tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43042572641259159042024-03-19T04:34:48.037-07:00veggie food writerVegetarian and vegan food writer Jane Hughes shares her finds and frustrations.Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-37829500560369382572014-05-26T03:48:00.000-07:002014-05-26T03:48:36.646-07:00Bread and yoghurt - a life in fermentLast weekend, I took a train to Plymouth to visit Dragan and Penny, who run a microbakery. I'm going to write it up for Love Food so I'm not going to dwell much on the experience here. Suffice to say it was bliss. Sitting on a crowded train on the way home, with a bag of nine loaves on my lap for five hours was not. My hips ached for days.<br />
I took bread to two of my neighbours and to the lady at the flower shop, they seemed pleased although I think the rye bread with caraway and figs had a crust that might break teeth. I sliced up the rest of it (heartbreaking, really, they were such pretty loaves) and rammed them into the freezer whilst making a promise to myself that we would eat a little bit each day. Actually, that has worked reasonably well, several wholesome lunches of soup and bread. If the sun ever shines, I'll do salad and bread, and some oil and vinegar for dipping.<br />
I'm trying to clean up the kitchen and planning a test run of the baking plan this coming week. The sourdough starter they gave me is looking a big neglected, hope I can resuscitate it...<br />
Inspired by Penny's wonderful breakfasts I've made a batch of yoghurt (which was surprisingly resilient given the way I ignored it and let it get too cold and then stuck it on top of the boiler for two days...), and two pretty successful fruit compotes, one with dried fruits stewed down with a vanilla chai tea bag and one with the last of the rhubarb from the garden, some tired apples and a glug of the vanilla coffee syrup I got for Christmas. I even rustled up a batch of home-baked granola - rolled oats, cinnamon, honey, slightly too much sea salt, baked until just crisp. For the past few mornings I've been eating a breakfast that makes me feel pleased with myself. Not a bad start to the day although it tends to go downhill from there... the hoover has stopped sucking and the washing machine is on the blink again, and I think it has rained so hard for so long that the seeds I planted have been washed away. Good old spring bank holiday...<br />
<br />
<br />Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-5024380200760044072014-04-23T09:19:00.000-07:002014-04-23T09:19:54.209-07:00Vegetarian cooking for the heartbroken
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ6i50gUnb0PYaSv4E3Z8Fikn9EBuz7v97HBD_0oqJZt04U1ZIsx635qv-PWAFk8ewZs9OMVEodrsP3NtE3SkRJfhlAgNSM4N50Vu5td4IQlcq8hSQePn4kpnUHYkYRITI5BybsXmU6k/s1600/madison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ6i50gUnb0PYaSv4E3Z8Fikn9EBuz7v97HBD_0oqJZt04U1ZIsx635qv-PWAFk8ewZs9OMVEodrsP3NtE3SkRJfhlAgNSM4N50Vu5td4IQlcq8hSQePn4kpnUHYkYRITI5BybsXmU6k/s1600/madison.jpg" height="320" width="253" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Deborah Madison’s ‘New
Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone’ has arrived at the perfect moment and done me
a power of good. Frankly, 2014 has been the year from hell so far. After 14
years, I’ve finally had my job as Editor of The Vegetarian magazine taken off
me – can’t convey how distraught I was about it. Utterly destroyed. Sitting
here symbolically burning my business cards and wondering if there is anybody
else in the world who has need of a highly experienced and totally dedicated
vegetarian magazine editor. Hearing that my dad was in intensive care in a hospital 200 miles away, then
getting my very own trip in an ambulance with a suspected miscarriage, followed
by a really painful biopsy, topped off with a minor car crash and witnessing a
suicide … it’s a mix I could never have dreamed up. Kudos to whichever malign
spirits worked out how best to hurt me, job done. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, although I do
tend to mash bits of my life into the blog mixture, that’s as much as I can
bear to talk about it right now. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So there I was, all
cried out and without any appetite for food or life in general, when this
beauty of a book arrived. Really, it’s a very pretty thing. (Note that I’m
inclined to be more impressed by good type design than by indifferent food
photography.) Yes, I know it’s a re-issue of an oldie, but what an oldie. There
are apparently 400,000 copies of ‘Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone’ dotted around
the globe – naturally one of them is mine, and working my way through the new
edition was a wonderfully comforting and grounding experience. It took me right
back to the thrill I was feeling about cooking in the late 1990s, when I was
really getting into teaching myself new techniques and having a lot of fun in
the kitchen. It’s full of the kind of food that I really like to cook. Not
fancy, but thoughtful. Lentil and caramelized onion croquettes with a red wine
tomato sauce might sound boring or old-school to some, but to me, it’s like
going home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is quite possibly
my desert island book choice. 1,600 recipes over 670 pages and every one’s a
winner. It’s the kind of book that has me curled up on the sofa for hours when
I ought to be actually cooking something for tea. I seem to be able to live on
just the idea of food, sometimes. I wonder if my brain thinks I’m eating. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It covers everything –
there are ideas for every vegetarian foodstuff imaginable, including types of
bean and varieties of tofu that have yet to make it to the UK. Tantalising.
What really made me feel safe and cosy were all the ideas for homely extras – I’m
talking about chutneys, relishes, pestos, mayos, flavoured butters… the little
extras on the side that make a plate of food into a loving offering. The things
that ought to be in every enthusiastic cook’s fridge. The little touches that really
make food lovers smile. I galloped through the veg sections but lingered for a
long time over the earlier chapters, savouring the idea of hot and spicy olive
tapenade, lacquered almonds and a relish made with dried fruit, tamarind, fresh
coriander and mint. (I’ve made the first two already. Will knock up the third
later… if I can tear myself away from the book.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I started picking
out things from this book that I want to cook, this would be a very long blog.
I had to read the book in two sessions (and I’ll probably have to go through it
again with some post-its). The second half of the book covered tofu – loads of
good ideas including caramelized fried tofu and some great fruity dipping
sauces to go with it – some interesting variations on breakfast and a really
inspiring section on quick hand-made breads which broadly covers anything a bit
bready that might appear alongside a plate of food. So lovely. I loved the
snippet of info on shrubs and switchels – syrups made with fruit and a dash of
vinegar, perfect diluted with iced water on a hot afternoon. There’s endless
scope there to experiment with herbs and ‘botanicals’ all summer long, and
still have them in the cupboard when the nights start drawing in. And I also
loved the long section on fruit-based desserts – inspiring, especially the
sauces. My (very random) prize goes to the cream cheese mousses with rose
geranium leaves. I’d quite like to stay on the sofa with this book until
somebody brings me one of those, on an antique saucer with a teeny silver spoon
and another cup of tea… but I guess I’ll have to do it myself. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve always found
cooking to be a therapeutic activity. Losing my will to cook was a bit like
losing my will to live. Thankfully, now that I’ve had a hug from Deborah, I’ll
be able to gather myself up and get back into the kitchen to show myself a bit
of love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-87023539908687672372014-04-23T07:49:00.000-07:002014-05-08T09:51:33.918-07:00Temptations (and more haggis)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDVQRMNTbnbFhjaM8C1CY2tOekPT8Acnbag_t31-3ih3u-Ubc-_lsknnC5B_Sf83ztBJhKrqZNpaj5p0zd_E9Qsd67f-6eBQ_VwrZSRZiX1zGV6b4DM3jTXX-S-XWAe3x1WpFr1ekGU8/s1600/Gourmet+Gadgetry+Candy+Flass+Maker,+Ref+18842,+%C2%A332.99.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDVQRMNTbnbFhjaM8C1CY2tOekPT8Acnbag_t31-3ih3u-Ubc-_lsknnC5B_Sf83ztBJhKrqZNpaj5p0zd_E9Qsd67f-6eBQ_VwrZSRZiX1zGV6b4DM3jTXX-S-XWAe3x1WpFr1ekGU8/s1600/Gourmet+Gadgetry+Candy+Flass+Maker,+Ref+18842,+%C2%A332.99.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">More shocking
temptations from the Lakeland demons. Can’t even look at the back of the
envelope without getting the urge to spend money. A home candyfloss maker! OMG.
Imagine being the only mummy in your little girl’s class equipped to whip up
candyfloss at parties. I see it’s made by a company called Gourmet Gadgetry –
clever things. I’m getting a lot of email about gourmet gadgets at the moment,
mostly plugging ideas for Father’s day. (What is it with men and gadgets?)</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Open up the envelope
and, would you believe it, they’ve invented a whole new genre of cake. Cake,
for me, is mainly a cold weather thing, comfort food, sweet and dense after a
cold walk. But look at this – a cake baked in a silicon mould shaped like a sandcastle.
They’ve invented a beach cake! You can even buy a silicon mould to make little
sea shells out of icing! </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFle88ihJjrhRQN0SKABpznHOkJBlHDwHNEeiLN54RIZzOatz6eJ9i_3jd6s0lFnQ3_hv5LPsGig_YkeeVJbPcSRwSU6Y9LEiJ_be3qo5AYFdTig8u10sXY3eyX0xINtJ1n0Gourrr-U/s1600/Sandcastle+Cake+Mould%252C+Ref+18770%252C+%25C2%25A37.99rs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFle88ihJjrhRQN0SKABpznHOkJBlHDwHNEeiLN54RIZzOatz6eJ9i_3jd6s0lFnQ3_hv5LPsGig_YkeeVJbPcSRwSU6Y9LEiJ_be3qo5AYFdTig8u10sXY3eyX0xINtJ1n0Gourrr-U/s1600/Sandcastle+Cake+Mould%252C+Ref+18770%252C+%25C2%25A37.99rs.jpg" height="245" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, the floodgates
are open. A beach cake is a simple sponge… it must be given a flavour, surely.
Especially because we’ll all have a worrisome thought at the back of our minds
that if it looks like a sandcastle, it might taste like a sandcastle. Having
eaten sand at the age of about three (it looked like sugar), I have no urge to
repeat the experience. So, what flavours would suit a beach cake? Is there any
scope for introducing some carefully controlled sea salt? This would be enough
to trouble my brain while I slept* if I wasn’t distracted by the fabbie ice
cream van cupcake stand on the facing page. Imagine the cheery family scene. Almost
justifies giving birth. Good job I didn’t see it when I was in my twenties.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I leafed through the
rest of the catalogue as fast as I could – trying to pick out anything unusual
without lingering long enough to start an obsession. I’m still feeling the lack
of crumpet rings in my life. Past the baking tins, into the expensive bits of
kit, trying to keep moving… and then I came to a shuddering halt when I got to
the perfect pinwheel pastries. Look! £4.99 gets you a really nifty pastry
cutter – just add a blob of practically anything, sweet or savoury, to act as a
filling, fold the points into the middle and hey presto! </span></span></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuPNZuIYgC78rNEiq5tPdT2ywyZaUXiOu15CgKuTFpsvALTWIAF2U-G3J3LzjxXW7p4dp_QuWzIVzLLxtzfFtm5R-sbanP6vY_qKdHsf11l80TpuZciy20ouVmRR7FU-RGdUkkCKWiY8/s1600/Pinwheeel+Cutter%252C+Ref+18739%252C+%25C2%25A34.99.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuPNZuIYgC78rNEiq5tPdT2ywyZaUXiOu15CgKuTFpsvALTWIAF2U-G3J3LzjxXW7p4dp_QuWzIVzLLxtzfFtm5R-sbanP6vY_qKdHsf11l80TpuZciy20ouVmRR7FU-RGdUkkCKWiY8/s1600/Pinwheeel+Cutter%252C+Ref+18739%252C+%25C2%25A34.99.jpg" height="320" width="274" /></a><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I had one of these
I would be making pinwheels out of <u>everything</u>. (Look, I know I don't need a pinwheel pastry cutter to make pinwheel pastries. But I want one.) Literally every jar of jam in my
cupboard, and every scrap of leftover veggie haggis, would be pressed into
service. It would be like that fairy story where a man is promised that whatever
he is doing as the dawn breaks, he’ll be doing all day. Cunningly, he plans to
be counting his money when the sun comes up. Then he realizes that he will need
lots and lots of money bags. He runs up as many as he can – and slightly miscalculates,
so he’s sewing money bags at dawn. He spends the day tearing up his clothes,
his curtains, his carpets, and making money bags out of them. So it would be
with me and the pinwheel pastry cutter. I’d be feverishly making them all day
long. Rarely have I seen anything I want so badly, no joke. </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By the way, I cooked
the big scary veggie haggis. Possibly I didn’t take it out of the oven on time
because it burst. Thankfully it didn’t plaster the whole of the inside of the
oven with matter. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the consistency was
far firmer (nay, crumblier) than the burger-shaped version. Having located the
elusive pine nuts I did make the sausage rolls – I’ll paste a picture in to
prove it. They were pretty good. Next time I’d up the seasoning even more so
that a little bit of filling holds its own against a mouthful of puff pastry.
Really glad I pushed on with the experiment, it was only the texture of the
burger-shaped version that I didn’t much like, and the texture of the big
brother is quite different (with the proviso that the experience might have
been different if I hadn’t cooked it to bursting point…). </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">* PS - Last night I dreamed of a new sort of chocolate called an 'ocean whisper'. It had the texture of a Wispa bar, with tiny bubbles, but included a dash of sea salt. Somebody make me some. </span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOIEgG0J0DsCokR2GE6SUceO3e_pNaaRDKRB9iYVrEBi3n36Etc1QPdMD4AIBYWclPK77hvPYP6H3FFqzPY1Y2EKy0en4W5PLF_CcXSdzNg8W03Z_CYPLg6DJTOY3WaJjB-vbXnaiOK4/s1600/haggis-sausage-rolls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOIEgG0J0DsCokR2GE6SUceO3e_pNaaRDKRB9iYVrEBi3n36Etc1QPdMD4AIBYWclPK77hvPYP6H3FFqzPY1Y2EKy0en4W5PLF_CcXSdzNg8W03Z_CYPLg6DJTOY3WaJjB-vbXnaiOK4/s1600/haggis-sausage-rolls.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><br />Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-57699352222025379862014-04-08T12:03:00.000-07:002014-04-08T12:03:14.979-07:00Arrived at haggis, late.<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Noteworthy; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Noteworthy; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Noteworthy; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfpMDN3lBDM-s9x4UX2X8QsNEHEcXHKenbtS0lDqIjg7cPGC19qiG4dIHt9MSVTYJABJa6hjNr2DlfM9y0T_W-Wte1bBKC5Ps7_tOq-zfzxyq8pYacBegD-NPJ_wWAId3_rPr4YUysyA/s1600/veg+haggis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfpMDN3lBDM-s9x4UX2X8QsNEHEcXHKenbtS0lDqIjg7cPGC19qiG4dIHt9MSVTYJABJa6hjNr2DlfM9y0T_W-Wte1bBKC5Ps7_tOq-zfzxyq8pYacBegD-NPJ_wWAId3_rPr4YUysyA/s1600/veg+haggis.jpg" height="254" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Noteworthy; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); line-height: 18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">By way of proving that the year is getting away from me, I find myself eating vegetarian haggis. It's April, and the moment may seem to have passed (unless there's some tradition of eating haggis at Easter that I've missed) - but the whole of 2014 is momentous because it turns out that Macsweens have now been manufacturing vegetarian (vegan, in fact) haggis for thirty years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Haggis has
never been something I find appealing and I was slightly bemused to have it sitting
plumply in my fridge. But thirty years is long enough to ignore it. The fact is
that plenty of vegetarians swear by the stuff - it's a really versatile
ingredient. </span><span style="font-family: "Noteworthy","serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); line-height: 18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I'm fairly
sure I ran into it shortly after it made its debut in 1984 - that was around
the time when I started dabbling with the oddities on sale at my local 'health
food shop', Hull Foods. Why didn't I have a go with it? Perhaps because I've
never eaten a 'real' haggis - it wasn't something I had previously enjoyed, or
felt the need to replace. Perhaps because I couldn't see the potential in it -
my cooking skills were only just emerging, I would have been flummoxed. And way back in 1984, we didn't have
the internet and all those tasty-looking recipes to encourage a bit of
experimentation. </span><span style="font-family: "Noteworthy","serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); line-height: 18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The
packaging has changed, too. As well as the slightly daunting haggis-shaped
article, you can now buy the mixture shaped into handy burgers that can be
grilled, fried or microwaved. They seemed like the entry-level option, so I
took a lead from a serving suggestion and fried one up to boost my beans on
toast. It would be interesting to look at the protein quotient in that plateful
- wholegrain toast, too much butter, good old beans and a veggie haggis burger
that boasts 6.4g of protein per 100g - that's not bad, and if I ditched the butter it would have been vegan. The haggis's main constituent is
oats, but there are lentils, kidney beans, sunflower seeds and pumpkin seeds in
there too. </span><span style="font-family: "Noteworthy","serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); line-height: 18pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">And how was
it? Easy and super-fast to prepare, for a start, with an impressive shelf-life.
Taste-wise, the rumours turn out to be justified - there's plenty of savoury
flavour and a nice herby background. The herbs aren't detailed on the pack but
I think it tasted of sage, with plenty of black pepper. No idea if it tastes
like a haggis. Doesn't really figure. The texture, though, I thought could be
improved - again, maybe it's the authentic consistency of haggis, but for me,
it was rather soft and smooth. Might be the inveterate experimenter coming out in me, but I reckon it would benefit from some chunkiness -
some roughly chopped roasted hazelnuts or a handful of toasted pine nuts would
really add something nice. Of course, the haggis in either form is there to
be played with and once I have had a go with the haggisy-looking version to see
if the consistency is the same, there will still be plenty left for me to
experiment with. I fancy adding the pine nuts and a blodge of sundried tomato
paste, and making some mini sausage rolls with it... well, if a haggis
needn't contain meat, surely it needn't be Scottish either...? Maybe it can be a bit sunnier... I'll investigate. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-16012858411141668812014-01-20T10:27:00.000-08:002014-01-20T10:27:59.788-08:00The protein myth<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX7mp9VQM9PVXL6x0k34xEWQKIeU7_oW7zn7anIxTuGdyhRsroVoa06hu-b-3dhyphenhyphenca1VSwNCSC74kRiJWr7DqJxQhylCxUe-xeLUquE2dDaMogwcS-lKyir7UIasyI547cdt2E8ILMrts/s1600/manchousea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX7mp9VQM9PVXL6x0k34xEWQKIeU7_oW7zn7anIxTuGdyhRsroVoa06hu-b-3dhyphenhyphenca1VSwNCSC74kRiJWr7DqJxQhylCxUe-xeLUquE2dDaMogwcS-lKyir7UIasyI547cdt2E8ILMrts/s1600/manchousea.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
I've noticed a trend that's worrying me.<br />
<br />I
interviewed Aiden Byrne a couple of weeks after he launched Manchester House, see blog entitled 'Enemy Territory?' for the full write-up. Something came out of my chat with him that has been bothering me ever since.<br />
<br />
I had the lovely Clarissa Hyman, a colleague from the Guild of Food Writers, with me for the
ride, and she observed that the menu was very vegetable-based - perhaps not so
much a vegetarian menu as a vegetable menu. Where, she wondered, were the
fabulous cheeses? I took it further - where were the grains, nuts, pulses,
seeds, eggs, tofu, tempeh, seitan...? <br />
<br />One of the first dishes on the
lunchtime taster menu was a risotto of barley (which I have also seen called a
barlotto) with cobnuts, topped with a blodge of smoked apple puree - very nice.
