boldly going a step too gigantically far for humankind. ‘Sultan’s Kep’ appeared in glistening glory for dessert one Sunday. The capsules of green sago pudding were so like frog’s spawn that we had to search for unaccustomed excuses to avoid eating it!

Mum read and listened (the radio was almost another member of the family) She planned and prepared. She understood and was able to produce or re-produce culinary art on a daily basis. I could say that her dinner parties were sans pareil but, with every meal being an occasion, that would be untrue - all were equally exciting.

Ian MacDonald’s ‘Revolution in the Head: The Beatles’ Records and the Sixties’ has some seriously short-sighted musings. However, it is a book which I treasure for many other great things. In his introduction, MacDonald suggests that it wasn’t post-war youth grabbing and embracing the ‘swinging sixties’ but, more importantly, people like Mum. She certainly welcomed plenty of the new culture’s music, literature and fashion into the house. She made no fuss about her son subscribing to the rather gender-directed ‘FAB’ magazine with its large poster pages… and ‘feminine hygiene’ product adverts of which I was oblivious! Oh, and she was a complete sucker for “That John Lennon and his lovely teeth!”

My mother was not the only one to subscribe to the Cordon Bleu monthly cookery course. The many copies still for sale on eBay make that obvious. She relied on the crazy, rather dodgy, Fanny Craddock to ensure that choux pastry was tackled with confidence instead of being a no-go area. I think that Mum was just open to anything which allowed her to spend time in the kitchen with purpose, development and progress.

I watched this flowering (and flouring!) on a regular no-ticket-required basis. I was encouraged to have a go, get messy and even clear up afterwards.

My mother didn’t teach me to cook? Not by my definition. Instead, she and I used the love between us to explore and share something together - in this case cooking. There were no expectations or pressures from either side. There were no ‘lessons’. All the time I was given to understand that the kitchen was a rather magical place and there was no earthly reason for me to think it wasn’t the right place for me. I wasn’t taught… but I learned everything I needed to set me up as an enthusiastic and determined beginner who would never lose the thrill of being able to show love through the offering of food.

My confidence really began to show as soon as I left for university. In three years there I used the refectory just twice (as can be evidenced by my pitiful hoard of nicked UEA-stamped cutlery!) For an impecunious student with lousy chat-up lines, I now possessed one hell of a clever compensatory skill. My aforementioned future life partner succumbed almost immediately to the charms of my roast chicken, chips and peas!

So… cooking helped me on the way to find love of a different kind. Thank you, Mum!

Now, please allow me to share a picture of my wonderful mother.

I only became aware of that photograph last year. It shows a person I’ve never met but there is someone there waiting to be the mother I’ve known and loved for all of my life.

If you’re wondering; my Mum is still very much alive. Soon she will embark on her eighty-eighth year and will have seen this homage to her. She is a brown belt in computer skills and can send emails and accesses Cheoff with ridiculous ease. I’m delighted to offer this to distract from her morning coffee and electronic browsing time.

I hope you all have the love of at least one fab (60s vocabulary!) parent. But I’d be ever so slightly sad if you don’t also have a love of cooking.

-xx-

P.S. I love my Dad to bits as well!

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tags / mothers, love, strong women, Mother's Day

Burns Nicht... Burns supper

January 25, 2015 / Geoff Griffiths

I have completely disremembered the whereabouts of my best-so-far recipe for Burns Night but this is close enough: BBC - Food - Recipes : Haggis, clapshot and whisky sauce

The Hairy Bikers have grown on me over the years and I'm happy to link to their take on a very Scottish affair. At least David and Simon are even closer to the border than I am! Feel free to adapt your approach and presentation but, please, do try haggis for the first time if you haven't yet done so.

This year was celebrated in fine style with a welcome accompanying Scottish win in Australia. Andy Murray redressing the balance against Grigor Dimitrov is a small thing in the big scheme of things but we here at 'Poverty Hall' were much enriched by a classy victory heralding the famous poet's birthday and the start of Australia Day 2015.

To put yourself in the mood for the occasion, I suggest a wee look at the following link... a wee dram while you're looking would be perfectly appropriate too.

Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns - Alexandria Burns Club

While you're at it, scroll down the page and click this link: life of a haggis.

Once there, you will enjoy a silly treat!

