A ‘Pick Me Up’ for Hard Times

There is something about Easter and chocolate, isn’t there? Cadburys apparently made over 477 million chocolate eggs and probably the same amount of chocolate bunnies and I am sure Lindt and other manufacturers did something similar. In Belgium, the self proclaimed chocolate centre of the world (!), chocolatiers were declared essential workers in an otherwise locked down economy and chocolate bunnies were adorned with white chocolate face masks. bunEaster alone here in Perth without family, grandchildren and friends for lunch was no excuse for not indulging myself so I decided to treat myself to a slow roasted leg of lamb, creamy mashed potatoes and minted peas followed up by a fancy dessert.

Nearly a quarter of a century before – yes, really that long ago – two of my students were junior chefs from the Italian part of Switzerland and one night during a Sinners and Saints party at my place, they made a tiramisu and scribbled the recipe down which I recently discovered among old papers.

Anyway, for those that don’t know (or care), Tiramisu (Pick me up, in Italian) is a light, coffee flavoured dessert and is as classic an Italian dish as Spaghetti Bol, or Pizza Quattro Staggione or Saltimboca or … whatever.

I had tried the recipe a few months ago when I was having my son and daughter around for a Sunday lunch but it was a complete disaster, everything curdled and the resulting mess was soggy and unappetising. This time would be different, I swore, and the secret? Seperate the egg yolks from the whites and beat each separately! Simple as that!

OK, Ingredients firstIMG_3523

  • 5 eggs – all I had left in the fridge as my chickens have taken a break from laying
  • 500g mascarpone ( a light cream cheese, similar to Philadelphia but much nicer)
  • 6 dessertspoons of fine caster sugar
  • double shot of espresso coffee
  • l packet of Savoiardi sponge (lady) fingers
  • a scoop of Nutella
  • a double shot of Tia Maria coffee liqueur
  • a bar of dark chocolate, melted
  • …and a dusting of cocoa powder on top

IMG_3521First off, make the coffee. I made a double espresso and then ‘cooled’ it down by adding a double shot of Tia Maria. Next, separate the eggs, and place the egg whites in one bowl, and the egg yolks in another. I broke each egg into my hand and sort of dribbled the albumen from hand to hand and plonked the yolk into another bowl. I wasn’t able to keep them completely separate as I managed to leak a spot of yolk into the whites making them very difficult to beat, according to what my mother used to say!IMG_3524

Add 3 dessertspoons of sugar, whizzed in the blender to make it extra fine, to the egg white bowl and use an electric beater to whip the egg whites to stiffish peaks. Hopefully, after a couple minutes of whipping, the egg whites will start to thicken, in my case, barely, because of the drop of yolk, but I didn’t want to over whip the whites.IMG_3526

Set the stiff egg whites aside, and switch over to the egg yolk bowl. Add 3 more dessertspoons of sugar to the egg yolks and beat this for a couple minutes, until it goes from bright to a pale yellow.

Mix in the mascarpone and the Nutella IMG_3529(I used all that was left in the jar, but use as much as you want, and then mix thoroughly with the electric beater again before gently folding in the stiff egg whites, as slowly as possible.IMG_3530

Place the espresso and the Tia Maria (use any spirit your like – Sambuca, rum, brandy or nothing at all) in a small bowl, and then dunk each of the sponge fingers in the coffee and booze mixture for literally a second or two or the biscuits can become too soggy, (I like to see a dry core inside the finger when I break it in two), and lay a layer of them in the serving dish. IMG_3532Then pour a layer of the mascarpone mixture to cover them. IMG_3533Lay another layer of biscuits on top of that and cover again with the mascarpone. I threw the broken bits of dark chocolate into a small bowl in the microwave to melt and then dribbled the melted choc over the creamy mixture before adding a finely sieved spoonful of raw cacao powder over the lot. IMG_3536Bang it into the fridge and leave it for a few hours to sets as this lets the layers soak into each other and allows the mascarpone cheese and everything else firm up.

When cut into squares later, it should be fairly set, certainly not runny or goopy (like my first disastrous attempt).

IMG_3538Cheers!

Dublin Coddle and other Irish Staples

IMG_3486

Well, it is that time of year again – Saint Patrick’s Day – March 17 – and for those who don’t know, Saint Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, who, it is believed, brought the Christian faith to the far flung western isle 1,588 years ago.

Celebrating everything Irish all over the world with parades, music and food, this year the Irish Government has formally cancelled all parades and public gatherings in the interest of public health and safety due to the coronavirus pandemic. A similar thing happened nineteen years ago when the annual parade was cancelled due to the outbreak of the highly infectious foot and mouth disease.

