It’s true. No spud should have to spend its days alone.

Whether absorbed in the intimate company of its buttery best mate or plated up with a larger group of friends, the potato does what it does best when it’s part of a team.

Take the other week, when not one, but two good spud buddies showed up on the doorstep.

First there was a veritable trawler-load of Irish organic salmon from The Organic Salmon Company, a well regarded supplier of high quality salmon to well-known cheffy types and who have now taken to selling retail packs of their very lovely Atlantic salmon fillets here (available in Superquinn, I believe).

Spud's Fishy Friends

Then there was a host of creamy, dairy goodies from Yeats Country Foods. Let me just say that I am not surprised that these folks scored great taste golds for their organic soft cheese and crème fraîche. If Philadelphia is your yardstick for cream cheese, then theirs is even richer and creamier (in both colour and taste) than that. Gorgeous. Do get some to try the next time you’re in Dunnes Stores.

Spud's Dairy Friends

So, then, having welcomed these two visitors to my fridge, what next?

Being ever the sociable Spud, I reckoned that there was nothing else for it but to invite some other friends around and let everyone get together in a chowdery kind of way.

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Potato, Salmon And Cream Cheese Chowder

I use the term chowder here in the sense of a milky, fishy soup.

Now, according to Wikipedia, that fount of all knowledge, dubious and otherwise, chowders are typically enriched with salt pork fatback and thickened with flour or saltine crackers, neither of which is true in this case. This chowder is none the worse for that, however, and is, I reckon, extremely likely to make a repeat appearance in my house whenever salmon and cream cheese show up together again.

You’ll need:

• 3 smallish leeks (white and light green parts – should yield about 200g)
• 2 cloves garlic
• 400g potatoes (2 medium sized spuds)
• 2 tblsp butter
• 150g cream cheese
• 1 tsp fine salt or to taste
• 250ml milk
• approx. 150ml water
• 280g salmon fillets
• 2 tblsp chopped dill
• 2 tblsp lemon juice
• freshly ground black pepper

To serve:

• chopped flat leaf parsley
• lemon zest

The Steps:

• Slice the white and light green parts of the leeks thinly and finely chop the garlic. Scrub the potatoes and, leaving the skin on, chop into approx. 1cm cubes.
• Place a large, heavy saucepan over medium heat, add the butter and allow it to melt.
• Add the garlic and leeks to the pan, sauté over medium low heat until soft, about 5-7 minutes.
• Add the potato cubes, cream cheese and salt and toss with the leeks. When the cream cheese has melted, add the milk and water, enough to just cover the veggies.
• Increase the heat to medium, bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about 25-30 minutes or until the potatoes are fork tender.
• Meanwhile, chop the salmon fillets into approx. 1cm cubes, leaving the skin on if it hasn’t already been removed.
• When the potatoes have cooked, add the chopped dill, lemon juice, salmon pieces and a few twists of black pepper to the pot. Stir to mix and simmer very gently for 5-7 minutes or until the salmon pieces are just cooked through. The chowder will be fairly thick, so thin with additional hot water if you prefer a thinner consistency.
• Remove from the heat and serve, scattered with some chopped flat leaf parsley and a little sprinkling of lemon zest.

The Variations:

• To make something a little less rich, you can, or course, replace some or all of the milk with water and/or reduce the quantity of cream cheese.
• You could also add other fishy things in here – I’m thinking something shrimp-like would work well.

The Results:

• Chowder for 3-4.

Yes, right now I would rather be on a tropical beach somewhere. This one looks good.

Dear Porridge,

It’s not you, it’s me.

I am growing weary of the endless frosty mornings, you see, when nothing but your warm oatmealiness will do.

And with the winter we’ve had, I feel like know for a fact that I have been eating porridge for months (approximately since I went to visit the Flahavan’s mill, in fact).

However, given that there’s not much that I can do about the weather (and prompted by the Flahavan’s Porridge Making Challenge), I decided to spruce you up instead, and put a little bit of tropical sunshine into your wintry bowl.

Don’t hate me, you’ll get used to your new taste. You may even get to like it. I did. Lots.

Your friend,
D.S.

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Totally Tropical Porridge

This really couldn’t be further from the porridge of my youth.

The oats are cooked up with some coconut milk and banana, spiked with a touch of kahlúa and scattered with kiwi fruit and a splash of cream. It’s a really filling and sunshiny bowl with which to start your day.

