Fake It 'Til You Make It

Alternate versions

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 10:15:00 +0000

I've dismally failed to write a word since coming back to the sanctuary of my little flat last September. I've had stories to tell, and time to tell them, just no inclination.

The food thing started to bore me, just as my personal blog had started to bore me the year before, and the diet blog, meant to be funny, was too much exposure to a personal topic, and so crashed and burned with alarming rapidity.

At the best of times, I struggle with the idea of an audience (even one as loyal and supportive as mine), backing away, as I do in all things, from any sense of being observed. It's a contrary position for a blog writer to take, and one I should probably try to work against, if I'm to continue with my writing practice.

My solution is to write whatever I feel like, and split it across the various platforms I've set up (and maybe new ones, if I'm so inclined), with Facebook being my common denominator.

So, I'm back. Or at least trying to be. And for now mostly likely to be here, or here.

Home sweet home

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 15:07:00 +0000

At last, at last, after ten excruciating months of wandering, I finally have somewhere to go home to. When I get back from Provence, I am renting a flat in West London. I haven't actually seen it yet - I had to send my mother to investigate since I'll be stuck in France until next Friday - but I am practically hyper-ventilating with over-excitement.

For a while, as I sifted through the inevitable, and disheartening, dross that occupies the mainland of my budgetary constraints, I was holding out for a working kitchen. But I've come to realise that there are some luxuries I just can't afford - not being able to wash my hands in the sink while simultaneously sitting on the bed is a major victory in itself, and as I've noted before, one must take one's victories where one can.

So here it is, my new kitchen, in all its postage-stamp sized lack of glory:

Yup, that's really all there is. A double hot plate, a microwave, and a mini fridge.

But, it's all mine.

Blogging from this should be interesting!

My Life From Scratch

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 17:40:00 +0000

I've just finished reading Gesine Bullock-Prado's foodie memoir My Life From Scratch.

Gesine runs a pastry shop in Vermont, and publishes her baking pearls on the gorgeous blog Confections of a (Closet) Master Baker.

I've been a fan for quite some time, but with my usual disregard for celebrity matters, I had never clocked that she is Sandra Bullock's sister. I guess you can't get away from family, but it wasn't a plus point for me - beautiful Sandra may be, but so is Gesine's chocolate caramel tart, and though Sandy's screen presence is indubitably charming, I came for the cake.

Shrugging off this momentary irritation I, nonetheless, found this a very readable memoir, detailing her transformation from Hollywood bigwig to small town baker.

Her disarming honesty about her strong misanthropic streak, her directness about her loathing for the corporate artifice of La La Land, the travails of both baking and small business ownership, and her obvious and absolute passion for all things sweet and buttery won me over, and I finished the book with the strong sense of identification of one committed foodie to another.

And, though there is not a single food photo in the book, her descriptions of her recipes are so enticing that there wasn't one I didn't want to make.

Sadly, my current clients aren't big on dessert, so it's taken a few days for them to finally tune into the call of sugar and fat, but as soon as they did, I dropped everything to try out the recipe for Zwetschgendatschi, a German plum tart.

I'm hardly an expert on plum varieties, so although the recipe calls specifically for Empress plums, I reasoned that a plum is a plum is a plum when it comes to maiden voyages, and bought a selection of Mirabelles, Anna Gold and Reines Claude (de Cabrieres, can't get more local than that!) from our local greengrocer, although by the time I got them home there were less big red ones as they got squashed in the bottom of the bag.

The tart was done at a dash, as it followed on from a rather demanding tapas-style dinner I foolishly orchestrated, but next time, and there will so be a next time, I'll arrange it all beautifully.

Either way, it was an outstanding triumph. The pastry is fantastically crisp and short, despite being simultaneously soaked with plum juices, and the tartness of the fruit is delectably balanced by the sugary crunch of the base. Even better, and I speak as one who considers this the ultimate pastry travesty, it is robust enough to withstand clandestine re-heating in the microwave (I know, I know, wash my mouth out!) the next morning for breakfast.

So here it is, in all it's glory:

Sweet pastry

3/4 cup sugar

14 oz unsalted butter

1 large egg, well beaten

1 tsp vanilla extract

3 1/2 cups plain flour

1 tsp salt

Enough plums to line the pastry - in the book it says 3 lb.