As usual, St. Patrick’s Day occurs halfway through the Christian Lenten period before Easter – a time traditionally when many practising Christians would voluntarily give up something – as kids it might have been lollies, sweets and candies, later as adults, cigarettes, milk in the tea or coffee,  alcohol and so on. But then along comes St. Patrick’s Day (yippee!) and all bets are off. Recognised by the church as a holy day of obligation, the feast day had a special dispensatory clause which allowed all fasting people to resume their ‘vice’ for that day only – hence the widespread popularity of the day which led to widespread drunkeness and debauchery in some cases! Not that I know anything about that, of course.IMG_3467

Anyway, in honour of my country’s patron saint, I have decided to cook some traditional Irish food – Dublin Coddle and Irish Soda Bread which, when eaten together and washed down with a Guinness is about as Irish as I can get in this scary, pandemic time.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day 2020 to everyone!

Dublin Coddle

Ingredients

I kg. Good pork sausages

2 Tbsp. Of oil

450 g bacon rashers, roughly chopped

2 large onions sliced thickly

2 cloves of garlic, crushed

2 carrots sliced thickly

4 large potatoes, sliced thickly

Black pepper to taste

Chopped parsley

Bunch of fresh herbs – rosemary, thyme, sage

375 (at least) ml dry cider

3 Tbsp. plain flour

Method

  • Put the flour into a strong plastic bag and season with salt and pepper.  Cut the sausages into thirds and then dip into the seasoned flour.IMG_3472
  • Heat the oil in a thick-based pan and quickly seal the floured sausages in the hot oil for about three minutes.  Remove and set aside.IMG_3474
  • Soften the onions and crushed garlic in the oil for a further 5 minuteIMG_3470s.
  • Put the sausages, chopped bacon, onion and garlic in a large pot with the sliced potatoes and carrots.  Tie the herbs together (use any herbs available or in, desperation, use ½ tsp. of mixed, dried herbs) and cover the lot with the dry cider.IMG_3476
  • Bring to a point of boiling and then reduce the heat to a very gentle simmer for at least an hour, or until the vegetables are cooked but not mushy.
  • Serve in deep bowls and garnish with chopped parsley.  Accompany with draught Guinness and homemade soda bread.

(serves 6)

Irish Soda BreadIMG_3477

Spread generously with butter and thick strawberry jam, Irish Soda bread evokes childhood memories of summer when the weather was so hot that the tar on the road would bubble.  We’d put used ice-pop sticks into the tar and then chase each other around, trying to smear the tar on each other, knowing that whoever got smeared would be in trouble with their mum that night.  Anyway, I digress…

Ingredients – Basically divided into two types – Wet and Dry ingredients.

Dry

3 cups of wholegrain flour

1 cup of plain flour

1 level tsp. of Bicarb of Soda

½ tsp. of Salt

1 tsp. of wheat germ*

1 tsp. of crushed bran

WET

1½ cups of buttermilk (500 ml)

2 Tbsp. Of oil.

1 egg

Method

  • Sieve together all the dry ingredients into a large bowl.  Go easy on the Bicarb of Soda – less is more in this instance! By sieving the ingredients, a finer mix is achieved as well as adding air to the mixture. * I didn’y haver any wheat germ so I used two teaspoons of chia seeds instead.IMG_3479
  • In a separate bowl, mix all the wet ingredients.
  • Add the wet to the dry. IMG_3480The mixture should be fairly sticky, so mix using a a flat bladed knife or a wooden spoon initially and then use your hands to make a smooth dough.IMG_3482
  • Turn it into a greased baking tin to get a loaf shape, or more traditionally, shape the dough into a flattish round shape and then make a deep cross cut in the dough.  Sprinkle with a handful of plain flour and put in the middle tray of the oven (gas 200) for about 55 minutes.
  • Turn out onto a wire rack to cook.  Eat while still warm if possible.

IMG_3485

(serves 6)

Quiche (Lorraine?)

I haven’t had a quiche for literally decades – one of my friend’s girlfriends used to make delicious ones – so on a whim I bought a smoked salmon quiche at a trendy and fashionable market recently. God, it was worse than awful in that it put my wife – who had never had a quiche before – right off the whole idea of the dish, when I suggested making one for the weekend.

I decided to do it from scratch, making my own pastry and only adding cheese and a few shallots to the traditional Quiche Lorraine which is made only with bacon, eggs and cream/crème fraiche.IMG_2784

This was no longer going to be a quiche lorraine in the purist sense because of the cheese and two shallots I found in the cupboard that I wanted to use up. I am neither French nor in Lorraine and as far as I am concerned, national dishes are allowed to develop once they escape from their country of origin.