You’ll need, per person:

• 1 smallish banana (about 75g when peeled)
• 2 tsp dark muscovado sugar
• 0.5 tsp lemon juice (or substitute lime juice)
• 50g porridge oats
• 150ml water
• 75ml coconut milk
• pinch of salt
• 2 tsp kahlúa (or substitute dark rum)
• 1 kiwi fruit
• 1 tsp cream

The Steps:

• In a small bowl, mash together the banana, muscovado sugar and lemon juice.
• To a small, heavy saucepan add the porridge oats, water, coconut milk, mashed banana and salt. Stir to mix and place over a medium heat.
• Bring to a boil and cook, stirring, for about 3 minutes.
• Meanwhile, peel the kiwi fruit and chop into small chunks.
• Once the porridge is cooked, remove from the heat and stir in the kahlúa.
• Tip the porridge into a bowl, scatter with the chopped kiwi fruit, drizzle with the cream and serve.

The Variations:

• If you want to make this using pinhead oatmeal (i.e. steelcut oats), then use 50g pinhead oatmeal instead and cook first in about 200ml water for 20 mins, then add the coconut milk, banana etc. and proceed as above.

The Results:

• Tropical porridge for one.

In which I plead my case for clemency and understanding.

I, The Daily Spud, do freely and of my own volition, admit that on Sunday last, the 24th of January 2010, I undertook to travel to the UK for the express purpose of acquiring seed potatoes to bring back to Ireland, knowing full well that, in the eyes of the nation, this is tantamount to an act of horticultural, if not national, treason.

I say seed potatoes, you say contraband

I further admit that, on that same day, I made good my return to Ireland with samples of 9 different varieties of tuber concealed about my person, to wit:

• Aura, a waxy number, predating the Charlotte potato and with reportedly better flavour.
• British Queen, which, despite the name, has long been popular in Ireland due to its flouriness. I think that, the risk of potential criminal prosecution notwithstanding, my Da would approve of this one.
• Edzell Blue, a blue-skinned and floury Scottish potato. Alan Romans reports that the hiring test for a farm cook in Eastern Scotland was the successful boiling of this spud in a pot on the range. Sounds like my kind of challenge.
• Highland Burgundy Red, not just red-skinned, but red-fleshed, making it a relative rarity in the potato world. It dates back to at least 1936 when it was reportedly used to add suitable colour to a meal for the Duke of Burgundy at the Savoy.
• Home Guard, an early variety developed and popularised, as the name suggests, during the Second World War, and also well liked in Ireland.
• International Kidney, the more general name for the tuber that produces the famous Jersey Royal potato. I may not have Jersey soil, but I’ll give this one a go.
• Lady Christl, a relative newcomer but seemingly one of the quickest varieties to produce baby new potatoes. Count me in, in that case.
• Salad blue, blue inside and out and, despite the name, a floury spud, so a good candidate for those blue chips and mash.
• Vivaldi, especially noted as a baking potato, with a creamy texture that (apparently) means you won’t want to add butter, though I’ll reserve judgment on that.

And while I may have successfully slipped back into the country with that lot in my possession, the fact is that they represented a mere fraction of the 80 or so varieties that were available for purchase by the tuber at last weekend’s Potato Fair in London’s East Dulwich, the target of my UK potato mission. Indeed, if I had chosen to travel this weekend instead, I could have gone to the Potato Day in Hampshire, where no less than 130 varieties were reported to be on offer.

Potato Fair, East Dulwich

And that’s the thing, you see.

Whereas the UK plays host to a whole slew of such potato days, we don’t have anything to compare to that here in Ireland, in terms of the varieties available and the ability to buy single tubers of same. Yes, we have the Organic Centre’s annual potato day, though it’s both late in the season (from a seed purchasing point of view) and what’s available to buy is much more limited in scope than any of the UK equivalents.

And there’s more.

The fact is that the potato appears to be enjoying a real resurgence in popularity in the UK, with particular interest in old heritage varieties. As your trusty reporter on all things potato, I felt it important that I travel across the water to have a looksee. And see I did, if nothing else, the genuine interest that was abroad, particularly in those heritage varieties. And I hoped that, one day, we might see a similar level of interest here, together with the ability to more easily source some worthy old Irish varieties, like Champion, one of my Da’s favourites.

So while it is true that I should be convicted, at the very least, on several counts of irony for bringing English potatoes into Ireland, I freely own up to the charges and can say only, in closing, that the blog made me do it.

It’s mid-yawny-morning.

The doorbell rings.

I’m not expecting anyone or anything but, lo and behold, there is a man at my door bearing gifts (woohoo, I’m all for that!) – a basket of Denny sausages, rashers, ham and 2 still-warm, foil-wrapped breakfast rolls to be precise.

Score!

…or at least it would have been if I was given to eating porky products. As it is, I haven’t done so for a long time and, when baskets of same come my way (this being precisely the first time this has happened), I swiftly pass them on to family members who are only too happy to accept.

I suppose Denny weren’t to know. They were just drawing attention to the results of their “Home Is” campaign, where they surveyed people on their thoughts about what makes a home and, as part of the deal, donated funds to The Simon Communities of Ireland, longtime champions of the homeless in this country. Good on them for that.