One of the dishes that followed was a medley of foraged mushrooms with some
salsify - great, but mainly veg... then a highly decorative plate of heritage
carrots arrived, accompanied by a green olive paste, spherified, to make it look
like an olive, which seemed more like a showcase of techniques than a balanced
dish. All right, it's a taster menu, the individual dishes don't have to be
balanced. But as a vegetarian, when a chef thinks it's OK to offer me a plate of
carrots, I get a bit nervous.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCuvbNg2halonsxEqEUaQKJL9MKc6k0kXwlAPgSKrFwkjl-ZZfqjZyph2flwQALq-kdfBdk3Sk3L-wk3HGfLTn8rnaE4pirA9BXIkt8CvjEUlk6GWrXIachyphenhyphenpqAxxzUkRbkyOwT4DLTA/s1600/manchouseb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCuvbNg2halonsxEqEUaQKJL9MKc6k0kXwlAPgSKrFwkjl-ZZfqjZyph2flwQALq-kdfBdk3Sk3L-wk3HGfLTn8rnaE4pirA9BXIkt8CvjEUlk6GWrXIachyphenhyphenpqAxxzUkRbkyOwT4DLTA/s1600/manchouseb.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I asked Aiden about how he devises his
vegetarian dishes, and everything fell into place. He said that for a chef with
his experience, it's straightforward. He simply devises a dish and then 'takes
the protein off it'. Ah. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdnVWkHewS8f8lPHaPcNP9BbplyXSLSa1vr1uhiUAJJhxrCYwqmxJoT_05ENO2caV0_4uuVPtnS31Mv3VHzLbvEvFRhYGgA5Z5D5r_PUCFgZyRjHEgohu-hJu9hRLRxQrxjc7c3OhpMc/s1600/manchousec.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdnVWkHewS8f8lPHaPcNP9BbplyXSLSa1vr1uhiUAJJhxrCYwqmxJoT_05ENO2caV0_4uuVPtnS31Mv3VHzLbvEvFRhYGgA5Z5D5r_PUCFgZyRjHEgohu-hJu9hRLRxQrxjc7c3OhpMc/s1600/manchousec.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />I might have let this pass, but a throw-away line
in a recent episode of Masterchef Pro hit the same nerve. One of the contestants
said 'Scallops were the first protein I learned to cook'.<br />
<br />Here's the issue:
since when did we start refering to meat and fish as 'the protein'? I don't like
the implication that only meat and fish contain protein. I don't like the way
that the phrase somehow justifies the consumption of meat - it's protein, the
protein. We all need protein. Finally, I really don't like the implication that
vegetarian food is food without protein! Patently, that's not true. Vegetarians
and vegans are not going short of protein unless they are eating very little
food or imposing some very strange dietary restrictions upon themselves.<br />
<br />I
can't help feeling that the move towards referring to meat and fish as 'protein'
is something that the meat industry must be loving - possibly even fuelling. It
means we don't need to look too closely at what is on the plate - it's just
protein, it's necessary. I guess this is going to come in very handy when we
start being offered lab meat, reclaimed/reconstituted meat and soylent green. No
need to question it, it's 'the protein', eat up, you need it.<br />
<br />I also feel
that this new terminology might be partly responsible for what is happening at
Manchester House: vegetarians don't eat 'the protein', so all you need to do is
take 'the protein' off the dish and hey presto, you've made the vegetarians
happy. <br />
<br />I once received a letter from a woman complaining about provision for
vegetarians at a works barbecue. Her gripe was that although she had given the
organisers plenty of notice that she would be looking for vegetarian food, when
the moment came, she was only offered vegetable kebabs. At first, I couldn't see
what she was upset about - after all, somebody had taken some time and trouble
to provide a vegetarian alternative. I came to the conclusion that either she
would have preferred to blend in by having a veggie burger or sausage, or that
she was peturbed by the fact that she was effectively being given a plate of
vegetables to eat, not a balanced meal. No protein. Well, not an awful lot.<br />
<br />I
have done quite a lot of teaching work with professional chefs who understand
that they need to make sure that parties that include vegetarians don't walk out
of their restaurants, but have a very limited perspective on what vegetarians
eat. At the beginning of one week-long course I asked one chef what he thought
vegetarians wanted. He said 'Vegetables?' <br />
<br />Thanks in part to the angry veg
police, a lot of chefs are as nervous about feeding vegetarians as they are
about feeding coeliacs or nut allergists. Being too demanding and difficult puts
them off, and whilst a complaint might help to educate the chef and maybe ensure
that the next veggie through the door has a better experience, it can also make
chefs dig their heels in. As for vegans... I once worked at a vegetarian
restaurant where there was a policy not to claim that any dish on the menu was
suitable for vegans. In fact, the were plenty of vegan options, but the owners
felt that vegans were out to find fault, and eventually decided that they would
rather turn them away than keep trying to make them happy. <br />
<br />It would be a
great shame if Aiden Byrne was on the receiving end of criticism so sustained
and fierce that he stopped trying. It's delightful when chefs decide to do
something that seems novel and brave, and announce that a vegetable is the
'hero' of one of their plates. It's nice to see vegetables celebrated in all
their diversity of colours, flavours and textures. More and more chefs are
getting wise to this, and it's a safe option because by sticking closely to
vegetables and not much else, you can probably create a dish that's likely to be
acceptable to a very wide range of diners. Sensible. <br />
<br />But vegetarians don't only eat vegetables, and we all know that there are almost
limitless opportunities for innovative combinations. I would love to see a
vegetarian taster menu that included some locally grown nuts, artisan cheeses,
heritage grains and even a daring foray into the world of lentils and beans.
Bring in some unusual takes on tofu, and other soya-based foods. Maybe even show us
what top chefs can make from Quorn, which is slightly in danger of being
relegated to pub grub status. Show us some new ways to present eggs and cheeses.
Maybe a menu like this would attract more sales to non-vegetarians. (Although I
understand that the vegetarian food at Manchester House is often gratefully
received by meat-eaters who find frogs' legs a step too far.) It might also help
to justify the price tag when the vegetarian menu is priced identically to the
meat-based menu. <br /><br />Pricing is another issue - do vegetarians want to pay
less because their meals don't include meat? Or do they want to pay the same,
and get food that is worth the price? Something for another blog post...</span>Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-40369051120976827012014-01-20T09:56:00.001-08:002014-01-20T09:56:50.883-08:00Enemy territory?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5kOiMIrs8ijFLvoiSN0-fOAq9I7GsNla_hf0mHOeBtTXIbHRZDjj2xl_HsEbTrcMd424iURiK4sllS6aWbU7qvi0nu7LzWlMApAnpQ5QuAnB0fYbCrhtiBdyLmOtRgo_JUPZ74YgBrs/s1600/manchesterhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5kOiMIrs8ijFLvoiSN0-fOAq9I7GsNla_hf0mHOeBtTXIbHRZDjj2xl_HsEbTrcMd424iURiK4sllS6aWbU7qvi0nu7LzWlMApAnpQ5QuAnB0fYbCrhtiBdyLmOtRgo_JUPZ74YgBrs/s1600/manchesterhouse.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
launch of a new restaurant, headed by a Michelin-starred chef, is big news in
any town. Aiden Bryne, who picked up his star in his early twenties, has just
opened a restaurant in Manchester city centre which sets out to provide a very
classy dining experience. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's
situated in the Spinningfields area, which is the newest part of the
city to have been fancied up, and now features shiny new towers, wide walkways
dotted with designer boutiques and a sprinkling of art galleries and
restaurants. Manchester House is far from obvious at street level, and perhaps
that's the way the owners want it. Announce yourself to the receptionist on the
ground floor of Tower 12 and you'll be spirited up to the lounge at level 12 for
a drink before you dine. Floor to ceiling glass means a panoramic view of the
city but a slightly chilly atmosphere if you happen to visit when it's raining.
And let's face it, this is Manchester - it rains a lot. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Byrne's
opening menu is not for the squeamish - foie gras, snails, frogs legs and lambs
tongues are enough to make many diners nervous. As a vegetarian, even setting
foot in the place was almost taboo - foie gras is pretty unforgivable, and the open kitchen was far from entertaining as far as I was concerned. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But
Byrne has wrong-footed us. Alongside his a la carte menu, six-course lunch
taster menu and 14-course evening taster menus are completely unexpected
vegetarian equivalents, including a 14-course vegetarian taster menu - a thing
so rare as to be practically non-existent. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
asked Bryne why he's taking the trouble to provide equal billing for vegetarian
food. He told me that about ten per cent of customers order at least one
vegetarian course and confessed that although in his younger days he was pretty
dismissive towards vegetarians ('Give them the mushroom risotto'), he has now
'grown up'. And that means thinking less about his own ego and more about
providing hospitality - to all the customers. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One member of staff also told me
that some customers find the meaty menu rather scary, and are rather relieved to
be offered the vegetarian alternative. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Taster
menus are about showcasing the chef's talent with a series of delectable
morsels, artistically presented. Byrne describes it as 'going on a journey' -
certainly the six-course vegetarian menu I experienced was quite an event. Each
course had a style of its own and the plates, bowls, slates and wooden boards
bearing the food were all designed specifically for the restaurant. Flavours and
textures were suitably varied, and some nice seasonal veg were in evidence. Byrne has a forager on staff and also takes boxes of produce from local smallholders, so the menu is flexible depending on what comes through the door. We
started with a warming onion broth with a crumbly onion bread and a scoop of
soft, smooth roasted onion butter which I will be trying to replicate at home. A
tasty cobnut risotto was topped with a tasty and unusual smoked apple puree,
heritage baby carrots were accompanied by spherified olive paste and the finale
was a chocolate fondant topped with a macaron and encased in a giant
chocolate-ice bubble. It was all good fun and suitably satisfying to both the
eye and the palate, although for me, the truffle oil made rather too many
appearances. Never liked the stuff, and it lingers.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
menu feels a little short on protein - although I didn't go away hungry, my
initial impression was that the dishes were vegetable-centric, and that some
more pulses, cheese, tofu or tempeh would have been welcome. Byrne describes a
creative process that involves marrying flavours, and explains that classic
vegetable combinations work with or without meat, but I think his
creations would benefit from the addition of some alternative sources of
protein, and perhaps there is some scope for exploring ways to bring beans and
lentils to the fine dining table. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Vegetarians
dining in 'mixed company' will need a steady nerve, although there's a lot to be said for taking meat-eaters to a restaurant
where vegetarians aren't treated like second-class citizens. I applaud Bryne's
willingness to respect vegetarians, and I hope the vegetarian menus attract
enough support to make them a permanent feature at Manchester House. But even a
14-course vegetarian showcase couldn't quite divert me from my personal disquiet
over the non-vegetarian food on offer. It was interesting, but it didn't feel
right, and I doubt I will go back.</span></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-4978458185325907322014-01-04T09:27:00.000-08:002014-01-20T10:32:50.095-08:00Under pressure - but still cooking on gas...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJYsOHE-DqijHuEMfbK6MmVK5NSxF7k3gb-PekongYX8pej7EkfzjtrgiufW2vAiM6bSiM60_TxQKsGc4v4e7-19kvI1w_d6KOvxJatoOUnsnEWe0nbxOLABhExB5_XcsNv1TBmxKRT8/s1600/IMG_0293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJYsOHE-DqijHuEMfbK6MmVK5NSxF7k3gb-PekongYX8pej7EkfzjtrgiufW2vAiM6bSiM60_TxQKsGc4v4e7-19kvI1w_d6KOvxJatoOUnsnEWe0nbxOLABhExB5_XcsNv1TBmxKRT8/s1600/IMG_0293.JPG" height="331" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Silver Linings: The magazine of the Hawkins-Universal pressure cooker users' club</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">Calculated to torpedo my New Year frugality vows, the Lakeland catalogue has arrived and I am trying hard to ignore the electric mini pie maker, decorating spoons and crumpet rings. I half convinced myself that buying crumpet rings would save me money by enabling me to make crumpets, but reluctantly concluded that I already have various metal cooking rings which would serve should I ever want to give it a go. Here's the deal - if I ever make crumpets with rings that aren't fit for purpose, and really want to make them again, then I might be allowed to buy crumpet rings. But I'm not allowing myself to buy them on the offchance.</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The same goes for the decorating spoons. I used a couple of these in the photographer's studio when we were doing the pics for The Adventurous Vegetarian and they were great. I didn't know such things existed. I badly want to own some - but have reluctantly decided that I might be able to buy them if I get offered any food styling work and could actually use them for any purpose other than making myself chuckle. With the proviso that if I'm working at Graham's photography studio again, I can just use his. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWMviX5OaGs_YOSkdi61UIpwmPq_pmEUc6Cc9x7fkA_3_Wvvs5qN_AzAfk_WWsYUSAFsuKNfkiq71gmIZAJGHvb_09Eowt_VpdPu_OzQ_Z8SXq6WMup59GWTq6jz_P2hW2zDGHki_onE/s1600/piemaker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWMviX5OaGs_YOSkdi61UIpwmPq_pmEUc6Cc9x7fkA_3_Wvvs5qN_AzAfk_WWsYUSAFsuKNfkiq71gmIZAJGHvb_09Eowt_VpdPu_OzQ_Z8SXq6WMup59GWTq6jz_P2hW2zDGHki_onE/s1600/piemaker.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The electric pie maker has the strongest draw. I can just envisage myself knocking out perfect little pies at the drop of a hat. That's how it works, of course, I'm not really buying the product so much as buying the lifestyle. Naturally they would be filled with delicious food scraps and left-overs. That would save me money, wouldn't it? Please say it would. The machine is £30. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The new Lakeland catalogue is very strong on food saving and money saving gizmos. I can well believe that the mini oven uses less electricity than my full-sized one, but maybe rather than owning two ovens, the best thing to do is to try to cook several things at once. On this principle, last night I rapidly asembled an apple and oat flapjack/dessert which went into the oven with two dishes of puff pastry topped left overs (spicy lentils and broccoli in cheese sauce, respectively) and a baked potato that I 'd pre-blitzed in the microwave. Result - lots if left over apple pudding. The trouble with cooking too much at once is that you end up eating things cold the next day, or reheating them. Either way, they're probably past their best. Meh. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The cost of cooking things is always the missing piece of info in so-called money saving recipes, and I think it's probably because nobody on earth has a clue about how much electricity it takes to heat up a pie, much less how much that electricity costs. (As it stands, it could be costing every person on the street a different amount as we are all paying different rates for fuel.) It's an annoyance that has been nagging away at me for years - as a student I wrote to Friends of the Earth to ask them which was best for the planet - an electric kettle, or one I could use on a gas hob. No useful reply. Poring over the bills won't help, I suspect - they're renowned for being impossible to understand, and (oddly) mine have suddenly gone down which makes me suspect that either I have been overpaying like crazy for years, or there is a mistake happening right now and sooner or later I'll be required to make up the shortfall. They keep coming at looking at the meters, and my usage must be pretty predictable, so ... ach, let's not go there.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I don't know how much it would cost me to use an electric mini pie maker to bake a batch of six pies, or how that compares with doing them in the oven (where in theory I could probably bake about forty mini pies at once, which would be pointless as the freezer is rammed and I'd only end up cooking most of them twice...).</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm also hopelessly confused about the Lakeland gadgets on offer. The machine to seal left overs into plastic bags isn't fooling me, even I can see that I would have to save an awful lot of left overs to justify the £160 price tag (and extra bags are £17!). To be fair, it's not just a thing for sealing bags, it's an intelligent vacuum sealer capable of creating those plastic parcels that you can then cook 'sous vide' if you also buy the sous vide machine (£250). We've all seen the harassed contestents on MasterChef Pros using the sous vide machine to do exciting things with unpromising bits of meat, but as a vegetarian I think it would be wasted on me... I may of course be making a fool of myself and missing the point.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The machines that I'm really at sea with are the pressure cookers and the slow cookers. Again, perhaps this is because the bottom line is that these are machines for rendering cheap meat into a reasonably tender state. Irrelevant to me, so maybe that's why I've not applied myself before. What do pressure cookers do? They feel like something from wartime, and I think my perception of them is coloured by apocryphal stories about them blowing up. Why would I want to cook something under pressure? It's obviously dangerous. Is it quicker? Does it take less fuel and is it therefore a cheap way to cook? Or is it all about dealing with gristle? And what is the difference between a pressure cooker and a slow cooker? I can see the obvious. But what's useful about a slow cooker? Is it a really cheap way to cook? Just a way to keep something on a low heat for a long time while you are out? Why would I want to keep something warm for hours? Is this just another gristle tenderising gizmo?</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Most fascinating is the Remoska electric cooker. The write up seems to imply that I'm hopelessly out of touch if I have never heard of it. Apparently everybody has been using them for years. It bakes, roasts, defrosts and reheats... like an oven... but is 'positively miserly with electricity'. Sounds interesting, but I wish there was a way to find out more - would it really be worth investing £150-170? And what's the difference between the Czech Remoska and the North American Crockpot on the next page (£65)? And what's the difference between the Crockpot and the Lakeland Slow Cookers which are only £20 or £30? I'm hopelessly confused. Maybe I need a kitchen energy consultant to advise me. (And, should I buy a pressure cooker, to sell me some insurance.)</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
</div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWMviX5OaGs_YOSkdi61UIpwmPq_pmEUc6Cc9x7fkA_3_Wvvs5qN_AzAfk_WWsYUSAFsuKNfkiq71gmIZAJGHvb_09Eowt_VpdPu_OzQ_Z8SXq6WMup59GWTq6jz_P2hW2zDGHki_onE/s1600/piemaker.jpg" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWMviX5OaGs_YOSkdi61UIpwmPq_pmEUc6Cc9x7fkA_3_Wvvs5qN_AzAfk_WWsYUSAFsuKNfkiq71gmIZAJGHvb_09Eowt_VpdPu_OzQ_Z8SXq6WMup59GWTq6jz_P2hW2zDGHki_onE/s1600/piemaker.jpg" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-5qkIasAGhdo%2FUt0eAeVXHJI%2FAAAAAAAAA20%2FMQMqz5CY0t8%2Fs1600%2Fpiemaker.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWMviX5OaGs_YOSkdi61UIpwmPq_pmEUc6Cc9x7fkA_3_Wvvs5qN_AzAfk_WWsYUSAFsuKNfkiq71gmIZAJGHvb_09Eowt_VpdPu_OzQ_Z8SXq6WMup59GWTq6jz_P2hW2zDGHki_onE/s1600/piemaker.jpg" -->Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-53722272187511995282014-01-01T05:37:00.000-08:002014-01-25T03:35:22.719-08:00New Year's Day<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cKPfODnvI-rl9l1Uy2LTN1dJppsnKBKgTPseKJi5NndktfEyGHDpmm-pIa2SnF3t737froajj45BedaAYAo6fw8ela8yKFdqXS2_Ps0EeAX6dibsklkSvOrhmFiQeW3PvX1MCKKZAxM/s1600/MincemeatBuns-1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cKPfODnvI-rl9l1Uy2LTN1dJppsnKBKgTPseKJi5NndktfEyGHDpmm-pIa2SnF3t737froajj45BedaAYAo6fw8ela8yKFdqXS2_Ps0EeAX6dibsklkSvOrhmFiQeW3PvX1MCKKZAxM/s1600/MincemeatBuns-1a.jpg" height="331" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... made them!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">Once again, Christmas has come and gone, and New Year's Day is looking blurry and forbidding. Nothing ground-shaking to report, Christmas dinner was the now traditional nut roast en croute for which no recipe remains. Sloshed in some red wine and it was great, good colour, firm and moist and nicely sliceable. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">One small triumph occurred just before Christmas when I decided to try making my own mincemeat (yes, first time, but I have never really liked mince pies much so never felt inspired to try harder than just making some sweet pastry and buying a jar). The best bit was realising that I didn't need to go out and buy any ingredients - everything I needed was already in my kitchen cupboards or fruit bowl. I even had half a box of vegetarian suet - not an ingredient I normally have knocking around because until recently I've never had a use for it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;"></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuc_1DD4ccSkwxWw0E-uCHViIzFVw9bxAC39wOvHNGLYmbxwVl9uUEYCwJK_wlEO_-HsRzKT47K-RQ9KXm4uSbmyP4JsYMm_NvxhIg0va1LMY5_O5FkWdrAU_45QbK3S7P9J1FCixyYM/s1600/Chile-Potato-Cakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKuc_1DD4ccSkwxWw0E-uCHViIzFVw9bxAC39wOvHNGLYmbxwVl9uUEYCwJK_wlEO_-HsRzKT47K-RQ9KXm4uSbmyP4JsYMm_NvxhIg0va1LMY5_O5FkWdrAU_45QbK3S7P9J1FCixyYM/s1600/Chile-Potato-Cakes.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">I happened to have some because I needed it to make some Chilean potato cakes which appear in my book The Adventurous Vegetarian. The way it behaved was really interesting - the recipe involves mixing some cooked, mashed potato with some very finely grated raw potato, along with the little suet pellets, shaping into cakes and frying in fairly deep oil. As the potato cakes fry, the suet melts and little holes with sizzling edges appear. The potato cakes end up crispy all the way through. Potato cakes are generally a good thing as far as I am concerned, as long as they are hot and more potato than flour, </span><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">and these were particularly good in terms of texture. Now I've used up all the left over suet in my mincemeat but having remembered those potato cakes I might need to get some more in.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 24px;">
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I managed to create one very big jar of mincemeat which so far has only gone into mince pies, but there were two other ideas that appealed to me - I think both of them were in BBC Good Food over Christmas. One is a variation on Chelsea or cinnamon buns, nice spiral shaped yeasted breads with mincemeat rolled in, and a drizzle of white icing. If there isn't much cinnamon in evidence I might add some to the icing, because I like cinnamon. The recipe also appealed to me because I have some live yeast in the fridge waiting for me to have the patience for some slow bread-making. Knocked up some nice plain white rolls yesterday and a pretty good soup with some near-dead tomatoes from the bottom of the fridge and some of the brave basil on my kitchen windowsill, so that's half the yeast gone, the rest is definitely ringfenced for mincemeat swirly buns. </span><br />