For those who have no idea of what I am talking about, a quiche is an open-faced pastry pie with eggs, cream and lardons or bacon cubes. Of course there are endless variations with onion and garlic adding a more savoury flavour while added mature cheddar or a gruyère can be called, to keep the French flavour, a quiche au fromage, if you like. Add spinach and it becomes a quiche florentine, chuck in a few tomatoes and it becomes quiche provençale, throw in a handful of mushrooms and it is a quiche aux champignons.

Shocked by the amount of cream used in this recipe – the ultimate in cookingIMG_2785 extravaganza? – I must admit it is not something I often use or buy. On the rare occasions when I do, for a luxurious Irish Coffee or some special occasion, I would feel vaguely guilty. But I remember, as a child, we always used to have cream, along with butter and eggs and potatoes and buckets of milk and it was all considered healthy. However, you can, if you like, use milk instead but you will be missing out, I assure you, on the rich succulence that only cream can provide.

IMG_2788So, to work! I threw the flour, the cubed butter and the egg yolk into my aged food processor and dribbled in four spoonfuls of cold water as the processor grunted and heaved its way through the dough. I bundled out not quite coarse ‘breadcrumbs’ onto a floury board and gave it a bit of a knead before forming it into a rough ball which I wrapped in cling film and put in the fridge to ‘set’ for thirty minutes or so.IMG_2790

Using a wooden rolling pin, (I immediately thought of Andy Capp’s wife, Florrie, her hair in rollers, behind their front door, tapping a rolling pin IMG_2793meaningfully into her hand as she waited for her sot of a husband to come home) I rolled the pastry out as thinly as I could before lifting the sheet up carefully and draping it over a round baking tin.

I trimmed the edges of overhanging pastry and squashed a sheet of baking paper down on top of the pastry, filling the entire tin. I didn’t have any baking stones so I used a handful of rice and IMG_2797spread that evenly over the baking paper before putting the lot into a 180 degree C oven for about 10 minutes. After that, I removed the paper and rice – didn’t spill any, either! – and put the pastry tin back in the oven for another ten minutes.

IMG_2799While that was baking, I chopped up two small shallots and tossed them into a pan with a spoonful of oil – I had no more butter, having used it all for the pastry. After the shallots softened a bit, I tossed in the cubed bacon and stirred it around for a while before leaving it for ten minutes or so.

Just in time I remembered to take the pastry tin out of the oven – a lovely golden hue and a slightly darker crust – and left it to cool slightly.IMG_2802

While the bacon and shallots were braising, I broke four eggs into a jug, added the leftover white from the first egg and then spooned in a substantial glop of the crème fraiche, although I actually used some type of cooking cream, and then several generous glugs of fresh cream and a good pinch of freshly ground nutmeg before giving it all a good whisk. By that time, the bacon bits and shallots were ready so I tipped them out onto kitchen paper to drain a bit and grated up two large handfuls of gruyère. Scattering the bacon mixture and the grated cheese into the empty piecrust, I poured my eggy-creamy mixture on top of the lot, filling the piecrust 3/4 full.

IMG_2807I pulled out the oven rack and gently lowered the nearly filled pie tin down before topping it up with the rest of the creamy egg sauce. That way, I didn’t slop any on the floor while banging the lot into the oven at 180 degrees C.

I took a look at it after about 20 minutes and it looked gorgeous but still runny so I gave it another ten minutes. Even then, it was still soggy in the middle so I put it back for a further 15 minutes, took it out and, third time, it seemed perfection … until I tried to get it out of the baking tin. IMG_2811Note to self: next time use one of those baking tins where you can push up from beneath the bottom.

Using a spatula and a wooden spoon, I managed to heave it out, almost unbroken, onto a plate and then … what’s the word for ‘heaven’ in French?IMG_2812

Hmmm, what am I going to do with the leftover fresh cream? Maybe … a coffee?

 

 

Ingredients (for the pastry)

175g / 6oz plain flour

100g / 4oz cold butter, cubed

1 egg yolk

4 spoons of cold water

Ingredients (for the filling)

150g bacon bits (or lardons if you can get them from a deli)

2 small red shallots, chopped finely,

50g / 2oz Gruyère

200ml / 7 fl oz cream

200 ml crème fraiche or cooking cream

4 full eggs plus the white left over from the yolk used in the pastry

Pinch of ground nutmeg.

 

 

 

Noonday Sun* Chilli Jam

img_2611Almost without my noticing it, the chilli plant in the outdoor bed was suddenly flooded with brilliant red, small Birdseye chillies. I had no real idea of how hot they might be as they got watered whenever the others – sage, basil, rosemary, marjoram and parsley – got a soaking. Too much water reduces the chilli heat, while too little kills the other, thirstier, plants. The Scoville Scale was developed to measure the heat of ‘peppers’ ranging from zero for a capsicum to 2.2 million for some chillies! And one part capsaicin – the thing that makes chillies hot – per million equals about 15 Scoville units!