The delivery got me thinking, not so much about home, though, as about breakfast rolls.

Beneath that foil exterior lurks a breakfast roll

For those of you not familiar with this classic item of Irish cuisine, just imagine yourself with a hangover and picture a white bread roll filled, more or less, with the contents of a full Irish breakfast: sausages and rashers at a minimum, sometimes black pudding, sometimes white pudding, sometimes egg, sometimes mushrooms and sometimes hash browns, plus ketchup or brown sauce. Best washed down with a big mug of tea.

They are a staple at hot food counters in garages and supermarkets the length and breadth of the country and are the stereotypical early-in-the-day meal of choice for Irish construction workers (even to the point of economist David McWilliams coining the phrase “Breakfast Roll Man” to describe a representative of that now much rarer construction worker species).

Breakfast rolls have even been immortalised in song:

Far from the healthiest things in the world, they are precisely the kind of thing you might want if you were feeling a little the worse for wear in the a.m. And while I might not be given to partaking in the classic breakfast roll these days, that’s not to say that there aren’t times when I fancy something breakfast-roll-like. When that happens, I might just make something like this:

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Egg and Mushroom Breakfast Roll

The recipe for a breakfast roll may be summarised as follows: “Stuff whatever fried objects you’d like for breakfast into a crusty bread roll”. In this case, the fried objects are pieces of shredded omelette and a mushroom, garlic and onion mix. For more detailed instructions, should you need them, see below.

You’ll need:

• butter for frying and for spreading on the bread roll(s)
• 75g onion (about half a medium-sized onion), sliced into fine half rings
• 1 clove garlic, finely chopped
• small pinch of dried thyme
• 100g mushrooms (I used a mix of chestnut and oyster mushrooms), wiped clean and sliced
• 1 egg
• 2 tblsp chopped flat leaf parsley
• salt
• freshly ground black pepper
• 2 tblsp finely grated parmesan
• 1 baguette / crusty bread roll, around 25cm long (or use 2 smaller rolls)

You’ll also need:

• 2 frying pans, one small (around 20cm diameter) for cooking the egg and a larger one (mine was around 24cm) for the onions and mushrooms.

The Steps:

• Place the larger frying pan over a medium heat and, when hot, add about 1 tblsp butter and allow to melt.
• Add the onions to the pan and stir and fry for around 6-8 minutes, or until they have softened and are starting to develop brown spots.
• Add the garlic and thyme and stir and fry for another minute or so.
• If the pan is very dry at this point, you can add a little more butter, then add the mushrooms.
• Fry (but avoid stirring too much), allowing the mushrooms to brown on the pan. The mushrooms will release some liquid (how much will vary, depending on the mushrooms used). Continue to fry until there is very little liquid left, maybe around 8-10 minutes in total.
• While the mushrooms are frying, break the egg into a small bowl and whisk lightly. Stir in half of the chopped parsley and season with a little salt and a couple of twists of black pepper.
• Place your small frying pan over a medium-high heat and, when hot, add about a tsp of butter and allow to melt.
• Now add your beaten egg, swirl it around the pan, then fry for 2-3 minutes, until there is no liquid egg left. Turn the omelette, sprinkle with the parmesan and cook for another 2 minutes or so.
• Remove from the heat and slice the omelette into thin strips, around 0.5cm wide.
• When the mushrooms and onions are done, remove from the heat, season with some salt and black pepper and stir in the remaining parsley.
• Now split your bread roll(s), butter as liberally as you desire, and stuff with the shredded omelette, mushrooms and onions. Enjoy with a big mug of tea.

The Variations:

• Of course you can add some good ketchup or other condiments of your choice – whatever it is you like with your eggy, mushroomy breakfast.
• If I were feeling a bit more Asian, I’d skip the thyme and parmesan, replace the parsley with fresh coriander leaves, add some grated ginger to the onions and mushrooms, season with soy sauce instead of salt and spread some sweet chili sauce on the bread. I might need to go and do that right now in fact.

The Results:

• Breakfast roll for one if you’re very hungry or for two if you feel like sharing.

Let me explain to you how this works:

(a) Big food brand gets together with well-known chef.

(b) Chef creates recipes using said brand of food.

(c) Brand wants to demonstrate general tastiness of the recipes, so they get the chef to make lunch using some of same.

(d) Third parties get invited to said lunch to provide independent verification of the mouth-watering nature of the chef’s creations.

(e) Lunch is eaten, wine is drunk, everybody goes home happy, well-fed and well disposed towards the parties and the food involved.

Simple enough formula, really, and I got to see it in action up close this week, where the brand in question was Philadelphia cream cheese, the chef was Kevin Dundon (yes, he of the Zest! interview experience) and I was one of those well-fed third parties.