It might be thought that the only true friend of this meal is a lovely malt whisky from your most favoured distillery. I certainly struggled for choice in the face of this slack handful of suspects. Please understand that these are mostly generous gifts to me over a few years and not the remnants of last week's shopping!

At the very last minute I decided to change tack this year. My Christmas wine purchases included this:-

Lirac Rouge La Fermade, Domaine Maby 2013 — Lirac Rouge La Fermade, Domaine Maby 2013

I haven't used the word 'robust' yet but we're in the realms of deep, chewy, spicy goodness with the haggis and I saw no reason to fight against that vibe in my wine choice. It turned out to be a terrific partner to a memorable meal. Ah, yes... I did order more of that vintage and they will certainly be looked after carefully for at least another twelve months. A good thing is worth repeating, I think.

Erm... OK, I did eventually return to the malts - it would be rude to neglect the generosity of friends, wouldn't it!

Lang may yer lum reek!

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On trend... Turkey trot - with a Persian lamb accent

January 22, 2015 / Geoff Griffiths

I’ve decided that there’s far too much quality culinary ‘opposition’ out there with which to compete. There will be times when I offer my very own ideas and recipes but, for the most part, these pages will reflect what happens in my kitchen thanks to the inspiration of wonderful writers and photographers and the publishers who make them available to us.

Of course, if I ever encourage a single one of you to take up the baton/spoon/whisk (choose your metaphor) and get more active with home cooking, I shall swell with disgusting pride!

I might well be the only person in Amazon.co.uk Land without a copy of Persiana: Recipes from the Middle East & Beyond #NumberOne or thereabouts on all of 2014's reviews (I promise it’s on order, Sabrina!) However, reluctant to be venturing too far from the flavours of the moment, I did seek out these two readily available recipes from others on the internet before the ‘real thing’ arrives.

Persian lamb tagine

I’d intended to make some lamb tandoori ‘bites’ over Christmas but never got round to it - so chunks of lamb shoulder in the freezer went into this dish instead of neck fillets.

All went according to instructions but I gave an extra thirty minutes for meat tenderness before adding the apricots, pistachios, etc. When they have cooked in, you will have something glistening, sweet and slightly fatty but, above all, very deep and desirable!

I almost ate a portion just checking for seasoning!

To my shame, I have never bothered (bother… what bother?!) to make flatbreads. Soda, focaccia, spicy cardamom buns and the perfecting of our staple of sandwiches and toast, wholemeal loaves, are just a few who have distracted me from that simplest of delights… breads which are flat!

I am even more ashamed of myself for having neglected this fundamental variety of cooking as I remember one particular pleasure which was part of holidays to Turkey a few years back.

Morning walks to explore the rocky coastline were a regular feature. We returned from the sun’s heat to seek the shelter of parasols and the comfort of a gin sling. One day a week, while we were walking, Aynur and Gülsüm began the making of flatbreads using the shade of gardener, Bayram’s, vine-laden pergola. They would go to the communal garden fire-pit and mix a simple dough, kneading it for smooth consistency with slow pummelling. On our return they were ready to divide, roll and cook their mix on the domed iron griddle in my picture.

No offence was taken from the heat of the fire as we fell in with its honest purpose of turning wet dough into the staff of life. The relaxed, practised efficiency of the process had an even more calming effect than the cocktails which we were now gratefully cradling.

So, earlier this week I finally set to in my own kitchen to produce an accompaniment to the lamb tagine.

Mr. J. Oliver's Easy Flatbreads

Nothing complicated here, unless you are going to fret about getting sticky dough all over your hands! My small griddle pan took the place of that big iron disc. No wood fire - but the gas heat was enough to send wisps of smoky, toasted goodness to the nostrils. The dough takes longer to cook than I expected but it was a bit of a learning experience with rare, medium and well done all making appearances until I judged the best time to flip and finish.

Smokin'! Watch out for 'false' detector alarms!

This was a nice change from a Sunday roast. As well as presenting lovely flavours of an iconic far-flung cuisine this conjured up memories of a glorious holiday and fine Turkish hospitality... I washed it all down with thoughts of future delights when Sabrina Ghayour arrives, clad in her Amazonian wrapping.

Just in case you are late to the party, why not head over here for a quick introduction...

Sabrina Ghayour

And do let me know when something here makes you think, "Yeah, I'd like to have a go at that!"

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