Keep it simple for crying out loud! It reminds me of the former currency in Italy – my first ever time being a millionaire yet living hand-to-mouth at the same time. Ridiculous!

With last year’s crop, I froze most of them and used them continuously over the course of the year but I still had loads left. Now, with this new bumper crop, as it were, I was a bit overwhelmed until I thought of chilli jam.

Anyway, when I actually got around to picking the chillies, I ended up with about 225g.

img_2613Rooting around in the cupboards and fridge, I came up with garlic, shallots, and ginger, fish sauce, vinegar, cherry tomatoes, and even a few capsicums and a smallish knob of ginger. There was also a half empty jar of roasted peppers and the only thing I had to buy was a jar of Tamarind paste.

I found an assortment of glass jars and gave them a good soapy wash before putting them into a 200-degree oven to dry and sterilize. You could use the dishwashers instead, if you had one. I also stuck a small saucer in the freezer, remembering something my mum used to do when she made marmalade.img_2625

I chucked the capsicum, the chillies, garlic, shallots and ginger along with more than half of the sliced cherry toms into a processor, dribbling in the fish sauce at the same time. I had to do it in batches, as my processor thingy is not very big.

Anyway, I ended up with this and I still had the sugar, vinegar and the tamarind paste, and, on a sudden whim, I decided to include raw cacao powder – chilli and chocolate? Why not?img_2618

I brought all the liquid stuff to the boil very slowly, stirring to make sure all the sugar dissolves fully and then added all the pureed chilli mix and the remaining cherry toms, along with their juice. I brought the lot up to a hard, roistering boil for ten minutes or so before reducing the heat to a gentle simmer. After about 45 minutes,img_2621

I tried my mum’s tip and carefully poured a spoonful of the chilli goo onto the saucer from the freezer, waited a minute and then pushed my finger into the goo, leaving a visible furrow behind indicating that the jam was ‘set’.img_2624

I turned off the heat and carefully removed the baked hot glass jars from the oven and put them on a mat. I ladled the chilli jam into a small jug and carefully filled the jars.

While still hot, I covered the tops with several layers of tinfoil and screwed the lids on tight and waited for the jars to cool down.

img_2628The next morning I lightly toasted some sourdough bread and then slathered on my new jam and the first bite … the sensation is instantaneous – my mouth floods with flavour, no part is untouched. A sourness – the tamarind, the vinegar? – along with the sweetness and the mellowness of the capsicum and cherry toms overlay the pleasing heat of an enjoyable burn, much like a aged Scotch, rolling around the mouth and between the teeth and over the roof, before extending its pleasurable warmth down the throat while the whole sensations lengthens and extends, the lips glowing in appreciation.

Wow! There you are.

We had chicken that night and I slathered on the jam again, making the meal irresistible. What’s not to like about it – you can use it with any meat, fish, fried or otherwise, mixed with rice, poured on pasta, spread on bread, stuffed into mushrooms, filled into pies, added to dhal, spicing up the soup, the list is … well not endless, but you know what I mean.

It has certainly changed my mind about breakfast – delicious on poached eggs, or an avocado half filled with jam or with crispy bacon or … see what I mean?

For measurements and capacities, see below but it wouldn’t matter, much, if more or less is used.

180g Birdseye chillies, washed and trimmed 200ml Vinegar – I used Red Wine but Apple Cider or any Vinegar would be fine.
8 – 10 cloves of garlic 3 – 4 Tablespoons Fish Sauce
2 red capsicum, cleaned and chopped 3/4 cup of dark brown sugar / 130 g
6 large shallots, chopped 4 Tablespoon of Raw Cacao
750g cherry tomatoes 3 – 4 Tablespoons Tamarind paste
Thumb size piece of ginger Salt, if desired. I actually forgot.

If I had to guess, I’d say – on the scale of 0 – 2,200,200 my Noonday Sun (moderate climate) would be about 19,530, so fairly low, I suppose.

* I have always liked the line

‘Hot chilli peppers in the blistering sun…’

in Bob Dylan’s outlaw song, Romance in Durango and I wanted to call my jam after it but ‘blistering’ didn’t quite suit so I came up with the more moderate ‘noonday sun’!