There are quite a lot of very specific instructions for this in the book (nearly 2 pages), but as I'm sure we've already established, I like to assume we're all experienced bakers and distill these to their essence. So ...

Cream butter, sugar, egg and vanilla until smooth. Stir in flour until salt until just combined. Refrigerate until firm.

The book says this makes enough dough for an 8" tart, but without a picture, I have no idea what this 8" tart is meant to look like. On this job, there is a paucity of suitable equipment, so I made it in a 12" pizza pan, and had plenty of dough and a bit left over. I reckon as long as the pan is non-stick, there is so much butter in this, there's no need for greasing.

Stone plums and put halves cut side down onto raw pastry. Bake at 180 for about 45 minutes until pastry is golden brown. Sprinkle sanding sugar (I used cassonade, I guess demerara would be good, or just granulated) on top. Serve warmish with cream.

Yum, yum!

World's greatest granola (allegedly)

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 08:15:00 +0000

This comes from David Lebovitz (via Nigella's Feast), and has been going down a storm with my current clients, so for everyone's benefit (especially mine on future jobs when I don't have this written down somewhere useful), here it is:

5 cups rolled oats
3 cups almonds coarsely chopped (I used flaked almonds, walnuts and pistachios)
1 cup sunflower seeds (can't buy these readily in France, turns out they aren't vital to happiness)
3/4 cup sesame seeds (untoasted)
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp sea salt
3/4 cup unsweetened apple puree (or any fruit puree you have, I'm trying apricot next, as they are in abundance)
1/3 cup rice syrup (or maple syrup, honey, golden syrup or agave)
1/4 cup honey
2 tbsp vegetable oil

Warm fruit puree with syrup, honey and oil until well blended. Mix into dry ingredients. Spread on a baking sheet and cook at 300 F / 150 C for 45 mins, stirring every 10 mins. Cool and store in an airtight container. Keeps for about a month, but definitely doesn't last that long.

Duck!

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 12:46:00 +0000

I haven't posted a recipe for something I have made for so long, that it feels a little like the first time. Thoroughly sick of my current repertoire, I have resolved to use this Provence job to extend my range.

During ski season my employers kept going on about a great duck and watermelon salad they had had in Thailand, but without too many specifics I never bothered to make it. But tie idea stuck, so with a bit of guesswork, this is my maiden attempt, with photographic evidence.

Ingredients
2 medium duck breasts , skin on
1/2 packet of mache
2 big fistfuls bean sprouts
3 spring onions, thinly sliced on the diagonal
1/2 a small watermelon, cut into 1" chunks
good handful each mint, coriander and basil (Thai basil would be nice), roughly chopped
100g bag roasted salted cashews

Dressing
1 tbsp fish sauce
1 tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 tbsp soy sauce
3 tbsp sweet chilli sauce (I discovered one with kaffir lime leaves in France, which adds some interest)
Juice of 1-2 limes to taste

Pan fry duck breast skin side down in a cool-ish pan to render out the fat. When nicely browned, finish in a 200 C oven for 6-8 minutes. Leave to rest, then slice thinly. I overcooked mine, not being very familiar with this oven yet, but you're aiming for pinker than the photo!

Combine herbs, spring onions, bean sprouts and cashew nuts in a bowl. Mix dressing, adjusting with lime juice to taste. Spoon 3-4 tbsp of dressing on the nut & herb mix.

Spread mache on a large platter. Scatter chunks of watermelon on mache, top with nut & herb mix, then slices of duck. Repeat layering.

The Emperor's new restaurant

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Sat, 30 Jul 2011 15:12:00 +0000

The wendy house at the bottom of the garden in Provence is tricked out like a little cafe:

I may need to borrow those pie tins!

A slightly better oven than the one I have in the main kitchen!

Do you think I could get away with serving the last one for dinner?

Kopapa

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 10:42:00 +0000

The first of several rather belated posts. I've been working like a donkey since I returned to the UK mid-June, so, ironically, my return to France for a 6 week job in Provence is the first opportunity I've had to resume the sort of routine that allows for blogging.

As a pre-Provence send off, I had dinner on Wednesday evening with some cookery school mates at Kopapa, Peter Gordon's new-ish restaurant on Monmouth Street, just off Seven Dials.

I've only previously eaten at the downstairs bar at The Providores in Marylebone (thanks Little Match Boy No. 1!), but it was enough to make me a die-hard Peter Gordon fan. For those not in the know, he's considered the godfather of fusion food, and though I'm not always convinced by his culinary combinations (obviously I've since had to acquire several of his books), I'm always excited by the breadth of his thinking.