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other recipe was a mincemeat 'amandine' which appears to be a close relative of a Bakewell tart (and here I am referring to the flat slices that are despised by the townsfolk of Bakewell). I was drawn to it because at the time I had accrued a lot of ground almonds - but since then I have used almost all my stash making little chewy star-shaped biscuits with a meringue topping which were pretty good and made me want to experiment with coffee flavoured meringue topping. The amandine might have to be shelved. </span></div>
</div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-24016490289804921742013-11-05T23:24:00.000-08:002014-01-20T10:33:38.959-08:00Takes me back… food and memory<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFBuhcOJp02rQwZCRQp7rhtdQSQewl_RThM9k1jHtPgphLD5uyO6lrT7-Xre8FUkuspB8UC9rA_tmHzHXsDOOoaghmPf2KcNeU38BP0CSeX4r6FNIOSLjjiTKLqLJ8jbQy-mZCTZc9hk/s1600/hotchoc.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFBuhcOJp02rQwZCRQp7rhtdQSQewl_RThM9k1jHtPgphLD5uyO6lrT7-Xre8FUkuspB8UC9rA_tmHzHXsDOOoaghmPf2KcNeU38BP0CSeX4r6FNIOSLjjiTKLqLJ8jbQy-mZCTZc9hk/s1600/hotchoc.JPG" height="270" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot chocolate - horrible!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The chill is settling in… hot chocolate is on the
menu, and it makes me wince. The power of the memory I associate with it is
just too unpleasant. Suddenly I’m back in my seat at a long table in the
primary school canteen. I take a sip from a plastic cup of hot chocolate, but
there is a skin on it. It attaches itself to my upper lip and stays there. As I
recoil, it hangs down over my chin. I’m covered in hot goo and embarrassment. This
can never be allowed to happen again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Food has a powerful ability to bring back memories,
and when conversation flags, people often turn to reminiscences about foods
from their childhoods. Butterscotch flavoured instant whip seems to have been a
widespread favourite – but what memories are attached to it? I remember my
beautiful aunty Audrey, in a black sweater with her fabulous auburn hair in a
beehive. She had an excitingly modern electric whisk, and would lift me up while
I used it to make instant whip – always butterscotch or chocolate mint. It also
brings back the sadness and guilt I felt when I grabbed for her long amber
necklace and broke it, sending the pretty beads bouncing over the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even the most mundane foods have memories attached. As
a challenge, I thought of biscuits, and remembered my mum's homemade fudgies
(secret ingredient - Camp Coffee), and an American volcanologist who ate them
by the score. And I remembered my very earliest days at infant school, when we used
to bring snacks in little greaseproof paper bags. Sweetly, we all wanted to
share the things we brought, but it wasn’t easy - one digestive biscuit between
six or eight little kids doesn’t go. Our solution was to put everything that
everybody had brought into one bag and crush it all into a delicious sweet and
salty mix of biscuit and crisp crumbs. It was easy to share and fun to eat. I
can taste it now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Think of a person from your past - maybe a
grandparent. What food springs to mind? For my husband, the memories were
instantaneous – his grandmas were bread sauce and Battenburg. For me, Didcot
nana is forever associated with the deliciously naughty sugar sandwiches she
used to make for me - thin white bread, thickly spread with salty butter and
sandwiched with a generous sprinkling of crunchy white granulated sugar. I knew
she loved me. My earliest forays into the world of cookery took place when she
invited me into her kitchen to 'make a mix'. I'd be helped onto a high stool or
allowed to sit on the kitchen worktop from where I could reach to rummage in
her cupboards. I'd find gravy browning, custard powder, cornflour, cocoa,
perhaps a tiny bottle of peppermint essence or food colouring, and with great
seriousness I would spoon these ingredients into her mixing bowl, add water and
stir with a great big wooden spoon. Then I'd take it into the room where
granddad was sitting beside the fire, and he would pretend to eat it. I loved
it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Drayton nana is associated with Sunday dinner, and two-way
Family Favourites on the radio, with crackly voices wishing each other well
from far flung army and navy outposts. Later, Club biscuits (plain, orange or
mint - never the horrible ones with the currants) and the wrestling or Golden
Shot on the television. My brother and I would dare each other to take her
extra strong mints - she teased us with them, offering them when she knew we
would have to spit them out. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you remember eating with a person, chances are
you’ll remember the food. Memories of old boyfriends include watching Chas
demolish a pile of whitebait (so heartless!), Mark skimming the evil-smelling
scum off a pot of mince in his mother’s chilly kitchen, and Dez’s soppy grin as
he tucked in to one of his trademark doorstop watercress sandwiches. The
woman who broke up my parents’ marriage responded to my vegetarianism by
boiling up some carrots, and demonstrated her sense of culinary adventure by
throwing in a bay leaf. Bay leaves make me gag. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-71250138046889128732013-10-23T05:50:00.003-07:002013-10-23T05:50:55.369-07:00Vote for The Adventurous Vegetarian!<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"><a href="wlmailhtml:{8D9D9398-016E-4952-8522-FBF1A02A678F}mid://00001301/!x-usc:http://worldfoodawards.com/cookbook-of-the-year"><span style="color: blue;">http://worldfoodawards.com/cookbook-of-the-year</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";">The
Adventurous Vegetarian has been shortlisted for a World Food Award - it's a
public vote so all support really welcome, just follow the link above to vote -
and tell your friends!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIKfsI_IYFQIvWfsbAfHWduqLDB4cCWqk888BV6i1ypFIQBwHzSVqwdKqGdJ1kyJ2Hc6GF-BpPteXpqBVqmEdaPF3IjfYDITIbE-WfQnTFVjomDhAvSUL5c3wAGSSSgUdksdoIzo0agxQ/s1600/Adventurous_Veg_Cover_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIKfsI_IYFQIvWfsbAfHWduqLDB4cCWqk888BV6i1ypFIQBwHzSVqwdKqGdJ1kyJ2Hc6GF-BpPteXpqBVqmEdaPF3IjfYDITIbE-WfQnTFVjomDhAvSUL5c3wAGSSSgUdksdoIzo0agxQ/s320/Adventurous_Veg_Cover_small.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
</div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-28640804509777196532013-10-20T08:45:00.003-07:002014-01-20T09:44:31.433-08:00The tart chapter theory<br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajUY-cdGGuFBVtZLy5M1PC5yBSvJXpFIxXjFcx15NjdtzFFgk5gXmt8d0wrEEfAq3HuBluNZW_nJiifqTZ-ZH45ZV76sLpN3bMi9Ll6rhMnJs4912U6q0xkfvgCoTjg9ToGJ94BhUgLA/s1600/meatless+book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajUY-cdGGuFBVtZLy5M1PC5yBSvJXpFIxXjFcx15NjdtzFFgk5gXmt8d0wrEEfAq3HuBluNZW_nJiifqTZ-ZH45ZV76sLpN3bMi9Ll6rhMnJs4912U6q0xkfvgCoTjg9ToGJ94BhUgLA/s1600/meatless+book.jpg" height="320" width="255" /></a>'Meatless' is a collection of recipes 'from the kitchens of Martha Stewart Living'. I expected a fairly random selection of material pressed into service to mop up some sales from a previously unconsidered market. I expected the photography to be first class. I expected the food to be fairly conservative. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Let's take it apart. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Beautiful cover, as you would expect. Over 200 recipes, and all of them photographed, mean that this is a nice chunky volume. There's a foreword where Martha herself says that her daugher renounced meat (but not fish) at an early age after having put two and together and come to the conclusion that the sudden disappearance of the family's pet sheep (which went by the name of Plantaganet Palliser) and the arrival of a small lamb chop on her dinner plate were not unrelated. Martha says 'Mother's age-old directive "Eat your vegetables" is still a very "Good Thing". Alanna Stang, the Editor-in-Chief (think I'll change my job title to that) at Whole Living, who possibly had more involvement with the recipes than Martha, follows up with an Introduction that says 'The plate is the place to celebrate plant foods' - not sure where else you would be inclined to put them. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
I know what they're doing is a good thing. Really I do. I want nice American ladies to share vegetarian recipes. But it all feels a bit bandwagon-jumpy so far.</div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
The first section of recipes is 'small plates to mix and match'. OK, I like that style of eating. What do we have? Little stuffed peppers, chickpea salad, a classic tortilla, hummus, eggplant dip, more variations on hummus. It's a bit predictable and what's really missing is any kind of character. I'd like more than a recipe - and much more than a cheesy intro ('It's hard to resist the combination of melted cheese... etc). I really want something interesting to read, something to inspire me, whether it's a snippet of well-crafted prose about food, a fascinating fact or two, a novel idea for customising the dish, or a bit of an insight into the author's life, like a personal memory or a suggested music track. But this book doesn't really have an author. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Pages are turning rapidly. I pause at the roasted sweet potato salsa - quite like the idea of adding some body to the usual mixture of chopped tomatoes and avocados with some chunks of roast sweet potato. Nice. Sensible. Moving on, slaw, raw pasta made out of courgettes, seen it before. A salad with edamame, but in the picture doesn't show the smooth bright green beans I know. Ah! They've been roasted! Now that's quite interesting. Not sure if roasting edamame would make it nicer, it might just take away the freshness and the lovely green, and make them leathery on the outside and floury on the inside. I'll try it. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Down to earth with a bump on the next page, avocado halves filled with avocado salad. A nice potato galette that you can pop under a salad, and then sweet potatoes stuffed with coconut, pomegranate and lime - too silly. More stuffed things follow, plus an omelette and a page of variations on bruscetta which feels a bit patronising. Things to put on toast. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
My interest is flagging. Next chapter, stovetop suppers. Some more omelettes. Stir fries. Vegetables with rice, with quinoa, with eggs. Another galette, this time with beetroot and carrots which make it very pretty. Lurking under a salad at a table near me soon, I predict. The chapter climaxes with some risotto variations. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Soups, stews and chili. I like the look of the opening pic - something tomatoey and beany with a big sprig of rosemary. Tasty. No real surprises here though. There are poached eggs in the soup. A curry made with curry paste. Lentil soup with dried cherries looks as if it came from the same developer as the sweet potatoes stuffed with coconut, pomegranate and lime - just an unnecessary mixture. Variations on chili offers suggestions which include varying the beans, adding seasonal veg, and adding more chillies. Are the readers really that short of imagination? </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Casseroles and other baked dishes starts out with macaroni cheese, which isn't a great sign. I'm starting to think this is all about covering things with cheese until I get to the stuffed poblano chilies, which are mainly of interest to me because I taught a 'Flavours of Mexico' course at the weekend. These have a pureed tomatillo sauce. Looks OK. But oh, no, pasta shells stuffed with ricotta and spinach! Loads of what are basically vegetable crumbles. Stuffed mushrooms! And just when you thought it was safe... variations on a lasagne. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Substantial salads opens well, with a combination of farro (which is just taking up room in my cupboard) and roasted grapes. Sherry vinegar, more rosemary... sounds really good. I'll try this one. Subsequent combos look a bit predictable, although as Martha's foreword points out, caramelised celery root is interesting. I seriously doubt whether anybody would thank you for bringing the shaved parsnip salad to the Thanksgiving table, as suggested. And I'm sorry, but squares of raw tofu cannot be used to stand in for mozzarella in a caprese salad. Just don't do it. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Sandwiches, burgers and salads, and frankly I'm beginning to wonder when the quiches will make an appearance. I predict a chapter on quiches and tarts. Probably quiches, pies and tarts, these things tend to come in threes. Anyway. Sandwiches. Oh - how peculiar - here's a 'pizza' made in a frying pan and topped with Brussels sprouts and slices of lemon. It might be ... what's the word. Not exactly 'fun'. Clever-looking but not as tasty as yer cheese and tomato. Burgers made of brown rice, and blow me down if there's not one of those tarts made of a sheet of puff pastry. So much for the tart chapter theory. Here's a pizza made with hazelnut dough! I like that. There's loads of pizza in this section, I wonder why. Is a pizza just a variation on an open sandwich, perhaps?</div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Pasta and other noodles. A cunning side-step away from the catch-all Italian section. Will there by any chance be a batch of variations on pesto at the end of this one? So, pasta with lots of other things. Ah - that's eye-catching: pinky-purple spaghetti which it turns out can be achieved by tossing wholegrain spaghetti with a puree of roasted beetroot and walnuts. Fancy. I was right about the pesto. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
Simple sides. Lord help us, I hope it doesn't get too simple. Interesting - asparagus mimosa is new to me, topped with a hard boiled egg that has been pressed through a seive. Looks pretty but my gut instinct is that this is not a nice thing to do to an egg. This chapter looks as if somebody has drawn up a list of vegetables and tried to dig out a recipe for each. Slightly disappointed when the roast grapes make a reappearance, it feels as if they are less special now. Again, I am not convinced that the dish with roasted Brussels sprouts and walnuts will sit comfortably on the thankgiving table, but I haven't eaten a lot of thanksgiving dinners, to be fair, so what do I know?</div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
A collection of things you can mash, and that's it for the recipes. Now a lengthy section explaining what you might find in a vegetarian's cupboards. 'A cheeseboard is a lovely addition when entertaining.' How to boil an egg. Some suggested menus in really big type. Lovely bit of spot varnish on the inside back flap - now, that's class. </div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-86250759895746617302013-06-05T09:05:00.000-07:002014-01-20T09:38:41.769-08:00Oats and wheats and barley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQf7z-smr_Tpz4ZYBPy5exGrT2I0JboWNoVL2Wlmm4VlPWrCZC3dPIAJcZMA7R6nVeiJzGCaBX835sB-95rHJHH3MzPav8h7r4yMgUnWhDrEy2vOoJ9GzXwJyorwPCnAN7hwZgTBuF8E0/s1600/wheat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQf7z-smr_Tpz4ZYBPy5exGrT2I0JboWNoVL2Wlmm4VlPWrCZC3dPIAJcZMA7R6nVeiJzGCaBX835sB-95rHJHH3MzPav8h7r4yMgUnWhDrEy2vOoJ9GzXwJyorwPCnAN7hwZgTBuF8E0/s1600/wheat.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;"><em>Oats and wheats and barley grow</em></span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oats and wheats and barley grow</span></em></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you or me or anyone know</span></em></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How oats and wheats and barley grow?</span></em></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is how I remember a song that we used to sing at primary school - I've checked it out online and it turns out that my memory isn't spot on, but I like it this way. I lived in a fairly rural area, surrounded by fields of grain and orchards of apple and cherry trees (which is why 'Cherry Pink and Apple Blosson White' is another favourite) and I remember being shown the different grains on the class nature table - pretty oats that danced when you shook them, bearded barley and stiff wheat with barbed hairs like a cat's tongue. We must have looked sweet doing all the actions, sowing the seeds and taking our ease, like the song said. Closest I'm likely to get to being a farmer!</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm in the market for flour right now, and I don't mean wheat. I'm working on recipes for gluten-free baked goods and I'm looking at anything that hasn't got gluten: rice flour, corn flour, sorghum, tapioca - I guess it's back to the internet for that. I hate the frogspawn consistency of tapioca, but perhaps it's more acceptable milled into a flour...</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been sent a copy of Whole Grain Vegan Baking (Celine Steen and Tamasin Noyes) which is proving educational - they use amaranth, barley, buckwheat, millet, oats, rye, spelt... It seems you can make flour out of practically anything. I had a moment of excitement about getting a home flour mill as I can see why purists insist on freshly ground grains - the idea of using flour that has been sitting round for months suddenly seemed vile - but the price and the lack of space in my kitchen have detered me. Flour mill vendors, if you're watching, I'd be delighted to test and report on my findings... I was really peeved to miss a talk on this subject at VegFest in Brighton but it was scheduled to take place at the same time as I was doing a dem about getting to grips with tofu in another part of the building so I was out of luck.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The book has reminded me about the interesting new trend of pairing spices commonly used in Indian cookery with sweet dishes. Perhaps chilli in chocolate was the first evidence of this but garam masala seems to be cropping up all over the place right now. Witness the garam masala wheat and barley muffins in this book. The title is intriguing but reading on really roped me in (hope that's not an inappropriate cruel-to-cattle type of phrase) because I really liked the idea of using sweet potato puree - I bet these muffins are great. Where do I get a can of sweet potato puree? (I know, make it yourself, duh, but I have the same problem as I do when faffing around making apple sauce before I can get onto the first rung of the ladder with some vegan baked goods - it's impossible to know what sort of consistency it should have, and the impact of getting it wrong could be catastrophic. If I had only experienced what tinned sweet potato puree looks like I'd have some chance of getting it right...)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The trouble with cooking with whole grains is that vegetarian food has a bad reputation for being stodgy and brown. I was amazed (pardon my ignorance) to read that it is perfectly possible to create white whole grain flour - 'White whole wheat flour is milled from a hard white spring wheat, while traditional whole wheat flour is milled from red wheat'. Who knew? It feels as if vegetarian cooks have been running scared from brown stodge since the seventies, and the occasional appeal for us to use wholemeal flour in the recipes that appear in The Vegetarian magazine generally meets with barely concealed derision - heaven knows we don't want vegetarian food to ever, ever, look brown. I guess vegan cookery is new enough not to have this sort of baggage. Of course it's true that whole grains are better for you in many many ways. But it still feels as if anything made with brown flour is more about your bowels than about fun. Maybe this book can get us back on the straight and narrow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's only one thing in this book that made me blanch, and that was the 'Better With Beans Brownies'. Oh, sorry, nasty. Probably nice really but I've got baggage of my own to bring to this. Years and years ago I was caught out by a quiche - it looked as if it had cannellini beans in it but when I took a bite I realized I was looking at little prawn bodies, eeugh. Had to spit and rush to the Ladies to wash my mouth out. The title of this recipe brought back that memory with a vengeance, unfortunately. I had to steel myself to read it, and now I see that the beans are whizzed to a puree with sugar, maple syrup, salt and vanilla. Well, at least I wouldn't spot their little bodies when I bit into a brownie. I'm rather at a loss to think of how beans would improve a brownie, the intro to the recipe says they add fibre and structure. They would certainly add extra protein. Brownies wouldn't really be my first port of call for fibre and protein as a rule but I guess somebody might be jumping for joy... </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-51354712977794443282013-05-27T04:13:00.002-07:002013-05-27T04:14:39.854-07:00Our weekly breadB<span style="font-weight: bold;">y coincidence, my copy of Knead To Know ('The introductory guide to success in baking Real Bread for your local community') arrived the day before I discovered that the town where I live, Prestwich, now has its very own Community Supported Bakery - or at least, the beginnings of one. I found them at a Sunday market which was labelled as 'artisan', just moments after having walked past the cheese shop and, as usual, bemoaned the fact that they are selling bread made at a bakery in Chorlton, which is the other side of the city centre, in the salubrious south. Why oh why, I moaned, are we relying on the Chorlton artisans? Surely there is a decent bakery closer to here? (For the record, I moved to Prestwich about twelve years ago having been assured that it was the new Chorlton. I think they saw me coming.)</span><br />
<div style="font-weight: bold;">