Ratatouille

A (very) long time ago, when I was a student, I ended up working nights in a small French, basement restaurant in Leeson Street in Dublin – La Belle Epoque. I have no recollection of either how I got the job – dishwasher à la kitchen hand and general dogsbody- or retained it for most of the academic year because the restaurant never seemed to have any customers. Jack, one of two full time chefs, said something about the previous owners not having paid their telephone bill so the service was suspended and the new owners – my employers – refused to pay the outstanding charges. So, no phone and hence no reservations and the only customers we used to have were the very occasional punters dropping in on the off chance and, sometimes, the music group Dubliners and that was only because Jack, I think, was one of their mates.

Anyway, among other delights, like unlimited access to ice cream sorbet and gargantuan meals that the chefs would prepare every night – for themselves and the other staff – I fell in love with a simple, rustic-style vegetable dish – ratatouille that always seemed to be available.

Years passed and it slipped, like so many other things, from my memory until recently, travelling along the south shore of the Black Sea, I came across variations on a theme and fell in love with it all over again.

Back home I made it myself for the first time but my wife was aghast at the amount of olive oil I used and I may very well have been a little bit heavy handed there, I admit.

Anyway, jump to the present and, foolishly perhaps, after a sustained and concentrated boozy December, I decided to abstain from all alcohol for the month of January and while I was considering the difficulties that might impose upon me, I thought I might as well go the whole hog and become vegetarian for the month as well, in addition to submitting myself to some form of daily exercise – it is summer here after all and the beach is only a few kilometres from where I live. Anyway, casting around the other day, bored and listless – Day 10 alcohol free – I decided to cheer myself up with a succulent dish of summery vegetables of eggplant, zucchini, capsicum and tomato.

Taking advantage of my wife’s temporary absence I commandeered the kitchen and all the paraphernalia I would need and decided to cook the vegetables separately first, then combine them to cook to a glorious creamy stew.img_2568

Ingredients

Extra virgin olive oil,

1 large eggplant, roughly diced,

5 garlic cloves, chopped,

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper,

2 zucchini, sliced into rounds about as thick as a doubloon or a sovereign (!),

2 large onions, diced,

4 red capsicums, roughly diced,

1 kg tomatoes, seeded and chopped,

1 400g can of tomatoes,

Bunch of thyme, parsley and basil, chopped,

1 Tablespoon of sugar

img_2570I decided to cook the veg separately. But, as an alternative to frying the eggplant, which would soak up a huge amount of oil, I decided to toss the diced eggplant in a little oil in a plastic bag and then spread it in a single layer under a very hot grill to brown, before tipping the lot into a large bowl.img_2579

img_2574I heated a generous splash of oil in a heavy-duty casserole dish over a low heat and lightly fried the chopped garlic along with a generous sprig of rosemary. I scooped out 2/3 of the garlic and discarded the rosemary before adding the zucchini and sautéing until tender, then added it to another bowl.img_2575

Next up, I returned the pan to the heat and added just a splash more oil, another third of the garlic, and sautéed the onion, and capsicum until tender. Once again I dumped the lot into a dish as before. By this stage I had too much stuff for my casserole dish so I img_2587combined all the cooked vegetables into a large pot and added the seeded and chopped tomatoes along with a tin of toms which I whizzed in the blender before simmering the lot gently for about 1½ hours. Remove from the heat, taste for seasoning and stir in the chopped basil. I also used dried thyme and marjoram as I had forgotten to pick up some fresh stuff.

img_2591Serve with a soft-boiled poached egg, so the yolk can anoint the delicious vegetables.

As I mentioned, I seem to have made rather a lot but leftover ratatouille has many possibilities – fill a long, crusty bread roll with it or slather it on a slice of sour dough toast. A small amount of ratatouille makes a lush filling for an omelette or scrambled eggs along with some chopped pitted black olives and a little fresh goat’s cheese or coarsely grated Parmesan. Yum-oh!

Braised Duck with Ginger

I thought I would take a break from my recent attempts at Caucasus cuisine and do something different. I get a bit tired of chicken so I recently bought a duck – a first for me. I could have just bunged the whole thing in the oven, I suppose, but I decided to go down this rather lengthy process of braising the brute and then actually cooking it, hoping it would cut some of the fat for which duck is notorious.

IMG_2286Someone, I don’t remember who, once told me that duck can have an unpleasant back flavour if not cleaned and prepared properly and the best way to prevent this is to rub the bird all over, inside and out, with grated ginger before giving it a good wash, so that is what I did, leaving it smothered in grated ginger root over night because I didn’t have time to deal with it then.

The next thing to do was cut it up into pieces, legs and wings gave me four pieces plus the actual body which I hacked rather clumsily into four pieces, which along with the neck, gave me a total of 9 largish pieces.IMG_2288

Heat some oil – I used rice bran – in a large pan and braise the duck pieces for about 7 minutes on each side. Because the pieces were quite large, I could only fit three or four pieces in the pan each time so the whole process took about three quarters of an hour.