As seems to be the current vogue, the menu is made up of small plates for sharing, which meant two savoury and one sweet choice for each of us.

Leading with some salted steamed edamame, we went on to choose:

Carrot, Emmental & tofu fritter with heritage tomato salad, manouri & black olive dressing 10.00

Deep-fried Sichuan pepper & chilli salted squid with smoked aioli 6.50

Tempura soft shell crab on pickled green mango & cucumber salad with tamarind dressing 9.90

Roast pork belly on white lime-leaf polenta with chilli pickled plums, sorrel & hot ‘n sour coconut jus 8.80

Roast New Zealand lamb rump glazed with quince on crispy sweet potato cake & sea vegetables 18.95

also a duck spring roll, which for some reason doesn't appear on the menus on their website.

and for dessert:

Waffle with roasted stone fruit, vanilla verjus & crème fraîche 7.20

Date brûlée with white chocolate macadamia baklava & white chocolate sorbet 7.50

Original Beans Piura Criollo grand cru 75% dark chocolate fondant with green tea & hazelnut praline nougat glace 8.00

We were too busy gossiping to remember to take photos, but the overall consensus was that it was a bit hit and miss. Tamarind was a vital component of several of the savoury dishes, giving it a slighty same-y note, but was definitely on its best behaviour in our overall favourite, the pork belly with the hot 'n' sour coconut jus.

The date brûlée was a beautifully rendered piece, all creamy custard shell encasing smooth date puree with deliciously refreshing sorbet, but the dark chocolate fondant, we all agreed, was the stuff of fantasy, pitch perfect!

Interestingly, although I wasn't wowed by this visit, it made me re-think my, perhaps rather hasty, opinion of The Modern Pantry, which I visited in late January. My original take was 'really great food, but the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree' (Anna Hansen is a Peter Gordon protege), but I'm ready to take it all back. Certainly, the influences are pervasive, but a fresh reminder of the master's style has given me new appreciation of her own take on fusion flavours.

We do!

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 16:25:00 +0000

One of the advantages of having rather posh clients is that the opportunity for foodie adventures is always on the horizon - from plentiful produce in picturesque French markets to island shrimping expeditions (cooked 'em, peeled 'em, potted 'em), unexpected meals out to, in this case, a taste of royal wedding cake.

The parents of my current clients were amongst the number in the Abbey for Will and Kate's big day, and received, with the compliments of Prince Charles, a slice of wedding cake, in a commemorative tin complete with numbered card (for authentication, should you wish to flog your souvenir on eBay, I suppose).

One slice doesn't go far between 9 people (although I got a little more than this sliver would indicate), and although I'm hardly the staunchest fan of either royalty or fruit cake, as food adventures go, this was, admittedly, rather fun ...

(even more fun, was the declaration today that the birthday cake I made for my client's eldest daughter, now aged 10, was better than the wedding cake!)

Dublin Cookery School

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 11:13:00 +0000

Amongst the options on my list of things to do next, teaching, and spending more time in Dublin, both rank pretty highly - then again, so do more time in new restaurant kitchens, teaching English in Vietnam - in order to learn about the food in situ, and becoming a 'biscuiteer'. I'm deliberately leaving my post-summer life a blank slate in order to see what pops up.

Thanks to seeds sown much earlier in the year, I had the opportunity, before my Norway trip, to sneak in a couple of days trialling for a teaching role at Dublin Cookery School, getting to reality test two of those ideas in one fell swoop.

aubergine, lime & cumin salad

Since Ottolenghi continues to be the 'ace in the hole' of my cookery CV, it was natural that it would be dishes in this style that were required. I demonstrated roast butternut with red onion marmalade, carrots & parsnips in a honey orange reduction and lemon meringue pies - all directly from the Otto oeuvre - as well as cumin chicken with red pepper jam, a lime and aubergine salad, saffron rice cakes and banana bread and gingerbread from my own repertoire.

Walking straight off a plane and into a strange kitchen to demo was more than a little nerve-wracking, as there wasn't time to appease the anally-retentive monster that rules my usual job preparations, and my start was a little shaky. But, a few small cock-ups notwithstanding (and, after all, part of learning to cook is learning how to fix your mistakes), I think it mostly went with a schwing - helped, no doubt, by my status as a leading proponent of the 'chattering classes'.