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Anyway, hurrah for PrestBake - I will do what I can to help. I realise that my vision of myself wrapped in a floury apron, feeding the masses with warm chewy loaves, is a mirage, because baking bread on a marketable scale involves a lot of commitment, time and elbow grease that I probably haven't got. Somebody out there knows what they're doing, anyway - the brown sourdough loaf I bought is dense, soft and malty. I believe I can taste the quality of the ingredients (although I might be getting above myself after the Great Taste judging days!). It made me feel happy, anyway, which is not a bad result from a mouthful of bread. Apparently you can subscribe, and get a loaf every week. I'll follow them on Twitter and see if I can be in the right place at the right time to get some more. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The book I've been sent has come from Sustain 's Real Bread campaign, a moniker that provoked derision from G who contends that all bread is 'real'. He's missing the point, of course. Real bread is bread made with 'real' ingredients, by real people, and delivers real taste and real nourishment.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">'Real' bread has become something of a benchmark for those seeking to get decent food into their localities. It's the most basic of foods, and paradoxically, it is one that most people never attempt to make for themselves. Perhaps this has its roots in history - in times gone by, most people didn't have ovens and they would routinely take their dough to be baked in a communal oven at the local bakery. I guess it made sense for the owners of the oven to go the extra mile, and make the dough as well as baking it... but at what point did we lose the ability to make it for ourselves? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There's a lot of mystique around bread making and I think it's partly because our idea of what constitutes a decent loaf has changed - somehow we have come to revere the sort of 'bread' which can only be made through an industrial process, using mechanical mixers and chemical processing aids. The upshot is that when we made our own bread, it's nothing like the bread in the shops, and we find that worrying. For every person in the UK who makes bread regularly, there must be a hundred who have tried it once, achieved a result that they didn't think hit the mark, and given it up as a bad job. We've ended up with a population that has never tasted 'real' bread and thinks there is something wrong with a loaf that doesn't look exactly the same as all the others in the batch, and doesn't have the texture of damp cotton wool. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The way we have lost our confidence in making bread, and the way we now buy the industrially manufactured version without a murmur, mirrors the broader way in which we view food of all kinds in this country. We have been so conned. A huge proportion of the population now believes that it can't cook, and that the insipid blandness and pulpy texture of food that comes in microwaveable plastic boxes is actually how proper food ought to be. No wonder people don't think they can cook - no amount of fresh ingredients, herbs and spices can easily mimic the taste of food that is untouched by human hand and comes out of sanitised factories on conveyor belts. You'd need some serious kit and some industrial food additives to achieve that calculatedly inoffensive taste and consistency, not to mention the shelf-life. I routinely meet youngish people who are actually afraid of eating real food, and whose palates have been numbed with fake 'natural' flavours, sugar and salt.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Last week, I saw a sign at a motorway service station about the doughnuts on sale there. The sign said that the doughnuts were 'made fresh daily'. Surely people must realise that anything that comes out of a factory <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">24/7</a> is by definition made daily, and that 'fresh' in this context just means 'new', and has no association with the length of time that has elapsed since the ingredients were in the ground, or hanging off a plant. By thatdefinition it is hard to mAke a ything that isn't 'fresh'. The sign went on to say that the doughnuts on sale in the service station had been delivered that day. Well, hurrah, just a matter of hours ago, they were wrapped in plastic and trundling along the motorway in a lorry. That's not a marketing message that works for me, but I guess if they've signed up for a daily delivery, it means they're selling a lot of doughnuts. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Are people really conned by this sort of marketing? Do they genuinely think they're buying food that is either wholesome or nutritious? I think the sad fact is that most people know full well what they're buying, and they don't care. They are happy to hand over the responsibility for their health to food manufacturers who claim to care. Then, when they're too fat to walk straight, they can say that it's not their fault - those naughty manufacturers are to blame, for tricking them into buying food that makes them ill. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I think there's a worrying tendency for people to opt out of real life, which admittedly can be hard work and sometimes scary, and to buy into a sugary fake version, knowing full well that if it doesn't work out well, they can complain and demand their rights, and a refund. Real life isn't like that - it can be unpleasant in many many ways, and most of the time, when things go wrong you've only yourself to blame, or else nobody is really responsible. That's life. Perhaps I'm a fool, I should be slumped in a comfy American style 'lounger' staring at a screen showing comfy, mind-numbing pap and eating soft, sweet rubbish without ever taking my eyes off the screen. I remember whenever my family was involved in any physically uncomfortable activity, like having to abandon a broken-down car and walk along a country lane in the dark, or getting drenched by a rogue wave on the seafront, my Dad would flash a thin grin and say, 'This is living!' </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One of the first things I learned from the Knead to Know book was that there are additives you can use in bread that you don't have to put on the label. That was a revelation, but I guess it shouldn't have been, because it backs up my own personal experience. There are some foods, generally baked goods and things containing wheat (what doesn't?) that provoke a very noticeable and rapid physical reaction in me - my face goes bright red. The flushing starts around my mouth and spreads fast. As you might expect, I find this disturbing and I've been trying to work out what's behind it. It worries me - whatever is going on inside me if the results are so noticeable on the outside? It's also becoming a nuisance in social situations, as I can't eat in company without running the risk of suddenly looking as if I'm having a hot flush. It happened during one session at the Great Taste Awards judging - everybody assumed I was reacting in a weak girly way to a viscious chilli sauce but in fact I think it was the biscuit I sampled next that was to blame. Annoying, because I don't want people to think I can't handle my hot sauces. Anyway, every time it happens, I look at the ingredients of the thing I'm eating (if it came out of a packet to which I have access) and I've been continually stumped - as a rule, I don't go in for additive-laden rubbish anyway, and I can never find anything that appears consistently on the label of the things that make me go red. So it makes absolute sense to me that there are things I'm putting into my mouth that I'm not being told about. According to the book, these additives are marketed as 'label friendly'. I think we should be told. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I don't think I am allergic or intolerant to wheat per se, because sometimes foods that contain wheat upset me and sometimes they don't. I do think it might be worth exploring gluten-free eating, partly because so many people seem to be moving in that direction and I'm curious. I also take on board Andrew Whitley's comments that wheat and flour have come a long way from their natural state, through centuries ofselective breeding to maximise yield. Wheat ain't what it used to be.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Knead To Know is a book unlike any other I have seen, because it's about setting out to make bread for a community and not just for your family. It draws on the experience of all kinds of bakers, from big names to the smallest and newest arrivals on the scene. They are having to reinvent the wheel, rediscovering ways to make bread without recourse to additives or industrial scale machinery, rediscovering the satisfaction that comes from a certain amount of physical labour but finding new ways to balance this against our demands for instant gratification and our over-riding inclination to sacrifice quality in favour of speed. They are having to find ways to explain why their bread is better than the spongey white sliced variety in order to reach past the people who buy into the delightful artisan nature of it all and get some support from people who want to fill a supermarket trolley for a tenner.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So, more power to the community breadmakers' elbows. I'm willing to believe that re-introducing 'real' bread and 'real' bakeries to our communities is a genuine and well-intentioned attempt to do a good thing, to make people well and happy, and to regain control of the food we eat, which in turn is essential to our wellbeing. I know there are more than a few people out there who would dismiss the whole movement as a middle-class do-gooder diletante activity pursued by people with plenty of spare time and money who think they know best. I choose to believe that it's the stirring of something bigger and something more important - a nationwide revolt against food that is made more for profit than to nourish people. When enough people have enough self-esteem to demand better, and enough self-belief to dare to question the motives of food manufacturers, then surely we will see improvements in the food we are offered, if not changes to the motivation behind it. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: bold;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: bold;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Knead to Know is published by Grub Street ISBN 978-1-909166-17-2</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: bold;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Prestbake don't appear to have a website but are on Twitter as @prestbake</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: bold;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The Sustain Real Bread Campaign's website is <a href="http://www.realbreadcampaign.org/" x-apple-data-detectors-result="2" x-apple-data-detectors-type="link" x-apple-data-detectors="true">www.realbreadcampaign.org</a> and they tweet as @RealBread.</span></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-20136545737098796922013-05-14T15:10:00.000-07:002013-05-14T15:10:08.938-07:00The Great Taste Awards<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">The butcher at my table:</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">
Judging the Great Taste Awards</div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">
I can't lie: it's great being a judge. It makes you feel big and clever. I judged at the Cordon Vert Vegetarian Chef of the Future competition last week and it was actually a bit weird. Everybody there had been watching the finals of Masterchef and as a judge I felt under pressure to behave like a scary person. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that that is actually what contestants want from judges - the prize is worthless unless the judges appear to be really hard to impress. It's all a game, of course. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This week I'm judging for the Guild of Fine Foods Great Taste awards. Actually, I've trained as a 'judge co-ordinator' which means I am in charge of typing all the comments from a table of judges into a computer. It's my job to try to make all their comments into a reasonably coherent paragraph of useful feedback for the producers who expose their foods to our scrutiny. It's also my job to try to make sure that we don't get bogged down with bickering, or bulldozed by bullies. Some people are pretty opinionated. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Actually, I quite like having opinionated people on my team. It's a chance to learn something interesting, if for example one of the judges on your table is an expert in fruit liqueurs, or pie crusts or even, would you believe, the niceties of butchery. I'm perfectly happy to bow to somebody else's expertise, as long as they are genuinely knowledgeable and not just imposing their random views on the rest of us. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm here all week (as the stand-up comedians say) and I guess it's inevitable that my fellow judge co-ordinators tend to share their views on the people they have worked with during the day. The organisers mix teams up for each new judging session so you never know who you'll be working with. I'm already hearing dire warnings about certain people who are overpoweringly assertive and rather rude, without actually having any outstanding expertise. At the other end of the scale, there are judges who have trouble expressing their opinions and seem to think that grimaces and shrugs can somehow be translated into sensible comments by the person tasked with the typing. Bit of a dead loss, really, it's no good saying things are 'nice' or 'disgusting'. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is especially the case when we are given bits of meat or fish to judge. Obviously, I duck out of these and that is considered to be OK, thankfully. To be frank, the first time I walked into the judging room, the smell of freshly cooked meat and fish almost made me gag. But I got over it. I can type up other people's opinions about meat but if they say that it looks 'nice' I have to ask them why. What is it that looks nice to them? It makes you feel like an alien. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Occasionally, we get special 'vegetarian' foods - a pie, a quiche, some stuffed veg and a ratatouille. As the results of the judging are still under wraps, I've got to be a bit careful about what I say. Every time a vegetarian dish arrives at the table, I feel as if it's my duty to stand up for it. I'd like vegetarian dishes to get lots of stars, to show they're just as good as meat dishes - or better. Sadly, so far the veggie fare has been pretty embarassing. Today, we did have one quiche which was exceptionally good. The butcher on my table said he really liked it - and that I could quote him. Not sure I'll make a convert of him though. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sitting by a blazing fire in the pub this evening (can't believe the weather is this grim in Dorset in mid-May), with two fellow judges, we fell into conversation with a couple who were interested in what we were doing. They said that it must be great fun. Hmm. Well all right, it is quite good fun, but there are downsides. The sore throat from shouting ('I've written Attractive presentation, no detectible ginger, one judge felt the nuts were too soft, do you agree?'). Exhaustion from the general full-on-ness of it all, and having to be scintillating during lunch breaks whilst holding a paper plate. And, whilst happily (and unlike some of my colleagues) I have not experienced out and out nausea, I can report slight heartburn, acid stomach, serious loss of appetite, motion sickness in an overcrowded taxi and rather demanding bowels. Not surprising when you realise that today I have tasted in the region of eighty utterly random foods - cakes, pies, icecreams, pasta sauces, salad dressings, mustards, granolas, cheeses, chocolates... actually it's making my stomach churn to think about what I've prized between my lips today. Not a lot of award winners, and that's a good thing, because there are 9,800ish entries this year and it would devalue the awards if everybody got a star. You have to earn these babies. They've given me a very nice badge. </div>
</div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-3970099319596839112013-03-16T04:23:00.000-07:002013-03-16T04:23:08.029-07:00Getting to grips with tofu<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Tofu can be nasty. I remember one of the first times we met. It was disguised as a strawberry cheesecake. What a horrible masquerade. How does a food that's supposed to be 'natural' turn out tasting like well-chewed paper? (I do know what that tastes like, as it happens, and I can tell you that it has more texture than tofu.)</span><br />
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I actually blame that cheesecake for creating a psychological barrier between me and veganism that took decades to sort out. The hang-up it created in me lasted a lot longer than the restaurant that served it up. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Tofu is offensively bland. I can't imagine why the person who first created thought it was worth keeping. It has no colour, no texture, no smell and no taste. It disappoints every sense you apply to it. It's unpleasant to even get it out of the packet - you're bound to end up drenched in cold, cloudy water. It's as if by popping a knife through the celophane cover you've inadvertently 'broken the waters' - I suppose I could continue the analogy and describe the process of 'delivering' a dripping new tofu block into the world, patting it dry, weighing it, cutting it up... let's not push that one any further.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm about to do a cookery demo at Brighton VegFest entitled 'Getting to grips with tofu'. I hope people will appreciate the subtext there - tofu is a slithery, slimy beast. It puts me in mind of a 'toy' that was once passed around in a classroom (it was an RE lesson, we were bored, the teacher was past caring) - it was a kind of rubbery tube filled with water that had the ability to leap out of your hands as if it had a life of its own. We all thought it was outrageously rude. You'll know what I mean if you've ever encountered one. Anyway, tofu is a bit like that, but much less interesting.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The point I'm hoping to make is that you've got to show tofu who's boss. And if you want any taste or any texture from it, you're going to have to put it there yourself. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm going to explain to the pulsating crowd that will gather around me tomorrow that there are essentially two ways of imposing flavour on tofu - you can put flavour on it, or in it. Putting flavour on it is pretty straightforward, you just slice it, fry it and douse it with something tasty, like chilli sauce or teryaki marinade. And then cook it a bit more. Or cube it, paste some barbecue sauce onto it, stick it onto a skewer and barbecue it. Or pour a sauce over it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That method looks fairly effective if you're working with smallish bits of tofu, or thinish slices. It falls down when you try doing it on something bigger - as soon as you cut into the finished dish you'll encounter virgin white tofu flesh. It's wearing a tasty coat but nothing much has changed in the inside. Very disappointing.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There's a kind of mantra that has attached itself to tofu: Tofu Absorbs Flavours. Well, no, it doesn't, not necessarily. Granted, tofu is like a sponge, but when it comes out of the packet, it's saturated with water. It can't suck. You have to get some of the water out, by pressing it between layers of kitchen paper as firmly as you dare, or even leaving it under a weighted plate to squash the amniotic fluid out. Now you can start to make use of the spongey quality, because now it has the capacity to soak up something flavourful. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've had surprisingly good results from soaking tofu slices in a mixture of vegetable stock, soy sauce, onion powder (at last, a use for it!) and a lot of nutritional yeast flakes. The yeast flakes are weird. They have a taste that many consider cheese-like. Presumably, the longer the amount of time that has passed since you ate any cheese, the more likely you are to be of this opinion. The texture reminds me of flakey dry wallpaper paste. They're a bit like cheesey fishfood. I would never, ever have anticipated the effect that this marinade would have on tofu. The taste that results is like southern fried chicken. OK, it has been a long time since I tasted southern friend chicken. (In fact, I don't think I've ever eaten it. I only know what it tastes like because I once pulled off a bit of the crispy stuff and tried that. It turned out that underneath the crispy stuff was a chicken's leg, with skin on, and the idea was to take a hefty bite and chew on not only the tasty crispy stuff, but also a mouthful of chicken flesh and skin. As a child I was frequently admonished for just eating the tasty bits of dishes, but I still think I was the sensible one. Is it not OK to just want the nice bits? Yes, I was the little girl who didn't run the sport's day race but instead, when they said 'Ready, steady, go' ran straight up to the teacher who handed out the lollipop prizes. And yes, the apocryphal old lady who sucks all the chocolate off the nuts and then offers the nuts round did exist, that's my nana you're talking about, and when I get old I hope I have the nerve to do the same.)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Soaking tofu in a marinade with nutritional yeast flakes makes it taste a bit chickeny. Soaking tofu in a mixture of stock, soy sauce, lemon juice and seaweed flakes makes it taste a bit fishy. (But refer to previous aside, it has been a long time since I tasted fish...) There are extra bits to learn here. Press the tofu first. Slice it before you marinate it, not afterwards. Put the marinade onto the tofu hot. It seems to help. Leave it a long time. Overnight is best. Then, fish the tofu out and lock the taste in by baking it for 30 minutes in a medium oven. Turn it over half way through. This is the very best way to get taste inside tofu. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The next job is to sort out the texture, because even after you've pressed it, marinated and baked it, it'll still be a floppy thing when you put it into your mouth. Nobody wants that. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You can put flavourful tofu into a big bowl with some peanut butter and fresh breadcrumbs and scrunch it all up together between your fingers until it's all mixed up, then shape it into balls and fry it. That's one in the eye for the tofu masters who define the texture of tofu and think you should like it that way. I like doing this at demos, lots of people seem quite shocked that you can take matters into your own hands and do what you please with the structure of tofu. Lots of people seem quite shocked that cooking might involve actually touching the ingredients. (I once saw a woman attempt to deseed a chilli pepper without touching it at all. She had quite a clever technique with a fork... but what worried me was how very scared somebody had made her of touching food.) Once you've made the tofu balls, flatten them out a little and shallow fry them. Don't worry them around in the pan, let them sit and form a crust, then turn them. Good in pitta breads or on top of spaghetti. (Not all covered in vegan cheese.)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you're prepared to accept the basic structure of the tofu as it stands, the best option is to coat it with something that lends some texture. Beer-battered tofu is nice, and really easy. A cup of beer, a cup of flour, whisk together, tah dah! Dip the tofu slices in flour before you batter them, otherwise the batter doesn't stick. Shallow fry, but be a bit generous with the oil. I know vegan bistros aren't thick on the ground but this is what they all sell. Sometimes on a stick. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've also had good results from coating tofu in a mixture of dried breadcrumbs and polenta, to make something resembling a fish finger, and using a mixture of flour and black sesame seeds. I got very excited about the black sesame seeds. I have no idea whether they're nutritious like their pale beige relatives, but they're... funky! I don't know anything else that delivers the same combination of dramatic colour and satisfying crunch. Love them. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Before we wash our hands of tofu, a couple of notes. Generally speaking, tofu is either 'firm' (the sort of thing you can slice) or 'silken', which is more like blancmange and isn't all that useful unless you're in the business of sneaking some serious protein into a sauce, or something. See note on cheesecake above. The 'firm' tofu we get in supermarkets in the UK is not especially firm - try 'artisan' varieties for firmer texture or see what you can find in Chinatown. The Chinese make all sorts of variations on the theme including a kind of tofu skin which I haven't been mentally prepared to eat yet. (I'm still shuddering from the day we had hot chocolate at school and mine formed a skin which attached itself to my upper lip and hung down over my chin.) There's also a tinned 'marinated' tofu which some say makes a reasonable stand-in for tuna, but again, the texture is like skin torn from a marinated cadaver. If you're the kind of person who thinks that the skin on a rice pudding is the best bit, then you're welcome to it. </span></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-90183476177869276282013-02-15T12:33:00.000-08:002013-02-15T12:33:37.872-08:00
<br />
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The book of the
restaurant<o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You’ve eaten the food,
now buy the book…<o:p></o:p></span></h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think I’ve spotted a
trend. Every owner of every restaurant or café in the country is looking for
ways to increase revenue – offering take-away boxes, deliveries, home catering,
event catering and, my personal <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>favourite, on-site cookery courses. Combine
this with the nation’s peculiarly undiminishing appetite for cookbooks, and the
fact that self-publishing via on-line packages has never been easier, and what
do you get? The book of the restaurant. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They’re like souvenirs
– if you had a nice meal, why not take the memory home in the form of a book?