IMG_2293I drained the duck pieces on kitchen paper and then poured off most of the oil into an old tin can and then peeled and julienned a decent size lump of ginger and stir-fried that in the remaining hot oil until fragrant.

While that was happening, I mixed about 500ml IMG_2294of boiling water with the fish sauce and sugar along with the ground white pepper. I chucked in a few small red chilies from a plant in the garden, not knowing how hot they might be so I only used about 4 small whole ones, seeds and all.

I put the duck pieces into a large pot on top of the julienned ginger and then poured the water, fish sauce, white pepper, salt and sugar on top, turned the heat up and brought the lot to a simmer before banging a lid on the pot and letting it gently simmer away for half an hour or so.

IMG_2297I took the lid off and continued to simmer for another 30 minutes or so until the sauce reduces.

Drain the duck pieces and transfer to a serving plate, and decorate with some (more) red chilies and a handful of parsley, celery or coriander leaves (whichever you have handy). Serve on a bed of white rice and drizzle some of the ginger sauce over the duck.IMG_2301

 Ingredients

1 Duck – about 2.5 kg.

A knob of ginger about the size of your thumb, grated.

2 Tablespoon oil.

2 Tablespoon fish sauce.

1 Tablespoon sugar.

1 Teaspoon of ground white pepper.

1 Teaspoon of salt.

500 ml boiling water.

Some red chilies, at least one but as many as you like.

Another knob of ginger peeled and cut into thin strips.

 

 

Lobio

I suppose every country in the world has some sort of national dish – Ireland – Irish Stew; England – Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pud; Italy – Spag Bol; USA – Hamburger & Fries; Germany – Wurst mit Mayo; Turkey – Lentil Soup (though not quite sure if that is the national dish and in Georgia – the country, not the state in the US – all the restaurants in Tbilisi and wherever else I went, seemed to serve Lobio Nigvzit – a hearty bean stew in a small clay pot. (Apologies to anyone who feels I have misrepresented their national dishes above)

IMG_2256Lobio is, at its most basic, just a thick stew of mashed beans with some or all or the following ingredients – fresh coriander, walnuts, garlic, onions,pomegranate molasses, fresh parsley or celery leaves, mint, chilli flakes, roasted whole coriander seeds, but it can be upgraded with bacon, beef, cheese etc. Here’s my take on the basic – feel free to add extras as you wish, but a word of caution, without any of the extras, it is still a deeply satisfying dish

Ingredients

1 mug of red kidney beansIMG_2241

1 cup walnut halves or pieces, finely ground

5 cloves garlic, minced

3 bay leaves

1 cup finely chopped coriander or flat-leaf parsley, dill, basil, celery greens

1 large, brown onion finely chopped

* 1/4 mug pomegranate molasses or red wine vinegar

 

1 tablespoon ground coriander, or to tasteIMG_2260

1 teaspoon ground thyme

2 teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste

1 teaspoon smoked paprika or to taste

Method

Soak the beans, preferably overnight, in cold water but at least for several hours. I used one mug full of red kidney beans and covered them with buckets of water and they had pretty much doubled in size by the next day.

Drain the beans and cover with fresh water, add a few bay leaves and bring to a brisk boil before lowering the heat and letting the beans simmer while you chop onion and the fresh herbs finely.IMG_2258

When the beans are soft but still have distinct texture, add some salt and continue cooking until the beans are softer. Adding the salt too early can keep the beans from becoming tender. IMG_2261Drain but keep back some of the liquid and use the back of a wooden spoon, or a potato masher, to mash the beans on the side of the pot. Remember to remove the bay leaves.

Pound the parsley, garlic,fresh and ground coriander, chilli, thyme and smoked paprika and whole mixed pepper corns in a mortar and pestle. I could find the pestle only and not the mortar so I used my mum’s old food processor, a Moulinex MasterChef 350, which I helped myself to when she was in hospital one time when I was back visiting. My sister assured me that our mum would not be using it again and that I would get better use out of it. And I do. It’s ancient but it still does the job!

Add the pounded or whizzed ingredients to the ground walnuts, also whizzed, and stir well with the pomegranate molasses before adding to the beans.IMG_2262

IMG_2259Fry the chopped onion until golden and add to bean mix. Heat and thoroughly stir in reserved cooking liquid from the beans for desired consistency. Garnish with a few leftover parsley or corainder leaves, or whatever you have!

* pomegranates are a fairly new thing fro me and certainly the pomegranate molasses was a major new addition to my pantry. Tangy and sweet and sour, I bought it in a Middle Eastern style grocery but if you can’t find it, red wine vinegar can be used, I suppose. Incidentally, the pomegranate molasses is lovely mixed with sparkliing water for a really refreshing – and different – drink.