Although it seems unlikely that any paid employment will materialise from this experience, it was really fun and exciting to zip over to my second-love city to try my hand, and I was much buoyed by the many affirmations from loyal friends and family confident of my general fitness for purpose.

And I'm more confident than ever that Dublin and teaching both definitely lie somewhere in my future. Watch this space ...

Thursday ... must be Norway

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 20:12:00 +0000

From Wednesday to Sunday last week, I was in Norway, catering a wedding for one of the course attendees from a job I did last August. The menu was nothing rigorous, being comprised of workhorses in the Ottolenghi style, but the job itself was by far the most arduous I've undertaken.

As a cost saver, I agreed to cut one of my prep days by taking on two work experience boys from the local catering college - a mistake I swear never to make again. I like to work alone, and mostly in silence, and I'll be in the kitchen at 6:30 and work a 15 hour day, sometimes without even a toilet break, in order to achieve the end goal within those parameters. So spending 3 days making allowances for little boys with too much confidence, and not enough skills, was a real trial.

It was the flip side of the enjoyment I find in teaching others new skills. In order to enjoy teaching, I've realised, one really needs a controlled environment, and the last few hours before show time just don't present those conditions.

I very firmly believe that there is no need to shout in the kitchen, but even I lost my temper at their apparent inability to use any initiative. Cooking seven Ottolenghi style salads, three types of chicken and two desserts for nearly sixty people in a modestly proportioned domestic kitchen with an old, and rather clunky, oven presents its own set of challenges. It can be hard to remain sweet tempered, and remember they are still learning, when you see someone standing with their arms folded not looking for a new job to take on.

It's a measure of my irritation that, nearly a week later, I still can't put a positive spin on the experience - especially since I try hard not to make my blog a vehicle for whingeing, whining and unnecessary negativity. But, no doubt, in time, I will look back on this job and be grateful for something I have unwittingly learned. I hope those little boys can do the same.

(Actually, the saving grace of it all, is probably that these rather poor photos are not my fault - I didn't have time to document my efforts, so someone else is to blame for the lack of focus and poor colour reproduction - hurrah!)

look at that cross face - definitely feeling the burn!

on the receiving end of cheering, stamping, clapping and
ululating - I guess it was worth it after all!

Happy Birthday to me!

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Tue, 24 May 2011 08:16:00 +0000

I'm definitely on to something!

After the success of last year's 'sharing the love/spreading the load' birthday picnic, where, for the first time ever, I delegated the making of some of the food (not without first specifying the recipes and giving detailed instructions - anal-retentive? moi?), I decided to repeat the process this year for my 40th birthday picnic in the Isabella Plantation in Richmond Park.

With my crazy schedule, I didn't have time to exercise the same level of control freakery as last year, so the instructions meted out simply read 'cake', 'main', 'cheese' etc. Here's what we came up with:

the feast

my mother's salad - roasted asparagus, orange zest,
parmesan and watercress

Lovely Lisa's best-tart-I've-ever-eaten - smoked salmon
and chive - beautifully decorated by her daughter -
teach 'em young is what I say!

my baked chicken in a spicy yoghurt sauce -
really, no excuses for the lack of garnish!

my salad - fennel, apple, asparagus and hazelnuts
with watercress and microcress

Cake Lady Clare's hummingbird cake

the theme of the party was 'the cat in the hat' - me, wearing
the crown made for me by The Incomparable K - starting
40 as I mean to continue!

All photos (except the one of me) courtesy of the Digital Demon, who is a far more reliable documenter of these things than I am!

A San Francisco miscellany

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Sat, 14 May 2011 13:47:00 +0000

Off to LA today, so one final SF post to sweep up all those eating experiences that I never quite got round to documenting ...

Green almonds, bought from a stall in the Ferry Building

Never had these before! The kernels take a little work to get to, and when you do they are a creamy white, like the inside of a not-green almond, but the flesh is clear and crispy. They have a distinctly sour edge to them, with hints of the refreshing wateriness of cucumber. On their own they're not all that, but would make an unusual, and texturally interesting, addition to salad.

Apparently they will keep for about three weeks once picked, but will never ripen further. Left on the tree, they will turn into almonds as we know and love them.