Kevin Dundon's Philadelphia Lunchables: smoked salmon and scallops, chicken and mushroom parcel, wild mushroom risotto, philly mille feuille

I will admit that it is sometimes still, if not a mystery, then at least a source of wide-eyed wonderment to me that I get to be the kind of third party who receives such supremely edible invitations. I’m not complaining though, except possibly (and only very slightly) from the extreme fullness of belly that my attendance involves.

And whatever opinions I might have had about such brand endorsements, I was won over on the day, not just by the food (which, unsurprisingly, was lovely) but by Kevin Dundon who (a) remembered me from the Zest! launch (b) did not give the impression that I had conducted what was possibly the worst interview ever last time out (c) was utterly patient and charming and (d) clued me into the secret of his stunning turnip purée.

The purée, which accompanied the main course, was probably the only thing on the menu which did not involve a liberal helping of Philadelphia. What it did contain, though, was potato, making a play, in this case, for best performance by a vegetable in a supporting role. The potato was present in sufficient quantity to tone down the sweetness of the turnip and give the dish more body, without it being obvious that it was there at all. It made for a killer combination and proved, yet again, that the Scots are really on to something with their penchant for combining turnip and potato as neeps and tatties.

And finally, I would like to think that the otherwise notable absence of potato from Kevin’s cream cheesy lunch menu was not an oversight, but rather, an invitation to rectify the situation. I am more than happy to do that right here and right now with some cream cheese mash.

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Cream Cheese Mash

Cream cheese is, of course, endlessly versatile as an ingredient and, like many of its dairy product cousins, it is extremely happy in the company of potatoes. You can easily conceive of it layered into a gratin, mixed into a mash, gracing a baked potato or dressing a potato salad.

Here it finds its way into a simple mash with some mustard, parsley and spring onions. This can, of course, be eaten warm, though I think it’s possibly even better served salad-like at room temperature, perhaps with some smoked salmon and brown bread or toast.

I did use Philadelphia as the cream cheese here (the makers had kindly supplied me with some), though you can, of course, use whatever cream cheese you prefer. I’m certainly keen to try this with some Yeat’s Country Irish cream cheese as soon as I get hold of some.

For those interested in the theories behind what makes a good mash, you can take a little detour here, just remember to come back this way when you’re done.

You’ll need:

• 800g potato (4 medium-sized spuds, preferably a floury variety)
• 200g cream cheese
• 2 tsp dijon mustard
• 1 tsp salt or to taste plus more for boiling the spuds
• freshly ground black pepper
• 100ml milk, warmed
• 6 tblsp chopped flat leaf parsley
• 4 spring onions, finely sliced (or 4 tblsp finely chopped chives)

You’ll also need:

• A potato ricer is useful, though not essential, for this.

The Steps:

• To soften your cream cheese, remove from the fridge, chop into small chunks, spread the chunks out onto a large plate and allow them to come up to room temperature while you cook the potatoes. Alternatively, you can microwave the cream cheese on high for about 15 seconds.
• Peel your potatoes and cut into roughly even-sized slices, around 1-2cm thick. Rinse them under cold water.
• Bring about 1.5l of water to the boil in a saucepan, add about 2 tsp salt and the potato slices. Bring back to the boil and reduce to a simmer. Simmer gently, covered, for around 15-20 minutes or until just fork-tender.
• When the potatoes are done, drain well and return them to the saucepan. Then either let them sit, covered by a tea-towel, for about 5 minutes or place the pan over a low heat and stir the potatoes gently for a minute or so while they dry out.
• Put the cooked and still warm potatoes through a potato ricer if you have one, or mash with a potato masher or, if all else fails, a fork.
• Add the chunks of cream cheese, the mustard, about 1 tsp salt and a couple of twists of black pepper to the potato and mash in well.
• Stir in the milk, adding more if you prefer a looser consistency.
• Stir in the chopped parsley and spring onions and dig in.

The Variations:

• I might just add a touch of lemon juice to this next time ’round, while you could certainly try adding a few cloves of roasted garlic here too.

The Results:

• Serves around 6 as a side-dish or salad portion.

That’ll happen when you (a) spend a few hours in a room with some 200 wines from 37 different New Zealand winemakers and (b) have yet to learn the necessary art of spitting. I’m feeling woozy just thinking about it.

The event was yesterday’s annual New Zealand wine trade tasting presented by New Zealand winegrowers and ably organised by Jean Smullen. The tasting room was filled with wine buyers and restaurateurs and people whose job it is to write about wine and, er, me (there will be no prizes for spotting the odd one out, sorry!).

Wine, check, glasses, check, off we go...

But while I might be more wine bluffer than wine buff, I did have one advantage yesterday, because I had already had the privilege of attending a private tasting with Patrick Materman, chief winemaker with Montana, the original makers of Marlborough sauvignon blanc, a wine for which New Zealand is rightly famous. On foot of that, I felt at least somewhat clued into what makes Kiwi wines the international force that they are.