Variation: add chorizo, bacon or yoghurt

Mercimek Çorbasi (lentil soup)

From fancy seafood restaurants nestled in picturesque fishing villages on the Black Sea to a simple local lokanta “a greasy spoon,” in any town I went to in Turkey, the soup was always the same, even if the menu suggested asking a waiter about the Soup of the Day. Inevitably it was lentil soup served with a wedge of lemon on the side along with a bowl of crusty bread.

I’m not complaining about the soup – far from it, in fact I used to look forward to it in every place I ate because it was always different while being essential lentil. I suppose that’s why they called it Mercimek Çorbasi, lentil soup! There were variations from one end of the Black Sea, the Amasra end, nearer to Istanbul and Trabzon at the far eastern end where Georgia begins but always there were lentil, lemon, coriander and cumin seed and garlic. Variations could include carrots, potatoes, pepper, sumac, sweet paprika, dried oregano and dried mint, the whole lot slow cooked before being mashed.

Recently, I have tried just about all the variations and this is the one I like best.

IMG_2207

Ingredients

1 mug-full red lentils                                    1 medium brown onion

1 carrot                                                          3 cloves of garlic

1 tsp cumin seeds                                         1 tsp coriander seeds

1 tsp sumac*                                                   1 tsp sweet paprika

1 tsp dried oregano                                      2 cloves garlic

1 Tblsp Tomato paste                                   6 mugs of vegetable broth or water

First, I dry roasted the coriander in a small pot over a high heat for about two minutes until I could get their nutty fragrance. Tip them into a bowl to cool. Dry roast the cumin seeds then in the same heated pot, but for a much shorter time – about a minute and set aside to cool.IMG_2209

Chop the carrot and the onion – I used two smallish ones here – and heat the oil in a pan before tipping the carrots in and stir-frying them for a minute or two. Add the chopped onion and squashed garlic and continue to stir-fry.IMG_2210

Grind up the roasted seeds and toss into the onion and carrot mix, along with the tomato paste, paprika and the sumac.

IMG_2212Stir and mix everything thoroughly and then add the red lentils. (I also used a few yellow split peas leftover from something else, probably less than a quarter of a mug’s worth), before adding about 6 mugs of boiling water or vegetable broth – I used a vegetable stock cube.

 

Bring everything up the boil and then simmer, partially covered. Stir every so often until the chopped bits of carrot are mushy and the lentils are very soft.IMG_2215

Let it cool and then whizz it to make a type of puree. If it is too thick, dilute it with more stock. Serve with a wedge of lemon to squeeze into it; a good sprinkle of salt and some warm crusty bread and it is comfort food all by itself.

IMG_2216

OK, OK, I know it might not look the most appealing but it tastes amazing, really!

* Sumac is a small deep red berry, dried and crushed to impart a tangy citrus flavour throughout Turkey and surrounding areas.

Chicken Liver Paté

Ever since I returned from Europe last August 2017, I seem to have had a thing about liver. I’ve cooked it several times, pan-fried with a piquant sauce, in red wine and so on but recently I decided to do a chicken liver paté for a change, to be served with crusty little toasted squares.

My first experience of paté was when my father, back in the early 1970’s, used to bring home a thick, yellowed plastic tube of liver paté after he had experienced it on one of his European hoildays. The tube was about as thick as my forearm and filled with a flavoursome paté but whether it was chicken, pork or paté made from something else I have no idea. I do have a memory of my father piling half-an-inch of butter onto his finger of toast before balancing another inch thick of pate on top of it and relishing the lot along with a half bottle of wine and then going for a “snooze” on a Saturday evening before friends arrived to play cards and drink whiskey and sodas!

The first step was to check the liquor cabinet but no luck there – no brandy or cognac and not even the remains of a Christmas bottle of port. So, first step – off to buy booze and pick up the chicken livers, as well, I suppose.

IMG_1352I bought a cheap bottle of French brandy – bottled in France, VSOP and so on but still cheap as chips compared to the heavy hitters like Martell, or Remy Martin or Hennessey, but never mind, I’m just going to chuck it in with the livers.

I ended up buying about 500g of organic, free range livers and a handful of shallots and off home to assemble everything – Brandy, butter, liver, shallots, garlic, a sharp knife and a few sage leaves from the garden.

First off, wash the livers in cold water and snip off – I used a scissors here – any sinewy bits or anything that looks less than appealing, IMG_1354although when dealing with a handful of chicken livers, there’s not a lot to be said there. Not like a calf or a pig liver, which is a bit more of a substantial handful.