Cakes from Miette

An Old-fashioned, with Italian meringue topping and a sugared almond

Yellow cupcake with an incredible strawberry buttercream. Best. Icing. Ever!

(can you tell they're not my photos?! I knocked the box off the counter while chocolate tasting at Tcho, so mine weren't good for anything but eating - but, the real things are just as perfect as these photos suggest.)

Ice cream from the Three Twins

They say it's 'inconceivably delicious' - I tried the vanilla, and bought the mocha - it's good, but, pressed, I could probably conceive of something equally yummy ...

Pork buns and iced Vietnamese coffee from Out The Door

Pizza from Cheese Board Pizza Collective, Berkeley.

Yum, yum, greasy pizza goodness. Came with live blues and a queue almost around the block.

Salted caramel and brown butter pecan ice creams from Bi-Rite Creamery.

Best salted caramel, properly salted, but the brown butter pecan, while chock full of nuts, wasn't anything to write home about.

Morning bun (and hot chocolate) at Tartine Bakery

Tartine was a place of pilgrimage for me (I have both books), and didn't fail to live up to my expectations. The morning bun is listed as one of those must-have-while-in-SF items, so although I was tempted by all the other beautiful, and delicious-looking, goods on display, I went along with the diktat. Cinnamon and orange-scented, it is the softest, most delicate brioche bun I've ever eaten, with a very monkey bread-ish sticky, sugar topping embedded in the twist. A real lesson in how to do it.

A bouchon from Bouchon Bakery

So full of chocolatey goodness, Deirdre said hers was still great two days later. Also, a strawberry-rhubarb macaron, which was 'meh' - my mother's are much better - a peanut butter cup, and a s'mores dessert that was sick-making, but awesome.

Uncaptured on camera, but still on the menu - an iced coffee from Philz in the Mission - apparently the best coffee in the city, certainly the smoothest coffee I've ever had; 2 slices of pizza from "Escape from New York" in the Haight - crispety, crunchety pizza goodness - not the best, but good all the same; a Gilded Lily cocktail to stain your lips gold, and another whose name I forgot (the sell was 'we like a cocktail that stares you in the face' - yes, we do!) plus jerk-spiced duck hearts and an amazing asparagus and burrata salad from the awesome Alembic bar in the Haight; and naturally, a couple of bags of peanut butter M&Ms, because peanut butter and chocolate is the food of the gods!

Miss American Pie

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Fri, 13 May 2011 17:20:00 +0000

For all I know, there are a great many reasons to visit Oakland , CA, but, for me there was only one ... Oakland is the home of pie lady, Jaynelle St Jean.

My cheap week of 'underground' eats has led me to search out independent foodie entrepreneurs doing their thing from home kitchens and street corners. with minimal fuss, but maximum taste. And so I discovered PieTISSERIE, the professional title for Jaynelle, pie purveyor of the East Bay.

She started out, last year, giving pie away to neighbours through a staged window at her mother's house - mimicking the classic country window with homemade pies set out to cool. It's a very clever conceit, drawing as it does on both a youthful domestic nostalgia and an internationally recognised all-American iconography.

She currently serves her pie out of a neighbourhood cafe at 1015 Clay Street* between 11am and 2pm. But, although this new venue puts a stamp of legitimacy on her enterprise, it's still a charmingly informal arrangement, as she sells directly to customers through the cafe's front window.

I had Facebooked her earlier in the week for directions, which proved an easy introduction, and when I announced that I had come just for her pie and planned to eat at least three slices, she seemed genuinely pleased, her service-time concentration melting into the widest smile.

Her modesty clearly belies her success, however. I felt the ripple of excitement around the room as people realised "the pie lady is here!", I overheard the hurried conferences about which flavour to order, and I was witness to the table that bought an entire pie before they'd placed their savoury order, just to ensure they got the spiced apple they were all craving.

I couldn't help but feel I was getting a sneak peak at the start of her brilliant career - undeniably photogenic, in person she is so cute I wanted to put a stamp on her and post her back to London. Combine that with her obvious culinary credentials, and you feel she's just made for the media.

But, now, unexpected pie-girl crush to one side, let's get to the pie ...

Pie is just not a British thing, and it's certainly not a South African thing (melktert and that peculiar fridge tart concoction of jelly and Orley Whip don't count), so if you want the real American Pie experience, you need to come to, well, America. Not having an adequate pie frame of reference tends to put me off making things from my large American baking book section, simply because I have no idea if it will be right or not. Time to change all that!