Who knows, you might be able to create an approximation of what you ate in your
own kitchen… although frankly, very few of the recipes in very few of the
cookbooks that the British public so eagerly snaps up ever get made. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Vegetarian and vegan
restaurants may have more reason than most for dipping a toe into the world of
publishing. Lots of their customers are not vegetarians, and do not cook
meat-free meals regularly at home. Vegetarian cookery (and especially vegan
cookery) seems to be a rather specialist area, and one which enthusiastic home
cooks might enjoy dabbling with, in much the same way as we might decide to
have a bash at creating an Indian or Mexican or Thai feast. In this case, the
book of the restaurant is a bit special – not just a souvenir, but also a
challenge, a portal into a strange new world of food. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the book of the
restaurant is not just about getting people to recreate restaurant food at
home. Of course it isn’t – if people could do that, why would they bother
trekking out to the restaurant? It’s about marketing, obviously, and about
brand loyalty. Also, the idea that people who are capable of cooking well don’t
‘need’ to go to restaurants is a fallacy – we all keep on doing it, even though
the décor is grotty, the service is grumpy and the food isn’t a patch on what
we could have made ourselves – and we keep willingly paying for the experience.
We must, subconsciously, be looking for more than food from a restaurant:
perhaps I’ve already said it. Decor – we want to be in an attractive place. And
service – we want to be waited on. And obviously, we want somebody else to do
the hard work of cooking. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been reading
about the concept of ‘agape’ restaurants. It’s the standard communal restaurant
idea – which never, ever works in Britain – strangers share tables and they’re
supposed to enjoy it. But there’s a brilliant twist – little instruction books
on the tables, telling you exactly what to do. What to talk about, and how long
to talk about it. And the topics up for discussion aren’t the usual cocktail
party gambits – What do you do? What do you drive? Where do you holiday? Stuff
like that erects barriers between people and encourages us to show off (or get
our coats). The conversation in agape restaurants is supposed to be based around
questions like ‘what are you afraid of’, ‘what makes you happy’… that sort of
thing. I hated the idea until I heard about the rule book – now I love it. I
think it would be great fun to sit around a table, sharing a big pot of stew
and some crusty bread with people who were prepared to share their innermost
dreams and convictions, and listen to mine. Obviously the stew would have to be
a vegan one, so we could all enjoy it…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Incidentally, I’ll be
doing something not dissimilar to this tomorrow evening, when I’ll be sitting
down to share a meal with six people I haven’t met yet. They’ll have spent the
day with me, on a vegetarian cookery course, so we should have at least one
experience in common. What comes out, when we are all told to relax, told we can
take whatever we like from a massive buffet of food, and handed a glass of
wine, after a fairly stressful and physically demanding day in a strange
kitchen surrounded by strangers, is often fascinating – I hear about why people
are (or are not) vegetarian (or vegan), why they cook (or why kitchens scare
them), who they have met and where they have been, self-help challenges and
diets they have tried, their religion (or ideas about spirituality, or
atheism), and how it felt to watch their parents die. Blimey. Then I go back
into the kitchen and mop the floor. It’s very grounding. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve recently been
sent three ‘books of restaurants’ which take three very different approaches to
design and content. They’re from tibits, a well-known and stylish vegetarian buffet
and bar just off Oxford Street in London; El Piano, a vegan café on a cobbled
lane in the centre of York which specializes in Spanish-style food, all gluten
and nut free; and The Star Anise Art Café, an ‘artisan’ café in a courtyard in
Stroud, surrounded by craft workshops, a bakery and a theatre company. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At tibits (yes, small
t), food and style come as a package. The enormous buffet is presented in a
‘salad boat’ – an ergonomic curve of polished wood that is pleasing to the eye
and tends to discourage the dead-eyed queuing you get at motorway service
stations. There are hot and cold dishes, and desserts, all carefully monitored
by almost invisible staff who whisk away anything that starts to look a bit
tired. The array of salads is a real treat, with refreshingly unusual (but not
mad) combinations of fresh, colourful veg, beans, nuts, grains and dressings. You
slightly wish that the owners had more control over the clientele, who do their
best to destroy the ambience of the place by dawdling and gawping, gabbling
into mobile phones and piling up shopping bags everywhere. (Consumerism is so
naff. Must you really haul yourself up and down Oxford Street in designer shoes
toting designer carrier bags when you could just quietly order online and get
things delivered? Silly.) The first time I went there, I looked for the
cookbook, because I wanted to have some of the salad recipes nailed down for
future reference. Especially the thing with the horseradish. No book. I was
moved to tweet about the lack of a book of the restaurant. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now ‘tibits at home’
has arrived. Some books make me excited before I’ve even opened them – in fact,
sometimes I’m almost afraid to open them, as it might be a disappointment! This
was like that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like the restaurant,
this is a stylish piece of work. It’s a translated edition of a cookbook first
published in Switzerland (the home of Hiltl, which claims to have been the
first vegetarian restaurant in the world, and is tibits’ great-granddaddy and
mentor). It’s divided seasonally, with nice, fairly minimal, fresh, clean food
photography interspersed with Swiss interior décor and ‘lifestyle’ shots which
do a fair job of making me jealous. (I live in Manchester. I suppose I could put
pink glass bottles in my windows, but the sun wouldn’t shine through them. My
potted herbs take one look at the sleet and go limp.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There were some
disappointments, though. Firstly: not enough recipes. I really wanted a book of
salads. Maybe everybody else wanted a book of salads, soups, sandwiches,
fritters, puddings and directions for making stock. I didn’t expect tibits to
get bogged down in standard stuff – carrot, apple and ginger juice, pea and
mint soup, veg with red Thai curry paste, tiramisu, vegetable quiche, samosas,
berry crumble, coleslaw, dal, spinach and feta lasagne. Although, to be fair,
the carrot, apple and ginger juice also contains fennel, the Thai curry calls
for cocoa beans, the tiramisu has been reinvented in coconut and pineapple, and
the quiche has a spelt base filled with blanc battu – fancy. The coleslaw has
peach and passionfruit syrup. Cor. There’s nothing like an ingredient that’s
impossible for me to get to snare my interest. Cocoa beans! In pods! Imagine!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stand-out ideas for
me: dragon tea, a chilled mixture of oolong, mint, grapefruit juice and
elderflower syrup; poppy seed cake that looks like amazingly dense Swiss roll
(do they have Swiss roll in Switzerland? Arctic roll in the Arctic?); soybeans
with lemon dressing (simple, elegant, good use for frozen edamame). The room
with the white shag pile carpet and full length windows shot from overhead on
page 58. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But only a handful of
salads. Boo. I was ready to learn. A book of salads next?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The tibits book is a
very professional-looking product. The El Piano book, by contrast, is a bit of
a riot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve got ‘The Final
Touch/El Toque Final’, which is the fourth in a set which started to appear in
2002. I’ve eaten at El Piano several times, but never bought a book as a
souvenir. I’m afraid to say that that is probably because the design of their
publications is not to my taste. I don’t really like saying anything critical
about book design – out and out mistakes or uninspired content are fair game,
but design is very much a matter of taste. So: this book’s design is not my cup
of tea. The food photos don’t do the food any favours – the styling isn’t to my
taste, the photography itself is amateur. The typography and layout are muddled
and confusing, with Spanish and English text all over the place. The colours
are garish and the colour used for the text switches about so fast that it
makes me queasy. The typeface is just plain ugly. It took me a while to get
past this. But I did. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it turns out that
this is a little gem. It was written in response to customer requests for a
book of desserts, but the author has taken the opportunity to pop in a few
other bits and pieces – new savouries that didn’t make it into the earlier
books, info about bread and tofu making, and recipes for sauces, chutneys and
condiments. And soups. It’s a quirky combination. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As soon as I applied
myself to reading the text, I was pleasantly surprised. The author explains
that sauces are the cook’s solution to the old adage that you can’t please all
the people, all the time. Offering a plate of food with a variety of options
for saucing makes it more likely that more of the people around the table will
be pleased. Cunning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The big selling point
with this book, I think, is that not only is everything in it vegan, but it’s
also all gluten-free and nut free (apart from coconut and sesame). It’s really
interesting to see how the team in the kitchen at El Piano have applied themselves
to working with gluten-free flours to make breads, cakes and sauces – it’s as
if a team of researchers have been carrying out culinary experiments so that
the rest of us don’t have to. These recipes are all tried and tested – the food
has been served up to paying customers, and they liked it. The recipes can be
difficult to follow, but look on the positive side – having the Spanish text
alongside the English is a perfect aid to learning another language! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do appreciate the
way that the recipes are written – to make a chutney, you’ll need two units of
chopped fruit or vegetable, one unit of chopped onions, one unit of sugar and a
quarter of a unit of vinegar. And whatever spices you like. That’s how real
kitchens work: you need a basic understanding of the mechanics, why the recipe
works, and then you can use whatever you have to hand – a recipe for
creativity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the adventurous
home cook, it’s worth getting this book for pages 46-47 alone – a photo story
about making tofu at home. It’s like being taken by the hand, led into a
working kitchen and shown the surprisingly simple ingredients and apparatus. If
I was being picky I’d ask whether there was any scope for making soya milk
first, rather than making tofu out of purchased soya milk – but this is the real
world. I wonder how the economics work – is it really cheaper to make tofu from
soya milk than just to buy it? Would it be cheaper still to start from scratch
with the beans? Are there reasons, connected with ethics or additives or
control over the texture, that make it better to make your own? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Spanish text may
be distracting but the Spanish influence on the recipes is very interesting. There
are lots of nice nibbly things that look as if they have Spanish origins:
calitas, tinas, pestolitos… and there are dishes from other countries too – a
useful vegan French onion tart, a Peruvian pie made with mashed potatoes, sushi,
noodles… and I hadn’t considered cooking rice in fruit juice (the book suggests
orange juice with ginger and tamari, or pineapple juice with wasabi).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The section on sweets
doesn’t start until page 61, but it is a revelation, as not only are they all
vegan, nut free and gluten free – lots of them are sugar-free too. It’s not
easy to make something you can class as a treat with restrictions like that.
But here are recipes for a sugar free apple cake, a ginger cake with quinoa, a
Spanish moon cake, an Indonesian banana and coconut tart… plus others that do
use sugar. The photos and styling aren’t great but they do offer a very genuine
idea of what the real thing looks like – and suggest that you can achieve good
results at home too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The introduction to
the book says that it will suit creative chefs more than out and out beginners.
Nowhere is that more evident than on page 62 when the author radically suggests
that anything that is milled can be used like a flour… it’s all about
experimentation. I love this approach. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it would be very
wrong of me not to applaud El Piano for their green cred and their genuine
involvement in the local community. I’m sorry I don’t like the book design but
I’ve got to be honest – the reviews on this blog are my genuine personal opinions,
not just gushy stuff. And it’s not the end of the world. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d absolutely love
somebody to give El Piano the same treatment that Prashad, a family-owned
Indian restaurant in Bradford, was given after Gordon Ramsey took it under his
wing. I know it's a bit odd for a veggie to be saying that. But look at them now: a nice cookbook in pride of place in Waterstones, nice
website, very able PR, all providing back up to the same family of cooks, who
are still doing what they do best. Somebody needs to arrive on the doorstep at
El Piano and say, oh my god, what’s going on here? Who knew that you were creating
vegan, gluten-free, nut-free, sugar-free food with all these international
flavours in a back street in York? Material like this needs to be translated
into a really attractive book – then it will start to get some proper
attention. But perhaps, these days, nobody gets that unless good old Gordon (or
a TV celeb-chef of your choice) rocks up and wants to make friends. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, failing the
arrival of a TV personality with god-like powers, self-publishing isn’t a bad
option, as long as you’re mainly publishing books to sell to people in your
restaurant, and don’t expect to shift a garage-full of paperbacks through WH
Smith, Waterstones or Amazon (or even your very own website, even if it is
super). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve already said that
design is a matter of taste. Enter the third book in this set, The Star Anise
Café Cook Book. Self-published, but it’s immediately obvious that this is the
work of a decent designer who is up to speed with the current vogue for
letterpress styling – it’s an accomplished combination of professional book
design with a ‘home-made’ feel – nice little hand-drawn illustrations, very
occasional understated photography, loads of white space, and thoughtful,
functional typography. If I’m the person it’s aimed at (and I think I’m just
the type) then it’s working.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">However – though I
hate to admit it, I would have delved into the book sooner if it had had some
food photos in it. I hate to be so shallow, but without pics, you really have
to find at least half an hour to sit on the sofa and work through the book, and
actually read it, to find out what’s in it. I have now done that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gratifyingly, the first
sentence on page 1 made me punch the air and yell ‘yes!’. (OK, I didn’t actually
do it. I may have nodded or perhaps grunted a bit.) It says: ‘Choosing good
ingredients and cooking our own food is one of the most powerful things we can
do for ourselves.’ I’ve written variations on that sentiment hundreds of times.
Para 2 explained exactly what this book is about:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>‘It is important to
keep things interesting and feel engaged with what we are doing. This doesn’t
always mean searching for new recipes and coming up with new dishes to make.
More often than not, it just means giving over a little more of our time and
energy to the kinds of things that we make anyway. Sometimes, it makes all the
difference to cook something from scratch, rather than take the usual
shortcuts. There is a lot of pleasure to be had from making something familiar
and making it well.’<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, I do like the
sentiment, even though (as I mentioned above) I do tend to get excited by new ingredients,
and heaven knows, I now see new recipes and culinary inventions practically
daily. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The authors of this
book are classically trained chefs, and it shows. It’s especially noticeable in
the techniques that they use – they know a thing or two about getting the best
flavour out of simple ingredients. The tip about soaking nuts and seeds before
toasting them, to keep the internals from going dry and brittle, and the
technique of covering vegetables in a pan with a lid that goes right down
inside the pan while they cook slowly in their own juices… this is the sort of
insider knowledge you get from real professionals. I liked the explanation of
the ‘soda cake’ method of creating vegan, sugar-free cakes, and the fact that
readers were encouraged to experiment. I also liked the fact that these authors
included a fabulous coffee and walnut cake that’s covered with a truly luxurious
icing made from butter, maple syrup and espresso – they called it ‘the
exception that proves the rule’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
it shows that they enjoy food and they’re not too po-faced to enjoy something a
bit naughty. Overall, I really admire the way the recipe methods are written –
the authors are generously teaching people not just to cook but to cook well.
Because they understand not just what to do, but why to do it, they can share
the knowledge. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not just ‘do this,
do that’, or ‘1,2,3… tah dah!’ – following well-explained traditional methods
like this is a valuable learning experience that will educate readers and make
them better cooks in the future. That makes me very happy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The authors are
interested in macrobiotic principles, and this informs their cooking. There’s
an interesting passage on page 14 about the ubiquity of tomatoes in modern
vegetarian cookery, which argues that tomatoes are hard to digest and should
not necessarily be hurled into every stew without a little forethought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>‘We use ingredients such
as miso, yeast extract, dried mushrooms, as well as fresh herbs like thyme, to
give our dishes that strong, sweet-savoury quality, which tomatoes are able to
give. And as for colour, if tomato red isn’t the overriding colour of a dish,
other ingredients get a chance to shine and the dish often looks more complex
and interesting.’</em> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Food for thought. I
also very much enjoyed their take on the ‘five elements’ of a vegetarian dish –
and I may well start to say something similar to the professionals I teach at
the Cordon Vert Cookery School. The five elements they identify are grains (or carbohydrates
– they include potatoes here), protein (which is just one of the five elements and
not necessarily the most important one), root vegetables and gourds (sweet,
starchy veg), leafy greens and a sauce (or gravy, salsa, relish or pickle)
which brings everything together. Not a bad blueprint, I reckon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The recipes amount to
a very manageable collection of classic vegetarian dishes – the simple bean
stews reminded me of early offerings from Rose Elliot or Sarah Brown. I thought
I detected a nod to Ed Brown, too, on page 111:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>‘Beautiful shards of
yellow courgette, fine shavings of red cabbage or radish and chunky, oversized
pieces of squash, perfectly cooked, can enrich the experience of a dish…’<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The authors have made
a conscious decision not to use a wild assortment of ingredients – the effect
is to make this collection extremely accessible but somehow not samey. I
enjoyed the fact that, wherever possible, ingredients aren’t weighed or
measured – one of these, two of those and a handful of the other. I did notice
that most of the recipes are enough to feed 4-6 – more generous than most
cookbooks, but I think it’s a sensible way to cook – cook once, eat twice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m very glad I took
the time to read the book and, if I had to buy a book as a present for anybody
just starting out in vegetarian cookery, especially for somebody bright enough
to ‘do the reading’ and appreciate the text, then I think this might be the one.