7 Montana wines for me to taste - somewhat more manageable than 200...

Leading the charge, of course, is sauvignon blanc, the grape which established New Zealand on the world wine stage a mere 30 years ago. If that drink you’re sipping reminds you of either grapefruit or passionfruit or both, then you may well have a Marlborough sauvignon blanc in your hand, as the compounds producing those two flavours are present in spades in the grapes of New Zealand’s Marlborough region (either that or you’re drinking fruit juice and perhaps you should consider switching…)

Newer again to the New Zealand repertoire is pinot noir, but it’s a grape that Montana and others (including the cast of the film Sideways) take very seriously. It requires careful handling and, when over-cropped, you get, as Patrick described it, the dreaded thin red wine. Done well, though, it can have undoubted grace and there was a lot of pinot noir finery on display yesterday. For my part, I will admit to departing the scene clutching a glass of Montana Terraces Pinot Noir 2007, determined not to let go.

Taking pinot noir seriously in Sideways (image from 20th Century Fox)

But New Zealand is not just about sauvignon blanc and pinot noir. Indeed, if anything surprised me about the trade tasting (apart from the fact that I was still standing at the end of it), it was the sheer range of varietals on offer. There were cabernets and merlots and syrahs, pinot grigios, rieslings and chardonnays. Unrestrained by any traditions of longstanding, the Kiwis seem determined to go forth and explore the full range of what it is that their soils and micro-climates can bring to the noble grape.

Wine growing regions of New Zealand (map originally published online at www.nicks.com.au)

Within that burgeoning range, though, there is one combination of varietal and region which Patrick thought deserved to be better known, and that is riesling from Waipara Valley. Having only come lately to New Zealand rieslings by way of Muddy Water James Hardwicke Riesling 2008, I couldn’t but agree. I will be looking out for more of the same in future, while I can confirm that the Waipara Hills Soul of the South Riesling 2008 was responsible, at least in part, for yesterday’s particularly rosy facial glow.

Upside down bread, upside down world

What a lucky sod I am. Let me count the ways.

After the recent extended period of cold snappiness, today was a beautiful, crisp, sunny day and I had the health to enjoy it. I also had running water so that I could shower and not sully the day with smelliness. Not to mention being able to make my morning coffee, so that I didn’t have to subject anyone to excessive early morning grumpiness (at least not any more than usual).

And time. I had time to contemplate the creation of some olive oily, potato-y bread. And time to contemplate what had been going on elsewhere in the universe this week.

A week where my brother’s bedroom ceiling fell in when pipes froze and burst in his attic. Where a friend was seen on national news toting buckets of water as the water supply to her housing estate has been gone more or less since Christmas. And, yes, Haiti (I’ve been taking English Mum’s lead on that and giving a bit for Shelterbox).

Relative to all of that, there’s really not a lot that’s topsy turvy about life Spud-side. In fact, the topsy turviest thing today may possibly have been this potato upside down bread. Potatoes, then onions, garlic and olive oil, then some soda bread dough, inverted once baked, so that the potatoes come out on top (as is only right and proper). It’s kind of like a deep-dish potato pizza or a potato-topped focaccia, while not being exactly the same as either. I guess I could have started with the dough on the bottom to begin with, and the results wouldn’t have been wildly different, but it was an upside down kind of day.

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Potato Upside Down Bread

The inspiration for this comes from that baking course I did last year with Rachel Allen. I loved the idea of her cheat’s focaccia, made with white soda bread dough, rolled flatter than normal and topped with lots of olive oil, salt and whatever else you feel like using – a simple savoury bread that can be in the oven in minutes.

For this bread, you have some white soda bread dough, with added parmesan and thyme, layered on top of potatoes, onions, garlic and olive oil. Use a nice, fruity olive oil if you’ve got it (I used the last of my Hartleys stash). You bake the bread, then invert the pan when you’re done. The potatoes may stick to the pan and need some persuasion to break free but, not to worry, it’ll still taste good. Needless to remark, if you have a non-stick pan, this would be a good time to use it.

For the dough:

• 200g plain flour
• 0.5 tsp baking soda
• 0.5 tsp salt
• freshly ground black pepper
• 0.25 tsp dried thyme
• 25g grated parmesan
• 125-150ml buttermilk

For the filling:

• 200g potato (one medium-sized specimen)
• 75g onion, finely sliced
• 2 large cloves garlic, cut into fine slivers
• 3 tblsp olive oil, divided, plus more for brushing the pan
• 1 tblsp balsamic vinegar
• salt to taste
• freshly ground black pepper

You’ll also need:

• Heavy pan that can be used both on the stovetop and in the oven – non-stick if possible (I used a 24cm round cast iron pan). You’ll also need a plate that is wider than the pan onto which you can invert the bread once it’s baked.