There were five pies on the menu today, but I was pipped at the post for the aforementioned spicy apple one, so instead I ordered:

Chocolate cream pie with a pretzel crust

Chocoholics apply here! I love chocolate and, in the face of my lactose intolerance, I persist in loving cream. The unfamiliar nutty-salty-crunchy pretzel crust combined the two to great effect.

Raspberry with a chocolate crust

OK, not the prettiest of the three (it had a black and white lattice top that's hard to appreciate once cut), but that molten mess of pure fruit is what real, homemade pie looks like. No photo studio fakery to make a polite presentation, this is what really happens when you cut your pie at home.

See the golden raspberries?!

I thought it immensely stylish of her to have used golden raspberries as well as red, the sort of attention to detail to completely appeal to an anal-retentive like me, and the very best part was that this was still warm from the oven ... as if I had needed any proof that it was 'baked this morning'!

Yam and ginger pie

Jaynelle came over bearing this extra, unasked for, plate. "I know you didn't order this", she said "but, you've come all the way from London ..." Sweet! I love that girl!

I didn't expect to like this, and the first couple of bites left me a little unconvinced, and then, somehow, I suddenly saw the light. It was a little e-pie-phany!

Grapefruit custard pie with Graham cracker crust

Graham crackers, I've only recently discovered, are, despite their exotic appeal, just another version of digestives. Perhaps a little sweeter, but basically the same eating experience. Amazingly, this actually tasted of grapefruit. I had expected it would just have a citrus zip, but no, the grapefruit was quite identifiable. Impressive.

Positively pie-eyed on all that sugar and babbling like a brook!

A very worthwhile $4.25 a slice, but I put in a bit for the yam pie, just so that I could say we'd split a piece of pie.

* take the BART to Downtown Oakland/12th Street, walk down to 11th, hang a right and walk along 3 or 4 blocks to Clay Street.

Tra Vigne

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Wed, 11 May 2011 19:08:00 +0000

After the somewhat mixed experience of Chez Panisse - on the one hand the beef was a near-epiphanic eating experience, on the other hand it was an over-priced legendary let-down - I was feeling a little nervous about dragging Deirdre to my next stop on my eating tour of California - Michael Chiarello's Tra Vigne in St Helena.

A few years ago, in New York, I bought the restaurant cookbook, hence its appearance on my tour schedule. While I love eating Italian, it's not my personal cooking genre, so there must have been something special about it that struck a chord ... that, or I was in the sort of book-buying fugue that has resulted in a more than 600 strong collection.

The realisation that he has a media career rivalling Gordon Ramsay's did nothing to allay my anticipatory anxiety - would reality live up to the hype? But, as it turned out, my fears were all for naught.

It's very much a family-oriented pasta and pizza palace - but in an upmarket, Napa Valley kind of way. Situated in a huge vault of a building, with triple height ceilings and a kitchen dominated by the biggest wood-fired pizza oven either of us had ever seen - you could fit a whole cow in there - that they were happy for us to inspect up close.

The scanty research I'd done to justify my venue choice had indicated that the absolute must-have on the menu was the 'mozzarella al minuto'. This is literally mozzarella made to order - so the curds have been made and cut, and left to stew, and then once you've placed your order, they are put in a vat of hot, salted water to form into a ball, and stretched to give them an appropriate mozzarella texture. Admittedly not everyone will agree with this sentiment, but in my world that elicits a "how absolutely thrilling" response.

The OMG rating out of 5 was at least a 7, if not an 8. This was so, so good. It came simply drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with salt and pepper. Then, deftly cut at the table by the charming Michael, it was placed atop chargrilled slices of bruschetta.

(Again with the rubbish photos, but bear with me, I feel I'm about to break through the photographic barrier, from diabolically bad to merely incompetent.)

Still warm from being formed, it was milky and soft, but with an appropriate amount of elastic bite from being pulled. Personally, I don't like it if mozzarella is too soft and creamy, because it reminds me of the bits of uncooked egg white atop a fried egg, which gives me the creeps. It needs form and texture, so, to my mind, this was perfection.

As the other starter, we shared the arancini. Being at the point of hunger where I'd acquired a headache and was about to lose my sense of humour, I was first off the bat for one of these. Biting into it piping hot meant I got long telephone wires of cheese, scalding bolognese and the softest, least stodgy risotto in my personal history of arancini eating.