A collection like this provides a foundation of dishes and techniques that
could inform the work of an intelligent vegetarian or vegan cook for a
lifetime. And better no pictures than bad ones. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-5668911596384720372012-09-15T11:19:00.003-07:002012-09-15T11:19:55.354-07:00Indian food revisited<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16px;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 16px;"><div>
<strong>Anjum's Indian Vegetarian Feast</strong><strong>
</strong></div>
<div>
<strong></strong><br /></div>
<strong>
</strong><div>
<strong>Anjum Anand</strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The publishers' info sheet for this appetising book says that it 'will teach us all how to eat vegetarian for life'. I'm all in favour of that. It begs the question, though, why the author isn't a vegetarian. The intro is quite careful to point this out and, very weirdly, the full page photo facing the intro shows Anjum tucking into what looks like a chicken curry. Unlikely to be Quorn, but I suppose I might be surprised. The fact that her mother was a vegetarian, that her husband is a vegetarian and that her children are vegetarians just puzzles me more. You'd have to be very attached to meat to hold on to it in a family like that. She must be a very committed meat eater and this makes me think that she is taking advantage of her experience of vegetarians by writing this book. The publishers' info sheet goes on to say that by virtue of the fact that her husband and his family are strict vegetarians, this makes her 'truly an expert vegetarian cook'. Good, I'm really looking forward to working my way through this book, but I'm so disappointed that she doesn't practice what she preaches, or enjoy her own vegetarian food sufficiently to wrench herself away from eating animals. Putting that picture of her eating meat right at the front of her vegetarian cookbook is really weird. Maybe it's bread. Tell me it's bread. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, we start with the traditional speil about there being an awful lot of vegetarians in India. (Could one of them write a book, at all? So we could have some vegetarian recipes written by somebody who genuinely buys into the ethics? OK, I'll drop it now. Sorry, Anjum, I'm sure you are lovely.)<br />
</div>
<div>
The first section covers breakfast and brunch, and I'm already enthralled. Why have I never considered eating Indian food for breakfast? The Blackberry-Violet Compote catches my eye, at last a good reason to buy at least one of those dinky little bottles of concentrated flavour from the Lakeland catalogue - but then I read the intro, which says this dish isn't Indian. Oh well, looks good regardless. On the facing page is a very versatile little recipe for 'Spicy, crisp chickpea pancakes' which I'm tempted to leap up and make immediately. Serve with spicy ketchup - now you're talking. Might be a good move for a food writer who doesn't want to be caught eating tomato sauce on toast. (Actually, I don't care, it's yummy and who needs bacon?) I check the ingredients and run up against Carom seeds. Never heard of 'em. I check the back of the book to see if there is some kind of glossary - no. Interesting, I shall rock up to the Indian supermarket next door to Lily's Indian Vegetarian place in Ashton and have a root about.<br />
</div>
<div>
One thing I absolutely love about this book is the way they've pasted in lots of extra little recipes - the pancakes come with an extra recipe for 'Coastal coconut chutney'. It's a lovely new design idea, it adds so much to the book, as if we've been let in on some extra secrets for free, as if the author just couldn't resist grabbing your arm and saying, listen, if you're going to make these, you've just gotta try them with this... It feels as if Anjum's enthusiasm is spilling out and almost imploring the publishers: oh please, can't we just squeeze this one in? Like it.<br />
</div>
<div>
I can't get much further without mentioning the typeface used for the recipe headings and intros. It's quirky and curly, I suppose it was chosen to remind us of Indian writing, but I find it awkward and distracting. I don't like the way the ooos are stuck together like infinity signs, or the way the cs and ks, cs and hs, and random other pairs loop up and then stick together. I don't like the weird ks or the way one f is set lower than the other when there is a double f. I expect other people will think I am laughably pedantic and boring because I don't like them. But they distract me from imagining the food and that's indisputably a bad thing.<br />
</div>
<div>
Small section of drinks, good moment to mention that I'm loving the photos and styling on this project. Really gorgeous.<br />
</div>
<div>
Ah! This is just what I wanted, a bhel poori recipe. I've been trawling the internet for one of these, and I've bought a bag of puffed rice from the wholefood shop in readiness for the day when I can work it out. All the recipes either say 'first buy your ready-made bhel poori kit', which I find ridiculous and aggravating, because I want to know how to make it, not just how to assemble it, or they get bogged down in incomprehensible detail and masses of ingredients I've never heard of. Is this the solution? Ach, no. Look, the first thing on the list of ingredients is a bag of bhel poori mix! I read the recipe and feel better. Apparently buying a bag of bhel poori mix is the way to do it after all, but if I prefer, I can buy puffed rice, sev and papri (all of which are explained) separately. Now I understand what's in a bhel poori mix, why would I want to buy them separately? I think I thought the mix would contain all the requisite flavours and spices, and that all I would need to do would be to add some bits of chopped tomato, or a tablespoon of water, or something. OK, I can countenance this. The interesting bit seems to be the making of the two chutneys that are essential to the dish, and there are recipes for both of them here. This looks really good. I can't wait to try it. Anjum suggests optional pomegranate kernels. Not convinced, so often these seem to end up in dishes purely because they look pretty in the photo. They look pretty in this photo. Hmm.<br />
</div>
<div>
Now I am flummoxed and about to reveal astonishing ignorance and make a right tit of myself. Here's a recipe for caper berry chutney. I've got a jar of capers in the fridge and I never use them for anything apart from putting into paella. Here's an opportunity to use them. But wait. The method says, blend coriander, mint, chillies, pistachios, water and caper berries. Then stir in some capers. What's the difference between a caper berry and a caper, or are they the same thing? I check Google images. They look like the same thing. I check the jar in the fridge, it is labelled 'baby capers'. I recall a recent conversation with Gwil which I picked up a green knobbly thing that had fallen off a nasturtium plant and told him it was edible - are they capers? We interrupt this blog to bounce over to Wikipedia.<br />
</div>
<div>
Now I understand! Capers are buds from a plant called Capparis spinoza. Caper berries look quite different, they're proper green berries with little stalks, and they are what happens if you let the caper buds turn into flowers and then fruit. Both capers (the buds) and caper berries are pickled but capers are what's generally used in cookery whereas caper berries are served as they are, as part of a mezze, a bit like olives. And those green things that fall off nasturtiums in September are not buds, they are unripe nasturtium seeds and yes, they can be used as a substitute for capers and pickled in the same way. Oh, pardon my ignorance but at least it prompted me to fix the hole in my knowledge!<br />
</div>
<div>
I am absurdly excited by the mini beetroot cakes even though I've explored something not dissimilar in the past. They look great but I'm not sure how Indian they are. Does that matter really? They'd fit in well with other Indian dishes, so what's the fuss? Also couldn't help thinking the Indianed up cheese on toast was a bit silly, but you know, I'd eat it, it's probably very nice.<br />
</div>
<div>
Arriving at the steamed lentil cakes in sweet, spicy, sour rasam, I felt I had found something a bit more authentic and interesting. It looks like a bit of a faff, but I'm glad it's there. Started to get worried again when I got to the Scotch Eggs, now come on, this isn't really Indian food, is it? Or is it Indian as long as you chuck in some coriander and cumin? Hush my mouth as I read the intro and learn that Scotch Eggs were introduced (obviously) by the British, specifically to Kolkata during the Raj, and they became popular amongst the locals and still crop up on restaurant menus in that area. Fair enough then.</div>
<div>
<br />
Salads and grills seems an awkward combo for a chapter. Not a lot of salad and quite a lot of cheese which is surprising to me and reminds me to point out that, as I am on a bit of a vegan kick at the moment, the fact that none of these recipes are labelled as vegan-friendly irks me. I have to read all the ingredients, jeez. That said, I'm slightly enticed by the info about making your own paneer, and making a PLT after marinating it and grilling it. Fig and pistachio chutney sounds like a very contemporary invention but looks absolutely perfect for the Christmas present chutney - you know, when you want to give people something they haven't already got, but you also want them to like it...<br />
</div>
<div>
The Juhu Beach Pau Bhaji looks good - well, sounds good, no pic and I would have liked one for this. Do you really have to keep mashing the veg for 30 minutes?<br />
</div>
<div>
Pleased to see a Dhansak recipe, and to get the chance to grind up my own spice blend rather than dash to the shop for yet another masala blend.<br />
</div>
<div>
We are into the curries in earnest now, plenty of stuff that has the right balance of interesting and actually edible. Oh, that's a surprise - a cottage pie, with Quorn mince! Not my thing but I guess somebody will be pleased. Sunday Lunch Kidney Bean Curry looks great and it just goes to show that an imaginative recipe title can really capture your interest - probably wouldn't have looked at it twice if I hadn't been intrigued by the idea of curry for Sunday lunch. Seems like an excellent idea.<br />
</div>
<div>
Into the grains section and I recognise that mushroom biriani from the dedication page at the front of the book. Is that what Anjum is tucking into on page 6? I think I owe her an apology, as if anybody would put a picture of her eating chicken in the front of a vegetarian cookbook. Must be mushrooms. Sorry Anjum, my mistake.<br />
<br />
Pleased to find a recipe that uses flaked rice, I used mine up recently in an ill-judged attempt to make an interesting variation on rice pudding - ended up with an enormous amount of wallpaper paste. Now I see why - you only need to steam the rice a little. Lots of nice ricey things here. Bit surprised that breads have been lumped into the same chapter, 'Gorgeous Grains' - I would have given them a space of their own. I think making the breads from scratch lifts a home-made curry into a bit of an event. Looking forward to having a go at the paratha - really useful photos, hurrah.<br />
</div>
<div>
Can't quite see how some of the veg didn't make it into the veg section and are in a section called 'On The Side'. To me, a vegetarian Indian meal doesn't necessarily have a middle and sides, it's just a collection of dishes that you can eat together. Just me? And yes, I am inclined to think that life is too short to stuff okra with bits of coconut and frankly I find it unlikely that the author genuinely does the stuffing whilst reading something on her computer. I wouldn't want to be throwing bits of coconut all over my keyboard, and I think I'd need to be looking at the okra while I stuffed it. Trying to do it without looking would be like something out of the Generation Game (I know I'm old).<br />
</div>
<div>
Pleased to find that there is a desserts section - often missing from Indian cookbooks. Possibly desserts are not all that popular? If Indian restaurants are anything to go by, most Indian meals end with nasty cheap icecream encased in nasty chocolate-flavoured coating, possibly in the shape of a penguin. Kulfi if you are lucky. Note to the proprietors of Indian restaurants - you're missing a trick! Where are the sticky syrupy things and the amazing multicoloured sweets? Bring 'em on! The chapter opens with some individual souffles which I have to admit look great - pomegranate, raspberry and rose, how delightful and yes, probably fit for a Maharaja. Loving the ginger-poached pears with pomegranate and poppy seeds, and the apricots with orange blossom and pistachios. But Indian trifle, no. Surely that never happened. Pleased to see a kulfi recipe - it calls for violet syrup which was in a breakfast recipe earlier. Gotta get some, this really looks divine.<br />
</div>
<div>
Egg-free pistachio cakes look good, perfect pud for guests... Oh, and that's the end! That was a bit sudden. Oh well. It was a very good-looking book, I rate the content pretty highly and it's carefully pitched to appeal to beginners and people looking for a bit more of a challenge. There are classics and some great new ideas. There are a few things here that intrigue me, so it's likely that we'll be eating Indian round here again sometime soon... Nice job, Anjum, sorry I doubted you. Of course you don't have to be a vegetarian to cook up some exceptional veggie-friendly dishes. But with food like this on the table, why would you eat anything else?</div>
</span><br />Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-16581399359125112082012-06-03T05:56:00.000-07:002012-06-03T05:56:08.905-07:00There are chefs, and there are vegetarians...The Art of Cooking with Vegetables
<p>
Alain Passard
<p>
I've recently become an 'ambassador' for a website called <a href="http://www.vegdining.com">vegdining.com</a>. It's a joy to get some reviews of vegetarian restaurants published at long last. These days, everybody is an expert on gourmet cuisine, and reality TV shows have made the depressed, bitter and put-upon man in the street think that it must be great fun to be a restaurant critic - you just march into the best restaurant in town, demand their finest offering, then spit it out, scowl, swear at the staff and flounce out having publically dented the reputation of the place on the slightest of provocations whilst giving yourself a secret rush of superiority and satisfaction. There are a lot of restaurant reviews written in the same spirit, most of which never make it into print. Rude restaurant reviews can be fun to read but it all gets a bit samey after a while. Worse are the vacuous gushy reviews that offer practically nothing to the reader in terms of either information or entertainment: ooh, it was all just super, this is what I ate, this is what my friend ate, this is what we wished we had had room for. And anybody who uses the word 'mouthwatering' in any context at all should be taken out and shot. There's no excuse for it. In my opinion. Anyway, what with the fact that, firstly, everybody and their dog is writing reviews and that, secondly, the standard of most of what is written is terrible, it's small wonder that it's hard to get a newspaper or magazine editor to read an unsolicited review, much less publish one. If you want to write about a vegetarian restaurant, forget it, you've just lost the interest of the vast majority of the readership (unless you want to be rude about vegetarians and their stupid rabbit food diet, in which case, there might be a small opening available...).
<p>
Anyway, I think my reviews are better than most but, like most of the things I write, they tend to be long, and that's because I end up thinking about other things. For example...
<p>
I ate at The Bay restaurant in Penzance recently. They've built up a good business serving high-end food and catering for weddings. Nice restaurant, classy ambiance, sea view. Obviously I'm in no position to comment about whether they deliver good non-vegetarian food but it looks good on the menu (if you go in for that sort of thing). What makes this place very unusual and special is that as you leaf through the menu, eventually you arrive at a page of starters, mains and puds that are all suitable for vegans. Even better, the chef has applied all his imagination and culinary skill to working out these dishes - he seems to have risen to the challenge of plant-based cooking quite spectacularly, making it possible for not just vegans but practically anybody to enjoy a really classy meal. This is such a sensible approach, and speaks volumes about a chef who, rather adopting a snooty attitude and refusing to cook with veg (an easy get-out), has seized the opportunity to showcase his abilities, thus attracting lots of new customers who are chuffed to bits - I know I was.
<p>
Reviewing the experience afterwards made me see more clearly than ever that vegetarians have two very different eating out experiences to choose from in the UK. By far the majority of exclusively vegetarian establishments are run by people who are vegetarians but not trained chefs. The alternative is to dine at establishments that offer meat and fish as well as veg, which are run not by vegetarians but by trained chefs. There are a handful of exceptions - Denis Cotter, who runs a fantastic vegetarian restaurant in Cork, is not really a trained chef but has an undeniable gift and managed to get a life-changing apprenticeship at Cranks in London. Denis is a vegetarian who can cook really well. Alain Passard, a French chef and restaurateur who famously removed red meat from the menu of his three-Michelin-starred Paris restaurant, L'Arpege, in 2001, is a non-vegetarian who can cook vegetarian food really well. There's still a hole in the middle, where there ought to be some vegetarians who can win Michelin stars. Not much chance of that happening in Britain while we still insist that catering students have to cook meat and fish to gain any qualifications (the only meat-free route, I believe, is becoming a pastry chef). If I had a big pile of money, I'd try to set something up, along the lines of New York's Natural Gourmet School, and start training people to cook with vegetables in a completely new way, so that we can rise up, meet and welcome the wave of interest in plant-based eating that will surely be big news in the coming twenty years or so.
<p>
Which brings me quite neatly to Alain Passard's new book, 'The Art of Cooking With Vegetables'. Couldn't wait to get my hands on it. Before anybody shouts me down, this isn't an entirely vegetarian offering - it includes Parmesan, anchovies and some recommendations for French wines and cheeses that I can't be sure are 'suitable'. I hope nobody reads it and starts thinking that vegetarians eat fish - but to be fair, it's not really marketed as a vegetarian book. The idea seems to be to get people to rethink vegetable-based dishes and (forgive me) to stir things up a bit with some new flavour combinations and a painterly approach to colour on the plate. I can't go further without saying that, whilst the chef's illustrative collages are very nice, and obviously very dear to his heart ('My very first work, a Harlequin, remains forever engraved in my mind's eye')... well, I feel a bit like the little boy in the crowd who starts raving about the fact that the emperor is naked, but surely everybody, in their heart of hearts, must agree when I say that this book really needs some pictures of the food. In fact, given that so much of the impact of each dish is dependent upon how it is presented on the plate, it feels like an absolute disaster to offer these recipes without any guidance on how they might look. Add to this the tantalising introductions to each dish ('a dressing the colour of celadon - the alluring willow green of Chinese porcelain' ... 'Once again, colour leads the way in the creation of a recipe'... 'When the beetroot yields its fuchsia-coloured juice to the pumpkin it is - to the eye - something splendid'... 'in my mind's eye, I can see little pearls of juice being released, red from the strawberries and pink from the rhubarb'...) - this is beginning to feel like a cruel practical joke and frankly, even if I could see the pearls of juice in my mind's eye, it wouldn't feel entirely satisfactory. Why, why, why? Yes, put some collages in if you like, but for heaven's sake, this book is sabotaged without food photos!
<p>
Reluctantly moving on, I still think that everybody who is engaged in cooking vegetables in any circumstances ought to buy this book and cook everything in it, as if they were putting themselves through an intensive training course. You'll learn some substantial skills, and get a kick in the backside when it comes to being adventurous about combining flavours and colours. There are just 48 dishes here and if you stick to seasonal cooking you should be able to get them all served up in a year. Starting now. I could type the whole list of recipe titles but typing doesn't give me a big thrill so let's just savour a few tastes in our imagination (and possibly take a look at them in our mind's eye...): New potatoes with rocket and raspberry vinegar. Red arrocha with rhubarb, beetroot and bay. Haricots verts with white peach and white almonds. Tomatoes and mozzarella with vanilla and mint. Red beetroot with lavender and crushed blackberries. Dizzy yet?
<p>
My only other whines are (1) the usual: for some unfathomable reason I find myself living in North Manchester, and as a consequence, I find it hard to get Tiger bananas, black tomatoes, red sorrel. I guess that's not the chef's fault. (2) Because the book was originally written in French, we are very reliant on the translator, and he's worked valiantly to preserve the poetic turn of phrase of the chef but sometimes it does feel a bit overblown ('Once again, I am throwing into relief a hint of bitterness'... 'I imagined it in a sweet register of flavour') - well, OK, it sounds like the authentic voice of a passionate French chef, so I'm prepared to let it go. I'm more worried that some of the cooking techniques might have been lost in translation - the Red Beetroot with lavender and crushed blackberries seems to use unadulterated hot milk (albeit 'emulsified') as a sauce - can that be right? What do I know. A photo would have sorted me out...
<p>
For the record, I predict a rush of untrained vegetarians and trained non-vegetarians pushing out some crazy flavour combinations for the veggie diner... be prepared...
Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-76071390684576374862012-04-08T12:18:00.000-07:002012-04-08T12:18:51.527-07:00Sticking the fork in?<b>The Edible Garden Show</b><br />
<br />
Slightly wrong-footed when I arrived at the Edible Garden Show and realised that the venue itself was, erm, a bit meaty. I had my sister-in-law, Debbie, along for the ride. She, my brother and their two lovely daughters are all vegetarians. I'd sold the trip to her as a veggie-friendly show that would (I reckoned) be all about getting food out of your garden. And that means veg, right?<br />
<br />
But I started to worry as we trekked from the main gate past a shanty town of small buildings, prefabs and sheds, each of which seemed to be the HQ of another organisation dedicated to parading fancy livestock. (You can't pull the wool over my eyes. I know what you're planning to do with that animal once you've finished grooming it, and it'll not be nearly so pretty then, will it?)<br />
<br />
We bundled past the queue (lots of Barbour jackets and shooting sticks, I was getting more and more anxious that this wasn't a great place to bring one's sister-in-law), found the press office and announced ourselves as the vegetarian contingent. The woman handing out the badges guffawed. How could she forget me? Just a week ago she had sent me a press release about the show, which featured the unpleasant idea that, with recession upon us, allotment holders might fancy the idea of setting up their very own snail farms. Yuk! The funny thing was that she sent the press release attached to a standard email that said 'I am sure your readers will be interested in this'. I had sent one back saying that I was the Editor of The Vegetarian magazine and that frankly I didn't think my readers would be all that taken with the idea. She was hugely apologetic at the time, and when we met, too, but she did say that the snail farm thing had generated a lot of press coverage. Actually, strangely enough, it even made it into The Vegetarian - we have a Hot and Not column... <br />
<br />
Thanks to tortuous queues of traffic in the country lanes surrounding the venue, it was after eleven by the time we made it into the show and I made a beeline for the area where gardening experts were giving talks. I was keen to catch James Wong's session about growing unusual veg. Didn't catch it all, but what I did hear was fantastic. James is putting out the message that allotment gardeners are stuck in a postwar timewarp, growing predictable veg that take up lots of room and are cheap in the shops anyway. He wants us to use our little plots to grow things that are difficult to find in the shops, or expensive. He is also on a mission to educate us about what can and can't be grown successfully in the UK, and it turns out that a lot of the things we consider to be exotic are perfectly easy to grow in our own back gardens. Don't bother with a bay tree, he said. How many bay leaves can you use? If you've got space for a nice glossy-leafed bush, grow green tea, and then you can pull off a leaf or two whenever you fancy a brew. He showed us photos of oyster mushrooms growing on old telephone books and told us about the goji berries that have taken root in the cracks in the paving stones outside the BBC. He pointed out that quinoa has edible leaves, and shared the wonderful news that although he has so far failed to get soya beans to grow particularly well in this country, chickpeas grow easily and yield something very similar to edamame. What's more, they're nitrogen-fixing plants so they're good for the soil. He showed us photos of tomato plants grafted onto potato roots - pomatoes! Twice the veg in the same space! He's running a trial and recommended we visit <a href="http://www.jameswong.co.uk">www.jameswong.co.uk</a> to find out how to try it for ourselves. He went away too soon. I was already prepared to part with hard cash to get his book - but there is no book yet. According to the website, 'Incredible Edibles' will be available soon. I want it so badly.<br />
<br />
Time for a stroll around the show. It wasn't huge, and that was good. Lots to see, along the lines of organic compost, garden knick-nacks, wellies, pots, dibbers, seeds, some actual plants, some people selling things made of plants (stocked up on Womersley fruit vinegars) and quite a few businesses offering instant fool-proof vegetable gardens delivered straight to your virgin raised beds. Several new businesses are making use of the internet and apps and all that techie stuff to provide interactive support and weekly gardening tutorials. Sadly there is no getting around the fact that my small garden is dominated by two big trees, and most vegetables prefer sunshine to shade. <br />
<br />
Pride of place was given to the BHWT (British Hen Welfare Trust <a href="http://www.bhwf.org.uk">www.bhwt.org.uk</a>) who had a little pen with four surprisingly big glossy hens. They were ex-battery hens and it was lovely to see them looking so proud and chirpy. What a strange life - from a battery cage to being the stars of the show. One of the birds managed to flap its way onto the top of the fence surrounding their enclosure and Debbie and I were soon making friends with 'Nigel' (!) - the first time I have touched a hen or fed one from my hand, but far from a first for Debbie, a farmer's daughter who grew up on a small farm. I was very taken with Nigel but can't quite bring myself to commit to hens. Firstly, for the reason that I don't have any pets - they make it hard for you to go on holiday and they break your heart if (when) they die. And wreak havoc on your bank balance if they get ill. Debbie has been advised by a vet that she really ought to be cleaning the family cat's teeth with fish-flavoured toothpaste. Nasty. Secondly, because I have vegan tendencies and I'm not sure where I stand on eggs (if you see what I mean). Debbie's garden is visited by what she calls a 'friendly fox' (I guess so as not to frighten her daughters) - we took advice and although there are some pretty good fox-proof hen houses on the market, the sad truth is that hens can die of fright if a fox menaces them, and that wouldn't be good at all. While we were talking, one of the ex-bats laid a 'soft-shell' - a rather nasty grey leathery proto-egg that the other hens started pecking to bits until it was hastily cleared away. Hmm. We trotted off to admire the amazing hen mansions with their slated roofs and turrets. I think my interest in hens will remain theoretical for a while yet.<br />
<br />
Had a quick look at the animals section but predictably it made me quite uncomfortable to see birds in cages. I think Debbie liked seeing the goats as her family had some when she was young, and I guess it would be OK for veggies to keep goats for milk and cheese, but even the white ones look a bit demonic to me. I hated seeing the pigs penned up, with half the crowd cooing over their cuteness and the other half sharpening their knives and firing up the sausage machine. As far as I'm concerned there's no earthly reason why pigs should be putting in an appearance at a show that's about edible gardens. What's edible about pigs?<br />
<br />
Grabbed a small but scarily solid goat's cheese pie for lunch on the hoof and scuttled back to the Experts Theatre where James Wong was about to reappear. This time he was talking about growing unusual spices and herbs. He's such an enthusiast, it was a joy to watch and I got quite a rush from being given so much interesting information all at once. I hope it's OK to share it...<br />
<br />
Saffron is, as we all know, a very expensive comodity, but it was grown in England from the thirteenth century to the early twentieth (hence Saffron Walden). Why did we stop growing it? Because the price of labour went up, and the cost of painstakingly harvesting the golden stamens from the saffron crocuses became prohibitive. That's not a problem if you grow your own - just a few bulbs will make you self-sufficient in saffron and once planted the flowers will continue to come up for something like fifteen years! James recommended a saffron martini - saffron is a mild antidepressant and slightly psychoactive so he reckons that mixing it into a cocktail is sure to lift your spirits. <br />
<br />
Carolina allspice (Calycanthus floridus) is a woody shrub with fantastic fragrant bark - you harvest a few twigs and leave them in the sun to dry, and the bark peels off. Apparently it's like a cross between cinnamon and allspice. Sushi ginger (Zingiber mioga) is completely hardy with pretty variegated leaves, and you use the pink flowers and shoots wherever you would normally use ginger. Studies are showing that it is very effective against nausea. And it's slug-resistant.<br />
<br />
Cardamon makes a lovely house plant, and rather than wait to harvest a handful of pods you can use the leaves in cooking. Chillis are quite well known as house plants but if you're a serious chilli fan you should plant a tree chilli (Capsicum pubescens) in your garden - they're hardy and huge. If you have room for big things, consider a Prickly Ash tree - and you'll soon be harevsting your own Szechuan peppercorns! Apparently the leaves are edible too - they taste like Thai Green Curry. Good heavens. <br />
<br />
True wasabi is expensive in the UK, with specialist Japanese stores selling roots for upwards of £50. A lot of what is marketed as wasabi is in fact good old horseradish with a bit of green colouring. It grows abundantly in Japan where, according to James, it is such a popular taste that it is even possible to buy white chocolate Kitkats flavoured with wasabi. It turns out that there's nothing much to stop us growing it here.It likes cold, damp conditions. It grows like a weed in Scotland, in fact it's on the invasive side. You can eat the leaves. That'll slow it down a bit.<br />
<br />
Hitting his stride, James told us about a plant that smells and tastes just like Coca-cola, and introduced us to Acmella oleracea, a pretty bedding plant whose flowers behave like popping candy in your mouth. Not sure how much use either of them would be in my kitchen, but it was interesting to hear about Stevia, a plant that is 300 times sweeter than sugar, with no calories at all. A single dried leaf can take the place of a cup of sugar in baking. It is only just commercially available in the UK after exhaustive testing. I'd like to try it. Could be revolutionary! We should also keep an eye out for Aztec Sweet Herb (Lippia dukis) which is 1500 times sweeter than sugar. It really makes you wonder why we aren't making better use of these things. Insert conspiracy theory here.<br />
<br />
The show emptied out quite suddenly and there wasn't much competition for front-row seats for a talk on home cheese-making. Now, I know a fair bit about cheese and how it is made, but I've never yet been tempted to have a go at making it from scratch. That's possibly because I'm not a big fan of cottage cheese or paneer - it's not something I particularly want to eat, or to invest much time in. Or to have dripping over my sink. If I could be equipped with the knowledge and skill required to make a decent cheddar, that might be different, but I have yet to be convinced that it's simple or even desireable to make a proper, tasty, firm cheese at home. Add to the mix the fact that I am generally moving away from eating dairy and I rarely buy milk unless we have visitors and I'm on tea-making duty, and you can see why my curiosity hasn't really been aroused. Paul Peacock and his wife made a valiant attempt to show the thinning crowd that it was possible to make cheese by adding some veggie rennet to a carton of milk and letting it sit around for a while, but it didn't really work. Lumpy milk turns my stomach - that's nature's way of stopping you from getting food poisoning. Hearing the presenters describe the consistency as 'like babysick' really didn't help. I don't know - it looked nasty but apparently Paul has written a book and there are lots and lots of perfectly proper cheeses you can make in your own kitchen. OK, I was a bit curious, but at the end of the day, I'm still inclined to leave it to the experts.<br />
<br />
The highlight of the show for me was James Wong - what a find he's turning out to be. Roll on the book and the inevitable overstretched TV series. I hope once James has told us about the strange and wonderful things we can grow, some other enterprising and gifted person will pop out of the woodwork and tell us how to make use of what we have grown...Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-59111844431987325252012-03-29T14:25:00.000-07:002012-03-29T14:25:43.069-07:00Feeling communalI'm in the middle of writing some features about breakfast. That's the theme of this year's National Vegetarian Week so it stands to reason we need to talk about breakfast in the mag. I've learnt some interesting stuff about the history - the evolution of bread, the arrival of tea and coffee in Britain, and the rise and fall of the lavish country house breakfast. Also about the Kellogg brothers and the various vegetarians who brought us the joy that is breakfast cereal. (I must be missing something.)<br />
<br />
And here I am, enjoying the morning sunshine with a cup of tea and some cold beans on toast. Shut up. It's a bit like pâté, can't you see? Only lumpier. Crushed haricots in a piquant spiced tomato jus. On Thomas bread. Which is not a distant cousin of Graham flour but the kind of horrific square white sliced goo that no respectable food writer should entertain, ever. But Thomas is in da house and Thomas bread is one of the five things he will eat. The others are plain pasta with nothing on it, oven chips, plain pancakes and, weirdly, whole boiled eggs, which you'd think would freak out most fussy eaters. Oh, and meat of any description, supplied by his mother, who presumably truly believes that it's doing him some good, although she's an intelligent woman and it's hard to understand how the grim facts about meat have slipped under her radar. Surely she's training him to eat meat because she thinks it's good for his health. Surely bloody-mindedness doesn't have anything to do with it. <br />
<br />
Anyway, let's not let the unpleasant thought of her spoil this sunny morning. (Take deep breath. Consider going indoors and looking in cupboards for dusty yoga mat. It's the thought that counts.)<br />
<br />
The Guild of Food Writers AGM went off well. As Secretary I have to deliver a report, which is a bit scary. We held it in a room in the Houses of Parliament, which added to the tension as it felt like a very big deal. It was fun telling people I was planning to make a speech in the House! In fact the room was in Portcullis House which is a very spiffy modern building with the biggest atrium I've ever seen. You can't get in without being x-rayed. I thought that was bad for you? What with the exposure to the rays I've had at the Vatican, the dentist and City Hall in San Francisco, where I had to be frisked and take a number before I could get married, I should think my exposure levels are getting dangerously high. Portcullis House also took a photo of me and insisted I wore it on a bit of cord around my neck. In case I forget who I am? That can happen.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the speech went off very well, Richard Ehrlich said he was impressed and Clarissa Hyman told me she was proud of me. Result! Then it was time for drinks and nibbles, which it turns out Parliament does rather well. I expect they do it a lot. Plenty for veggies and vegans including platters piled high with onion bhajis, spicy potato wedges and some dinky fruit kebabs with a dipping sauce which I failed to investigate because I wasn't sure I could maintain grace and decorum whilst prising pineapple chunks off a skewer with my prehensile lips. <br />
<br />
Once the speechifying is over, it's actually fascinating to find yourself in a room full of strangers who all write about food. We have something in common, but practically everybody has a specialism. I chatted to an academic who specialises in food history (checked out her views on breakfast, apparently people have been eating bacon and eggs for ages), another who writes about food-preparation devices and another who is a vivacious expert on Jewish cookery. Together, the Guild members are an amazing resource! <br />
<br />
Frankly, I was starting to feel a bit of a fraud last year when my regular magazine column (The Vegetarian Foodie) and my column in the local newspaper both fizzled out. I'm still the Editor of The Vegetarian magazine, which sounds as if it's about food but tends to branch into animal welfare and green living - which is good, but it's not doing much for my credentials as a food writer. The good news is that suddenly at the end of last year I somehow managed to get commissioned to write two cookery books, by two different publishers. Contracts are in place and now I'm over the initial euphoria, it's down to work. One of the books is a straightforward cookbook,with 365 vegetarian recipes divided by season. We started talking about it last autumn and decided that I should deliver the book in seasonal chunks, starting with autumn since at the time I was surrounded by inspiring autumnal produce. Now it's March and it feels all wrong to be cooking up things with pumpkins and pears when I should be into rhubarb and rocket by now. Still, the pace required is breath-taking. I'll be writing 90 or so winter recipes in April, and devoting May and June to Spring and Summer respectively, so eventually I'll catch up with myself. <br />
<br />
The other book is much more complicated and involves making contact with vegetarians and vegans all over the world and writing complete meal plans so that readers can create the kind of food typically enjoyed by vegetarians in various countries, with some confidence. I'm still tracking down useful contacts but PETA and the International Vegetarian Union have been a great help. Seems to me I ought to be using Twitter to find friends in foreign places but I'm still not all that savvy - although I'll soon be going along to a Guild of Food Writers workshop on using 'new media' so with a bit of luck that will give me a useful nudge. Anyway, it has been quite exciting watching my email in-box fill up with contacts from enthusiastic vegetarians and vegans who want to contribute to the project. Denmark, Brazil, Singapore, Canada, India, Thailand... It's a joy to 'meet' all these positive, healthy vegetarian cooks - and a lot of them have already published books of their own. I feel as if I'm joining a global community of vegetarian food writers! <br />
<br />
The sun has finally come around the side of the house next door, and I'm enjoying the short moment when it shines on me and my rickety decking before it disappears behind next-door's enormous trees. Suck up those rays. Pretty sure these are the good kind, I'm synthesising vitamin D like a thing possessed. Soooner or later I'm going to have to go back into the kitchen and work out exactly how I make the oven-baked 'risotto' that finds its way onto our table when there's not much in the house except rice and white wine. Overall I'd rather be inventing a salad on a day like this, but I'm not complaining. I hope I'm not tempting fate, but things feel pretty good today.Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-37564584516308032302012-03-27T06:08:00.000-07:002012-03-27T06:08:15.840-07:00Storming out of TeacupThe amiable chaos that was Teacup has gone. The satellite enterprise off Piccadilly Gardens, which I thought was an expansion and a daring excursion into slightly plebeian territory, turned out to have been a 'pop-up' cafe, but now it has deflated. Over at Thomas Street, the refurb seems to have wiped out the character of the place almost entirely. Where once were mismatched chairs, wierd bits of crockery and rickety tables, we now have fake homeliness on a grand scale. Row upon row of red-legged farmhouse tables, so lots of people can gather and pretend that they are families - although, interestingly, the place is emptier than I've ever seen it. The choice of music, antique blues, is too contrived and too samey. I want to hear a playlist compiled from a box of vinyl found under a table at a jumble sale. The menu is further from vegetarian than it once was, and spattered with depressing offers of artisan toast, and an 'ambient' salad. Since when has 'ambient' been a good thing on a menu?<br />
<br />
Studiously turning a blind eye to the new open kitchen, where somebody is dismembering a dead bird, G orders the usual veggie sausages and mash. They arrive, smartly arranged on a white plate, not bundled into a bowl in the time-honoured fashion. The sausages are smaller, in fact the whole thing is smaller, with not much more than a tablespoon of mash and a heaped teaspoon of red onion relish, on a puddle of thin gravy. Sob! What a tragedy! <br />
<br />
He was lucky. My de-luxe cream tea fails to arrive altogether. By this time thoroughly depressed by the general faux-boho ambiance, and also by the waitresses, who no longer look as if they're trying to earn a crust by helping out friends whilst working on their doctorates, and now come in various shades of orange with alarmingly vacant expressions, I'm inclined to leave without my scone, but G demands my rights. OK, it's heart-shaped, but it's not really huge. As for lashings of clotted cream, I'd call that more of a smear. The whole thing is as dry as dust and very cold. Is it 'ambient'? It's been in the fridge for ages. I wonder why it took them so long to get it out and stick it in front of me. I don't feel particularly grateful.<br />
<br />
What a crushing disappointment, it really feels as if the life's gone from this place. The Northern Quarter used to be a bolt-hole, a sanctuary for the broke and the quirky who didn't fit the Market Street mould, and didn't care. Manchester city centre is all style and no substance, and has been for years, and now the dead hand of the developer is starting to finger the Northern Quarter. You can't fool me - somebody's buying up the whole thing, giving it an authentic seventies style paint job, shrink-wrapping it, and trying to sell it back to us. Would madam care to purchase the bohemian look? My scone was nearly seven quid. A man walks past the window with a bag of chips. It looks like the sensible choice.Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-43829424057871370612012-03-09T04:14:00.000-08:002012-03-09T04:14:36.423-08:00Doing it justice<b>The Inspired Vegan</b><br />
<i>Bryant Terry<br />
<br />
</i><br />
Bryant Terry is an award-winning American vegan chef, and he styles himself as a <i>'food justice activist</i>'. This is a nice looking book in that popular squarish paperback format that just falls open in your hand, and immediately hooks you in. My copy opened at a recipe for grits with broad beans, fennel and thyme, with marginalia explaining how to shell broad beans, and suggesting a soundtrack of Robert Johnson's <i>Walking Blues</i>, and recommended reading too - <i>'Hammer and Hoe: Alabama Communists During the Great Depression</i>'. <br />
<br />
What did I learn from this? I thought, this looks like a book of traditional Afro-American home-style recipes, freshened up to please our modern tastes with some well-chosen fresh veg and herbs, and veganised. Not something I have seen before, and yes, I'm sufficiently intrigued to read more. I have seen soundtrack notes on recipes in several books now, and I still quite like it. It feels like a glimpse into the author's private world, a fly-on-the-wall view of their own kitchen (without suggesting for a moment that anybody has flies in their kitchen). Of course, you have to do the 'willing suspension of disbelief' thing and truly believe that they do listen to this music when they're cooking (or eating) - if you start to view all the musical choices through the eyes of a cynic, it'll ruin the whole book for you. <br />
<br />