The Steps:

• Preheat your oven to 200C
• Scrub your potato and, leaving the skin on, slice thinly (use a mandoline if you have it).
• Brush the base of your pan with olive oil (about a tsp should do) and arrange the potato slices in a single layer in a circular or spiral pattern, overlapping the slices as you go.
• To prepare the dough, in a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt and a couple of twists of black pepper.
• Add the thyme and parmesan and stir to mix.
• Pour in most of the buttermilk and, using one hand, mix together gently to form a soft dough. Add a little more buttermilk if the flour has not been completely incorporated, using just enough so that the dough binds together – it should not be too wet or sticky.
• On a floured surface, roll the dough out into a circle the same size as your pan.
• Now, place the pan with the potatoes on a medium heat and bring them to a sizzle.
• Remove from the heat, scatter with the sliced onion, slivered garlic, 2 tblsp of olive oil and the balsamic vinegar. Sprinkle with salt and a couple of twists of black pepper.
• Top with the dough, pressing it down into the onion layer and pricking all over with a fork. Brush with another tblsp of olive oil.
• Bake for about 25 minutes or until nicely browned and the bread sounds hollow when tapped.
• Remove from the oven and allow to cool for a couple of minutes before turning out onto a plate. You may want to try loosening the bottom of the bread before doing so, especially if the pan is not non-stick. Even if the potato layer doesn’t come away cleanly, just remove whatever is left in the pan and reunite it with the rest of the bread.
• Cut into wedges and enjoy along with some green salad and a glass of vino if you are so inclined.

The Variations:

• You could certainly add a few sliced olives and perhaps some capers on top of the onion layer.

The Results:

• One cake of potato bread, would serve 3-4 as a lunch, along with some green salad.

]]> http://www.thedailyspud.com/2010/01/17/spud-sunday-bread-for-thought/feed/ 22 http://www.thedailyspud.com/2010/01/17/spud-sunday-bread-for-thought/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheDailySpud/~3/_OsixvtHhpo/ http://www.thedailyspud.com/2010/01/13/whiskey-business/#comments Wed, 13 Jan 2010 23:23:38 +0000 Daily Spud http://www.thedailyspud.com/?p=14881

Medicinal.

That’s what I would have said if anyone had challenged me about my supping of hot whiskeys at lunchtime on a Tuesday. As it was, I don’t think anyone in the vicinity was too bothered about my whiskey intake – possibly they were too busy downing hot toddies themselves. Besides, it was Dublin, it was January, it was cold. And the whiskeys were free. I really don’t think you need any more excuses than that.

The whiskey in question was Bushmills (a fine example of the breed) and was laid on at the launch event for the Temple Bar Trad Festival, which will be filling the city centre of Dublin with traditional Irish music in great quantities at the end of this month.

And, really, there is no more appropriate thing to do while listening to traditional Irish music than sink a dirty great big pint of Guinness or nurse an Irish whiskey, all the while ensconced in the cosy familiarity of an Irish pub. It’s no surprise, then, that Bushmills are major sponsors of Trad Fest, which, among other things, will feature a well-packed pub trail.

Temple Bar Trad, coming your way from the 27th to the 31st of January

For my part, I was so happily reminded of the joy that is hot whiskey by the event that I went a-baking with the flavours of hot whiskey in mind. The result? A whiskey apple pudding with hot whiskey sauce, which will get a post all of their own in due course. Meanwhile, it’s time for another hot whiskey, methinks.

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Hot Whiskey

It’s simple, really. Take however much whiskey you’d like, dilute with as much boiling water as you’d like, adding a touch of sugar, lemon and cloves. You need more instructions? Alright, then…

You’ll need:

• 35ml measure Irish whiskey
• 125-150ml boiling water plus more for scalding the glass
• slice of lemon
• 3-4 whole cloves
• 1 tsp sugar

You’ll also need:

• Heatproof glass, preferably with a handle

The Steps:

• Stick the cloves into the lemon slice.
• Heat the glass by rinsing out with some boiling water.
• Add the sugar and boiling water to the glass and stir to dissolve.
• Add the lemon slice and whiskey, stir to mix, and enjoy.

The Variations:

• Dilute to your own taste. Add more sugar if you like or use honey to sweeten instead. Other than that, there’s no real need to tinker with such a classic.

The Results:

• One hot whiskey drink, which may well lead to another.

“So, have you done neeps and tatties, then…?”

My colleague was not referring to some strange ritual, but simply wanted to know if I had given the legendary Scottish combination of turnip and potato the Daily Spud treatment, to which I had to answer, well, no, not yet. Until today, that is…

I should first clarify that what the Scots refer to as neeps, or turnips, are what we in Ireland commonly call turnips, but go by the name of swede in England and rutabaga in the US (confused yet?). The turnip I’m talking about is yellow-fleshed and sweet. Here’s a picture, which may be useful for identification purposes later.