IMG_1353Anyway, next, chop the shallots and garlic finely. I used three large shallots which, when peeled, became about 8 or 9 cloves as well as three large cloves of garlic. In the end, I threw them all, along with half of the sage leaves into a food processor and whizzed them for less than thirty seconds.

Tip a generous lump of butter into a heavy fry pan, add in a glug of olive oil and when the butter foams, toss in the chopped shallots and garlic and the sage. Stir it around for a while until it softens and smells good and then chuck the livers in on top. IMG_1355Shake the pan and give it a stir if you want and flip the livers over after two minutes or so. I added two full measures of the brandy then and let the liver IMG_1356simmer for a minute or two. I fished out a large one and cut it in two to check the interior pinkness.

When satisfied, that the livers were cooked but still had a tinge of pink inside, I turned the heat off and let things cool down a bit before tossing them all into the processor again and giving them a good whiz. My butter, which I hadn’t put back in the fridge, was nice and soft now so I put a chunk of that into the processor as well as another shot of brandy, reasoning that most of the earlier alcohol would have cooked off.IMG_1361IMG_1357

The penultimate step then was to scoop the mixture out of the blender and into a fine metal sieve. At first it seemed – and looked – impossible to force the liver mixture through the sieve but by dint of elbow grease and a large wooden spoon, I managed to mash the stuff through the sieve. IMG_1364The sieve became quite heavy and when I turned it over, all of the finely sieved paté was stuck to the underside of the sieve. I scraped it off with a palette knife and dumped into two ramekins I had ready. It looked gorgeous – a rich chocolaty colour and a smooth, silky finish.

I smoothed the ramekin dishes with the back of a spoon and then wiped around the dishes with a tissue to make it neat. A sage leaf on top for decoration and then, finally, more melted butter poured over the paté to seal it and prevent it from oxidising and turning an unpleasant colour. Bingo – a delicious party snack.IMG_1369IMG_1366

Piquant Liver

One of the things I looked forward to most during my European Peace Walk through Austria, Hungary, Slovenia, Croatia and Italy was exploring local cuisine, delighting at the newly discovered variety and novelty. The obverse of course is also, unfortunately, true. Ill-prepared, bland tourist fodder or the ubiquitous pizza or kebab,IMG_0866 usually on offer in the same low-grade style cafe – sometimes the only thing available in villages along the route of my walk – so I congratulated myself when, after a fairly gruelling walk of 30k plus, I arrived in Postojna in south-western Slovenia and looked forward to a good meal.

A lusty male choir in the chilly town square made sitting on the outdoor terrace of Hotel Kras unattractive and there were no seats in the bustling, brightly lit restaurant inside, but the waitress recommended another restaurant a few hundred metres away but, when I arrived, it was another pizza restaurant and it was closed.

Hunger began to make the prospect of a kebab seem feasible especially as a light rain started. A policeman mentioned a restaurant in the “red house” on the far side of the square but that too seemed to be closed as there were no lights on. Despairing, I walked around to the car park at the back and there was a lighted staircase leading to a basement restaurant, bright, warm and cheery inside.

There was an English menu and the chef’s specialty was braised liver in red wine. No hesitation here, a bottle of red wine – the waiter’s recommendation – and a starter of stuffed wild mushrooms in a nutty sauce and a delicious, rich dish of tender liver slivers, still pink inside.

I have distinct – and delicious – childhood memories of liver with creamed spuds and baked beans but since then I seem to have skipped over offal themed meals, although there was that fantastic liver, bacon and onion dish in the Serasa Yacht Club but that was in another lifetime and a different century! Anyway, inspired by my Slovenian meal, here is my take on liver, for what it is worth.

Ingredients

200 g lamb liver                            1 onion, cut in ringsIMG_0984

3/4 tsp whole black pepper

1/2 tsp mustard powder

1/2 tsp flour

10g butter

1 tsp oil

good splash of medium dry sherry

splash of Worcestershire sauce

1 Tblsp lemon juice

salt

Method

1.Crush the peppercorns and mix with the flour and mustard powder.IMG_0990

2. Heat oil and fry the onion rings for about 10 minutes until brown at the edges. Remove from heat.IMG_0991

Some recommend steeping the liver in milk before flash frying.  I tried both steeping and non-steeping with no appreciable difference.

3. Quickly fry the liver, sliced finger thick. When spots of blood begins to appear, flip them over. IMG_0993They should still be slightly pink inside.

4. Add to the onion.

5. Stir the flour, pepper, and mustard into pan. Soak up all the juices and then add sherry, followed by the Worcestershire and the lemon juice. Thin with more sherry, if necessary.

6. Season with salt and pepper. Pour over liver and onion. Serve with creamed spuds.

Sadly, plating a dish was never my forté but trust me, it tastes better than my photos look!IMG_1002