I must say, I was less keen on being given further reading. It feels like homework, as if I need to be educated about things. Perhaps I do. Perhaps we all do. Made me want to do something a bit rebellious so I flicked to the section of colour pics. That's like eating your pudding before you've eaten up all your vegetables. But what a disappointment, the photos really aren't much good. Good job they're all in one place and not scattered through the whole book. They make everything look dark and dingy, when in fact these recipes are brilliantly colourful and zingy - but I'm getting ahead of myself.<br />
<br />
I'd normally move past the opening page of gushing praise snippets pretty quickly, but my attention was snagged by the top line, <i>'Props for Bryant Terry's The Inspired Vegan</i>'. I've never seen them called that before! Does the book need propping up? I'm duly notified that Bryant Terry is a culinary muse, whose great gift is to reconnect us with the radical joy that food brings, that the recipes are exuberant, healthful and playful, and that the book is <i>'incredibly dope</i>'. In the UK a dope is an idiot, it's a rather archaic term of abuse, and the word is also used to mean drugs, mainly cannabis/marijuana. Not sure how a book can be dope, let's find out. The last line of the 'props' says <i>'This book will stay on your kitchen shelves for years</i>.' I can't help thinking of it lurking up there, covered in dust and cobwebs (no flies in my kitchen, spiders eat them all. No, not really, honestly, my kitchen is lemon-fresh and as sparkly as the shake'n'vac lady).<br />
<br />
The contents pages show me that in this book, things are grouped into meal plans. Sometimes I resent that. Duh? Like, I know how to put a meal together? Starters first, am I right? However, in this case, I like it very much. This isn't the kind of food I am used to, I'm interested to see how it all fits together. I do sometimes also resent being given prescriptive formulae for food to be served during rather contrived gatherings of friends and family (maybe resent is too strong a word. Maybe it's the idea of the contrived gatherings that's upsetting me) - but again, for some reason I'm prepared to suspend disbelief and go along with it this time. I think the possibility of me presiding over a Crimson Cookout, with cherry sangria, beetroot tapenade crostini, strawberry gazpacho shooters, grilled aubergine, red onion and tomato open sandwiches, bright-black fingerling potatoes with fresh plum-tomato ketchup and raspberry-lime ice pops is very slim. Nevertheless, I'm enjoying the idea of it. What a culinary rave-up, under the dripping trees in my back garden! It would almost be worth painting the shed red, too. <br />
<br />
Into the Intro, and I'm bracing myself for the moral of the story. Bryant Terry is a campaigner for food justice. Whatever does that mean? <br />
<br />
First, he tells me about the foodie paradise he lives in, in California, with its health food stores, the 40,000 foot Whole Foods Market, and the Saturday Farmers' Market, with stalls from 44 local farmers, 30 speciality food producers and various local artisans. Get the picture? Living in Manchester is just so depressing. <br />
<br />
Then comes the bit that made me stare. A mile and a half away from this foodie paradise is another community, with some 30,000 mainly African American residents. No supermarkets. Fifty-three liquor stores. Often without cars, these people are forced to shop for their food at convenience stores which rarely offer any fresh fruit or veg. This is what Bryant Terry is upset about - areas of the United States where <i>'people are denied the basic human right to healthful, safe, affordable, and culturally appropriate food</i>'. He goes on to point out that these communities have some of the highest rates of obesity and diet-related illness in the world. He's on a mission to sort it out.<br />
<br />
A lot of vegans have political bees in their bonnets, and some of them are activists first, and cooks second. I love what they do, and long may it continue, but sometimes it feels as if the food is coming a poor second to the 'message', whatever it may be. But this guy knows food. He trained at New York's Natural Gourmet Institute and has been working as a vegan chef for ten years. Long enough to get really good, not so long that he's getting bored. It's obvious that he's still loving every minute of it. So, he starts the book with some basics - how to make stock, flavoured oils, spice blends, pesto... and this is thoughtful stuff, not just the same old routines. He puts white miso in his pesto! I'm guessing it delivers that savoury 'umami' flavour that traditionalists get from Parmesan. Got to try it. Lots of genuinely useful basics here, caramelised onion relish, oven-dried tomatoes, and a syrup made with raw cane sugar and cayenne that looks well worth adopting.<br />
<br />
Into the recipes and there are those grits, with sparkling rosemary-grapefruit water (there are loads of nice ideas for refreshing drinks in this book), paprika peanuts, wilted dandelion greens with hot garlic dressing, and a ginger molasses cake. It's all well explained, with little boxes of tips (how to get the skin off walnuts, sort of thing). Ah! I've finally found out what a Johnny Cake is. <br />
<br />
The menu plans are arranged by season, which is always good, and there are lots of fresh and inspiring new ideas in here. I was initially a bit surprised when the style veered away from African American and into Asian American, but it turns out that this is an integral part of the whole deal. Bryant is an African American and his wife is an Asian American - although that's possibly an over-simplification of the reason for his decision to include Asian dishes. It felt a bit strange at first, and I truly hate myself for even thinking it, but I did momentarily think that an African American might not be as good at at making Asian American food as an Asian American might be. Forgive my stupid preconceptions. This guy is a top-notch vegan chef and he turns his hand to all kinds of cooking with panache and aplomb. So we've got some curries that sound delicious, with sweet lassi and spicy chai, and later on some Mexican chocolate pudding, and then a whole Afro-Asian Jung Party! Making jungs looks fiddly, it's all about wrapping rice and veg in bamboo leaves. Have studied the recipe and accompanying diagrams and I'm still not sure if you are supposed to eat the bamboo leaves. (I've got bamboo in my garden, came through from next door, it's a menace. Doesn't look particularly edible but maybe it's delicious with a spot of spicy dipping sauce, in which case I may become delighted with its invasive tendencies.) I'm interested in the congee, although my attempt to sell it to G fell on rather stony ground. (<i>'If I cooked up rice until it fell to bits and then kind of mashed it up, do you think that would be nice?</i>' I guess I should have sweetened the pill by mentioning the ginger, and spinach, and caramelised onions. Might try it on him anyway. I think the gingered black sesame seed brittle would be well received...)<br />
<br />
Each menu plan comes with a couple of pages of window-dressing at the front. Some are more successful than others. Afro-American history isn't something I know all that much about and I enjoyed some of the little essays about the key people who have made a difference. It feels cruel to criticise, but the piece that precedes that amazing crimson cookout collection really made me cringe. I can't even write about it. Perhaps if I was a proper parent, and not just a wicked stepmother. Perhaps if I was a bit less British. Read it yourself. Or dodge it and just do the cooking. The recipes look fabulous. Any chance of fingerling potatoes at the Manchester Farmers' Market?Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-56197166657219009772012-02-29T12:14:00.000-08:002012-02-29T12:14:24.629-08:00Accidental or seasoned?<b>More from the accidental vegetarian</b><br />
Simon Rimmer<br />
<br />
<br />
My vegan ravioli fell to bits. Sob. All those hours of rolling and fiddling about with teaspoons of pumpkin and leek mash. I rolled the pasta too thin. Trying to be clever. Peeved, I leave the kitchen and contemplate a new arrival, <i>More from the Accidental Vegetarian</i> by Simon Rimmer. According to the cover, Simon is the vegetarian world's Jamie Oliver. <br />
<br />
Surprised to discover that this is not a hardback, and it made me wonder straight away whether I was behind the times and had missed the hardback version. Turns out this book was previously published as <i>Seasoned Vegetarian</i>, in 2009 - which would have come as a bit of a blow, if I had bought <i>Seasoned Vegetarian</i>...<br />
<br />
Happily, it's all new to me, so in I plunge. I like the cover (lots of roast tomatoes) - the fact that it reminds me of the cover of the first cookbook from The Gate vegetarian restaurant only indicates that I've got too many vegetarian cookbooks for my own good. Stands to reason there's bound to be a bit of repetition. I like the design (big, bold text, nice solid colours, competent photography) and I really like the way the recipes are subdivided - brunch, soups and salads, small platefuls, large platefuls, spicy platefuls, add ons and puddings. How very sensible.<br />
<br />
Into the recipes, and I'm liking it straight away. Sweet figs with ricotta on sourdough toast conjures up an implausible breakfast in bed scenario... nonetheless, it's a plausible use for my new bottle of sherry vinegar. The little bits of text with each recipe are quite jolly, but I stop short when Simon describes the white gazpacho as an inter-course. G informs me that Tom's gay uncle used to have great fun in restaurants, announcing to fellow diners that it was time for intercourse and then lighting up a cigarette. How we laughed. <br />
<br />
The salads look nice, no wild experimentation, not too much tramping over old ground. Broad beans with Manchego and mint (a combination chosen purely for alliterative reasons? Gouda and grapes? Brie and breadcrumbs? Edam and edamame? Cheddar and chips?), Stilton with black pudding (yes, the vegetarian sort, obviously), Pears with fennel, Smoked pistachios (and where am I supposed to get those in Manchester? Harvey Nicks?) with potatoes and artichokes. <br />
<br />
We arrive at Small Plates and I'm inexplicably pleased by the cheesy 'shortbread' with asparagus, and almost inspired by the Lancashire cheese souffles which apparently don't mind being frozen and reheated. Golly, just imagine how impressed visitors might be by my whipping out a souffle. I thought souffles were utterly unfashionable, but they seem to be making a reappearance in veggie restaurants and frankly, I'm enjoying them. Crumpets with rarebit! I found out about crumpet-making by accident when I tried to bodge up some pancakes with self-raising flour, been meaning to have a go at them in a more intentional way but haven't yet found the time. <br />
<br />
Continuing with the small plates and whilst I enjoy contemplating the deep fried blobs of soft goat's cheese, and the baked Caerphilly with pecans, it's becoming noticeable that there's a lot of cheese in this book! No attempt to label anything as vegan, which might be just as well because vegan pickings are a little bit thin on the ground here. Parmesan puts in the usual appearance and there's no attempt to cover up with a mushy disclaimer. Oh well. Maybe Simon knows better now, after all, these are recipes from a few years back. Or maybe he just doesn't care - after all, he's not actually a vegetarian himself... Still, there are directions for making your own paneer here, which gets my approval. And to be fair, he does really seem to be enjoying some slightly artisany, kinda regional cheeses, which is nice.<br />
<br />
<i>'The older I get, the more I love peas...'</i> Ah, must be my age then, I'm still failing to appreciate them much. <i>'There's nothing as versatile as the aubergine'</i> - hmm. Maybe this is an age thing too. Overall I'm still enjoying Simon's recipe intros and outros, but at times the colloquialisms ('shake it around', 'pop under the grill', 'shake it up like crazy', 'bash it on a work surface', 'a dollop of pate', 'a dollop of Piccalilli', 'a dollop of cobbler') start to grate a bit. A bit self-consciously Jamie? <br />
<br />
Into the Large Platefuls, and blow me if there isn't a recipe for squash ravioli. Well, it is, arguably, the best thing to to with squash. This one calls for 4 eggs and 9 egg yolks to make sufficient paste for 4-6, blimey. I'm still reasonably chuffed with my vegan pasta but maybe an eggy version would hold its nerve better when confronted with a rolling boil. Oops, Parmesan again.<br />
<br />
I'm not at all convinced by the beetroot gnocchi. Firstly, frankly, I really don't like the look of it. <i>'Pink fluffy clouds'</i>? Looks more like dentist's wadding, or something I've had surgically removed. Secondly, I'm growing impatient with recipe blurbs that say things like 'I love to let the kids help with this' or 'I love to knock up a plate of this late at night', or 'this is just a little something for chowing down on in front of the telly'... I don't believe a word of it. Nobody lives like that. Knocking up a plate of beetroot gnocchi to eat in front of Casualty is about as likely as me whipping out some half-baked souffles next time the neighbours pop in. <br />
<br />
Quite a few stews later, we reach the spicy stuff. That'll be curry, then. Ooh, spinach and prune stew! You know, I think that's almost worth trying. I can believe it works. Oriental Cottage Pie, nope, not for me. Potato pancakes with spiced beetroot, yes please. White chilli also looks well worth further investigation.<br />
<br />
Add-ons I guess is a section of side dishes. Green beans with vodka sounds like fun although Simon looks as if he is covering his back when he says they tend to be a bit grey... Fennel flatbreads, nice but I use a similar recipe which is either in Rose Elliot's <i>Veggie Chic</i> or Celia Brooks Brown's <i>Entertaining Vegetarians </i>(both are good). Simon's version includes grated root ginger and I have to admit that the little story that goes with the recipe, about the chefs at Greens using these to wrap around chips and chilli sauce for their lunches, made me smile.<br />
<br />
Carrot jam! Now you're talking! A possible contender for 'best thing to do with a carrot'. If I make anything out of this book, it'll likely be this. Seriously. <br />
<br />
And we've reached the puddings. Apple and elderflower cobbler, nice, ticks the 'home-grown/foraged', and 'traditional British' boxes. Doughnut bread and butter pud with butterscotch sauce looks like a challenger for my previously preferred version made with hot cross buns. Hate the phrase <i>'the tip with these monkeys'</i> used against the chocolate and hazelnut meringues, recipe blurbs should not, ideally, make you wince. But liked the blurb with the Stollen which points out that it's not just for Christmas and suggests serving it up with some Pimms whilst watching Wimbledon. 'A Load of Old Balls Cheesecake' is a chocolate cheesecake with profiteroles and choc sauce on top - well, why not. 'Very Naughty Baked Alaska' pimps up the usual recipe with liqueurs, chocolate brownies and chocolate ice cream. Looks like fun. Raisin, pistachio and honey cheesecake is a serious contender for best recipe in the book. Nearly at the end, and I ain't never seen an Eccles cake like that, but then, I may be in the north but I'm no northerner...Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-14789297897630968822012-02-20T03:55:00.000-08:002012-02-20T03:55:03.130-08:00Cordon Vert - teaching and learningEnjoyed two days at the Cordon Vert cookery school last week. On Friday I attended the Flavours of Spain course as a bit of a secret shopper - didn't want to reveal my tutor status to fellow students for fear of either intimidating them or being asked to demonstrate my knife skills... <br />
<br />
Ended up with a nice collection of Spanish veggie recipes including a really grown-up, simple, moist, buttery cake flavoured with aniseeds and a glug of Pernod. The classiest use for Pernod I've found yet. Never been keen to be around Pernod - the aversion probably dates back to when I was a student and my room-mate staggered home in the early hours with regurgitated Pernod and blackcurrant all down her front. Yum. If I can just keep that memory in its box, the cake is very nice. <br />
<br />
Also enjoyed a dish of baked rice with sundried tomatoes, chickpeas, fried potato slices and whole cloves of garlic. The garlic softens during cooking and each diner squeezes a clove onto their portion and mashes it in. Not as overpoweringly garlicky as I had feared and a nice bit of performance eating. Other highlights of the day included some croquettes with gooey cheese innards and some fantastic deep-fried aubergine slices topped with paprika, golden syrup and sea salt. Love it when I learn about new combinations like this - must be one of my top three things to do with an aubergine... <br />
<br />
How lovely to spend a few hours cooking new dishes with new people, with no pressure to perform, plenty of entertainment and some nice food at the end of it. Happy days. Next time I'll be teaching it.<br />
<br />
Back to the Cordon Vert Kitchen the very next day, this time in my chefs whites, to teach a vegan day. Pretty hectic! I managed to demonstrate some vegan pastry, vegan pasta, cheeseless pesto, a tomato sauce and a vegan mayonnaise in quick succession, students then picked up the reins and rustled up some cupcakes, pancakes, sweet creams and muffins before coffee break. Pancake wedges went down well over coffee with everybody declaring that Pancake Day (this coming Tuesday) would henceforth be vegan-friendly. <br />
<br />
Bit of a glitch when I discovered that my pasta sheets were too dry to put through the pasta machine, but it gave me a chance to point out that you don't necessarily need a pasta machine to make pasta - a rolling pin and a sharp knife will do the job at a push. After all, which came first, pasta or pasta machines? This gave rise to a discussion about kitchen gadgets and I was deeply impressed to hear of one student's soya milk machine. Apparently it looks a bit like a kettle? Naturally I want one. <br />
<br />
We settled down for a two hour cooking sesh after coffee, and between us we turned out a lovely light paella, some tofu meatballs, a very tasty 'quiche', a sweet and sour tofu dish and a very acceptable vegan cannelloni complete with freshly made pasta, vegan cheese sauce and vegan 'ricotta'. The cupcakes were iced, and a couple of chocolate cakes were knocked up. Took lots of pics before we ate lunch, will see if I can move them from my camera to my computer using sheer force of will. <br />
<br />
Nice days, nice people, nice food. Enough blogging, I feel the need to stuff some dried dates with cream cheese and lemon zest...Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4304257264125915904.post-8798254256593323112012-02-15T12:42:00.000-08:002012-02-15T12:42:43.868-08:00Hot Knives<b>The Hot Knives Vegetarian Cookbook: Salad Daze</b><br />
<br />
<br />
There are a few scenes in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid where they're being tracked by a posse of unknown but highly skilled bounty hunters. Butch and Sundance try every trick in the book to shake them off, but they just keep on coming, and, reluctantly, our boys are more and more impressed. Squinting at the cloud of dust on the horizon, they keep trying to make out who the riders are, and asking each other, 'Who <i>are</i> those guys?'<br />
<br />
So, Hot Knives. Who <i>are</i> those guys? Never heard of them, and yet suddenly here they are, with not one but several books, a defunct radio show and a blog that apparently has cult status in Oregon. A pair of geeky, bearded, checked-shirted, youngish men who recommend a different beer and a different (and rather noisy) soundtrack for each recipe. Not vegans. Not particularly interested in healthy living. There seems to be some deep-frying going on, and they're not ashamed to enjoy cheese in public. And they know their cheeses. We're talking about the serious stuff. <br />
<br />
And they betray a rather educated interest in drugs. (What's that young man on the back cover up to? No, not the one with the hip flask, the one with the lighter... ooer.) Tried to find out more about them online and ended up watching an instructive video on YouTube about hot knives, which turns out to be a method of taking drugs. Heavens, I hope that doesn't show up on my browsing history. And the language! <i>'Should we try frying the capers?' 'Oh fuck yes.'</i> Gosh, they are enthusiastic. There's more unrepeatable language in this book than in any other cookbook I've seen, and I've seen a few. Phew, what a scorcher. Putting the crude into crudités? I'll say.<br />
<br />
So we've established that I'm well out of my comfort zone. (And as my sado-masochistic self-styled pervert of a father-in-law pointed out shortly before his theatrical and much applauded death, Jane doesn't like to be outside her comfort zone. Damn right.)<br />
<br />
Bundling my courage into both of my tiny fists, I selotape the book into a plain brown wrapper and venture to read the recipes. First impression - they look amazing, inspired. Second impression - they look intense, loaded with complications. What certain men like to do in garages or garden sheds (is it called tinkering?), these two are doing in the kitchen. I'll bet they're in there for hours, drinking and dancing about, making a hell of a mess and cutting their fingers off and laughing like drains. <br />
<br />
These are recipes for people who get more fun out of cooking than they do out of eating. Frankly, I'm amazed by some of this stuff. 'Magic shroom dust' is their antidote to bacon, what they call the 'gateway meat' that so often lures plant eaters 'back into the blood'. Oyster mushrooms are torn, tossed with olive oil, smoked salt, black pepper, smoked paprika and maple syrup, and baked to a crisp. Then they're blitzed with some toasted pumpkin seeds, and the crumbs go back into the oven to achieve serious crispitude. Blimey, move over, Bacos. <br />
<br />
The 'Seven Layer Trip' involves cooking pinto beans with chillies and making a layer of them in a bowl. Then making a cheese sauce (with chillies) and putting a layer of that on top. Then making a fresh tomato salsa (with chillies) and adding a layer of that. Then slicing some avocados, mixing them with mandarin juice and olive oil, and adding a layer of that. Then putting some creme fraiche (which naturally you've made yourself), some chopped spring onions and coriander, and a handful of the aforementioned magic shroom dust on top. This is supposed to be something you might nibble casually whilst sitting in front of the Superbowl. Honestly, however long would that take to make? But, to be fair, I think I'd be pretty pleased to find it in my lunchbox. If I had a lunchbox. If I found their Psychedelic rice in there, I'd be inclined to hide it. Forbidden rice, red quinoa, beetroot, pistachios, that other-worldly looking Romanesco broccoli and a kiwi gremolata? Yup, it's making my head spin. <br />
<br />
There's a lot to take in, here, and I can't help feeling a bit overwhelmed, as if I've stumbled into the wrong sort of party and accidentally inhaled. I was expecting a book about salads. Turns out that <i>'any fresh veg that doesn't take the back seat to rice, noodles and cheese fries we consider salad'.</i> OK then. <br />
<br />
<i>'We're still nerds who just wanna work on our kitchen tricks in dirty cut-offs while drinking lukewarm twelve-percent-alcohol ales - and try to find some time to write about the new and fucked up things we've conjured up to do with vegetables. Prime your gullets, say a prayer, and celebrate our Sabbath with us.'</i><br />
<br />
I bow to their awesome obsession. I've never before witnessed this level of kitchen-based fetishism in the generally placid and modest world of Vegetaria. They're capering devils. We may need to call in an exorcist. But let's get them to write down a few more recipes first.Jane Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00603313801487498153noreply@blogger.com0