Exhibit A: one neep, several tatties

When the Scots talk about neeps and tatties, they mean (yellow) turnip and potatoes, boiled and mashed separately, and traditionally served with haggis as part of a Burns Night supper. I was reminded of the combination when I found myself with a profusion of turnips, due to the fact that they have been turning up, as is their wont, with great regularity in my organic vegetable deliveries.

Now, it has to be said that turnips are not the most popular of vegetables, and I have reported on my difficulties with said vegetable previously. However, I know (as the Scots do) that turnip and potato are good pals and figured that it was about time I tried something a little different with the pair of them. So away with the masher and, instead, I came up with a gratin featuring neeps, tatties and a few, perhaps less traditional, ingredients. Not sure what the Scots would make of it, but I rather liked it all the same.

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Potato and Yellow Turnip Gratin with Lemongrass

Take a very simple gratin of potato, milk and butter, like the one described by Deb at Smitten Kitchen, add yellow turnip (not such an unusual thing to do) but also throw in some lemongrass, ginger, spring onion and yoghurt (somewhat less than usual, methinks) and you end up here. Which is to say fairly far away from the Scottish notion of neeps and tatties.

The main flavour is the lemongrass, backed up by the ginger, which together provide a nice contrast to the turnip’s sweetness. In this, I took inspiration from Carmel Somers of the The Good Things Café in West Cork, who suggests the turnip plus ginger combination. It’s a fairly light dish, lacking the cheese and/or cream you often find in potato gratins, and using milk and yoghurt instead. And, sure, no harm in that.

You’ll need:

• 600g potatoes (about 3 medium-sized specimens), preferably a waxy variety
• 450g yellow turnip / swede
• 1.5l water
• 1.5 tsp salt plus more for sprinking on the gratin
• 3 tblsp butter, divided
• 6 spring onions, finely sliced
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1 tblsp grated fresh ginger
• 1 stick lemongrass
• 150g natural yoghurt
• freshly ground black pepper
• 300ml whole milk

You’ll also need:

• A gratin dish, mine was 30cm x 24cm and about 5cm deep. A mandoline is useful for slicing the potatoes and turnips, though not essential, and a spice or coffee grinder is useful for grinding the lemongrass, otherwise you’ll need a very sharp knife so that you can chop it very finely.

The Steps:

• Preheat your oven to 180C.
• Peel the potatoes and the turnip and slice both very thinly – if you have a mandoline, by all means use it to do the job for you.
• Bring about 1.5l water to the boil in a medium-sized saucepan, add about 1.5 tsp salt and the sliced turnip. Allow to boil for about a minute, then drain.
• Slice the first 10-15cm of the lemongrass stick (discarding the straw-like top), then grind the slices finely in a spice or coffee grinder (or just chop them as finely as you can).
• Place a large frying pan over a medium heat. When hot, add about 1 tblsp of butter. When that has melted, add the spring onions and stir and fry for about 2 minutes, until the white parts are just starting to turn translucent.
• Add the garlic, grated ginger and ground lemongrass to the pan and stir and fry for another 2-3 minutes. Do not allow to brown. Remove from the heat and combine with the yoghurt.
• Rub the base of your gratin dish with some butter. Add a layer of potatoes, sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper, add a layer of turnip and spread with half of the yoghurt mixture, then season as before with salt and pepper. Repeat with another layer of potatoes, turnip and yoghurt, seasoning as you go, and finish with a layer of potatoes.
• Pour the milk over the gratin, dot with the remaining 2 tblsp butter and place in the oven. Bake for about an hour or until the vegetables are soft and the top is golden. I also took Deb’s advice and, after about 30 minutes, pressed down the top of the gratin to make sure it remained moist.
• Enjoy on its own for lunch or perhaps alongside a piece of pork or somesuch for dinner. Who knows, it might even go nicely with some haggis.

The Variations:

• Being a ginger fiend, I would be tempted to add even more ginger next time. I would also probably try adding about a tsp of black mustard seeds at the start of frying, before adding the onions. For a richer dish, you can, of course, replace some or all of the milk with cream if you like.

The Results:

• Side-dish servings for 5-6, or feeds 3-4 if serving as a lunch dish on its own. I will admit to having eaten half of this quantity at one sitting, but that might not be the best yardstick to use (unless, of course, I am one of those people that you are feeding, in which case, take note).

Bold and beautiful borscht

First Russian Salad, now borscht – you might be forgiven for thinking that The Daily Spud had packed up and moved several countries to the East. In fact, with the weather these days, you could be forgiven for thinking that the entire country had migrated somewhere east and north of its usual position. Not actually the case, though. I’m still firmly rooted in Irish soil and the country would still appear to be residing in its accustomed spot on Europe’s western fringes. It’s just that the snow and temperatures hereabouts make me feel like I’m in a Russian winter (perhaps I exaggerate slightly, but still, my extremities do have trouble thawing out these days).

Cold, yes, Siberia, no

So, borscht, then. Or should I say borsch? Katrina tells me that Russians and Ukrainians call the soup borsch, while Poles call it borscht, though she has no idea why. They can agree, I think, on the fact that it is a hearty soup involving beetroot and several other winter vegetables.

And while I might not be in Russia now, I came to have a vat of Ukrainian borsch(t) bubbling on my stove as a result of having been to Russia once upon a time. Through lucky happenstance, I found myself at a cookery lesson in a Moscow school cafeteria, where a charming lady instructed myself and a couple of others in the ways of borscht and traditional Russian salad. I had scribbled copious notes about the borscht at the time, but had never actually returned to the recipe. Until this week, that is. And was I ever glad that I did, for this is truly depths-of-winter fare. I think that I will probably be eating this for the foreseeable future, or at least until I have once again regained my proper internal temperature.

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Borscht

I find beetroot an imposing vegetable, both in terms of flavour and colour, and I tend to exercise care when I use it, so that it doesn’t overpower the rest of what’s on offer. This borscht is a beautiful blend, though. Beetroot yes, but lots of garlic and dill, not to mention spuds, cabbage, carrots, onions and tomatoes – it feels like a post-Christmas detox-in-a-bowl. And you don’t really need anything else to eat with it, except possibly some dark rye bread.

The recipe is more or less the one I was shown in Moscow. The original called for white cabbage but I used savoy cabbage, because that’s what I had and I prefer it anyway. I’ve specified waxy potatoes, because they’ll keep their shape and you’ll end up with beetroot-coloured chunks of potato as part of the mix. You can use floury potatoes instead – they’ll just tend to disintegrate more into the soup. Still good, though.

One thing I would suggest is that you do the bulk of the vegetable prep before you start cooking. There are a lot of vegetables and a lot of chopping and grating involved, and you’ll have things cooking in 2 different pans, so a bit of advance mise-en-place will make this more manageable.

Finally, for another version of this dish, Katrina thoughtfully describes a version adapted from one she learned from her Ukrainian mother here. I might try to incorporate some elements of her version in mine next time ’round.

You’ll need:

• 450g waxy potatoes, chopped into chunks about 2cm wide
• 6 whole black peppercorns
• 2 tsp salt, divided
• 1.25l water
• 0.5 small head savoy cabbage, about 300g, shredded
• 2 bay leaves
• oil for frying
• 1 large onion, about 200g, finely chopped
• 2 small beetroots, about 300g, peeled and grated
• about 2 tsp lemon juice
• 1 medium carrot, about 100g, grated
• 2 large tomatoes, about 200g, finely chopped
• 5 cloves garlic
• 1 small bunch of dill, leaves and thin stems chopped – giving about 10 tblsp loosely packed, chopped dill
• 2 tsp sugar

To serve:

• sour cream, 1-2 tblsp per person
• additional chopped dill, 1-2 tsp per person

You’ll also need:

• A large heavy saucepan and a large frying / sauté pan

The Steps:

• Bring about 1.25l of water to the boil in a large heavy saucepan. Add the potato chunks, peppercorns and about 1.5 tsp salt. Bring back to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer until the chunks are just fork tender, about 10 minutes. Then add the shredded cabbage and bay leaves and simmer for about another 10 minutes.
• Meanwhile, place a large frying pan over a medium heat. When hot, add enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Add the onions and stir and fry for 3-4 minutes, until just starting to soften – don’t let them brown.
• Toss the grated beetroot with the lemon juice (the acid will help to keep the bright colour), then add the grated beetroot and grated carrot to the onions. Stir to mix, then cover and cook for about 10 minutes.
• Add the chopped tomato and about 0.5 tsp salt to the beetroot mix. Stir to combine, then cover and cook for about another 10 minutes.
• Now add the beetroot mix to the potatoes and cabbage, bring back to the boil, then simmer for about 5 minutes.
• Using a mortar and pestle or just the back of a spoon, lightly crush together the chopped garlic, chopped dill and a pinch of salt.
• Now add the sugar and the garlic / dill mix to the pot. Stir to mix and simmer for another 5 minutes. Taste and add more salt if needed.
• If you have time, leave to stand (covered and off the heat) for at least 30 minutes to allow the flavours to meld together. Gently reheat just before serving.
• To serve, in each bowl add a dollop of sour cream, a sprinkle of chopped dill and then a ladle-full of soup.

The Variations:

• The soup is flavourful as it is, though you could use chicken stock instead of water here if you like. Katrina’s version uses some chili, vodka and kidney beans, all of which sound like interesting additions to me.

The Results:

• Serves around 6 people, chilled to the bone or otherwise

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