Next up, pizza for Deirdre.

She's planning to build the sort of cob oven I always wanted The (H)ex to build for me, so this was all in the name of research. The base was fantastic, soft but chewy, with a good amount of charring and an excellent flavour, but neither of us was wowed by the American love for chicken sausage, and the fried egg had some of the aforementioned creepy egg white, which put me off a bit.

For me, ravioli, with a lemon-scented goats cheese filling.

How the hell does he get his ravioli this thin? Mine never comes out as anything more elegant than 'stodgy' - I wonder if a bigger machine rolls the pasta thinner? Another great dish, light, fresh and flavourful, but, at $18 a little pricey for six ravioli.

There were some great sounding desserts, but we decided to save what appetite was left for indulgences at the Bouchon Bakery just down the road.

An extremely reasonable $39, including tip but no alcohol (and yeah, yeah, I know we were in wine country, but ...).

Chez Panisse

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Sun, 08 May 2011 15:16:00 +0000

APOLOGIES for the incredibly crap photos - it was quite dark, and, patently, I should have taken a different lens (hey, my photography career only started two weeks ago in Denmark - still learning!) - but, hopefully, yellow light and camera shake notwithstanding, you'll get the picture.

Long before Ballymaloe, I wanted to come to Chez Panisse, but it was fitting that I should finally make the trek with another Ballymaloe alumnus, my friend Deirdre who writes the Irish food blog thefood.ie. For both of us, this was like a trip to the mother ship.

We were fortunate that our table was slightly delayed, so we got to wait at the bar in the upstairs cafe, with its much less formal atmosphere, complete with personalised Chez Panisse paper bunting.

The kitchens in both venues being very much open-plan, everywhere there are artful presentations of prime produce - a bowl of red-mottled leeks, a vase of green almonds, a heap of broad beans. It's an enticing philosophy of uniting the produce, its processing, and the end product in the mind of the consumer that I am very familiar with from Ottolenghi's own displays, and it was fascinating to see the extent to which this aesthetic influence has been transposed to the less urbane environment of Shanagarry.

Though their reach and focus may differ, Darina Allen and Alice Waters are undeniably crusaders in the same cause, and Darina's students, and the Irish food industry at large, will owe her a debt for many years to come.

The menu was:

An aperitif of sparkling wine and fennel syrup

Cured King salmon with shaved fennel salad and anise hyssop

A beautifully balanced dish of more-meaty-than-fishy salmon, crispily tender baby fennel, an extremely light-touch lemon vinaigrette and new-for-me anise hyssop, the skill was at least 75% in the sourcing.

Hand-cut pasta, with creamy morel mushrooms, spring garlic confit and thyme

Sown generously with finely chopped fresh thyme, it was this element alone that elevated the dish from something you could order at your round-the-corner-averagely-good-Italian. Pasta with mushrooms, 'nuff said.

So far, so a little bit disappointing!

Grilled piedmontese beef tenderloin with broth, spring vegetables, horseradish and herb salsa

You can discount every carelessly-bandied food superlative I have uttered between the last spoonful of the chicken broth with foie gras ravioli at Joel Robuchon (circa November 2008) and the first forkful of this beef. This was why I made my pilgrimage to Chez Panisse. It was a truly sublime, eye-opening education of a dish.

They say one eats beef for the texture, and lamb for the flavour, and if that is true, then this is the peak that every great chef is attempting to summit. I've heard the word velvety used to describe meat before, but, though I've eaten some pretty fine pieces of beef, I have never experienced something more precisely fitting that description. Think rubbing a piece of super-soft velvet against your cheek, or hugging yourself in a cashmere cardigan. This was the masticatory equivalent. It was, without a hint of exaggeration, a transcendent eating experience.

Accompanied by tiny broad beans, asparagus tips, freshly podded peas (a slightly pointless exercise I always feel, since by the time they reach the pot, they are all starch - but they look pretty and taste of spring, if not very sweet spring), mini new potatoes and broth that managed to be both full-flavoured and incredibly delicate.

The herb and horseradish salsa held its balance perfectly, the freshness of the herbs complemented by finely grated fresh horseradish that added lightness, savour, and only intimations of heat - such finely grained meat deserved a counterpoint that was as elegantly restrained as this one.

Rum, espresso and chocolate ice cream bombe

Really? When you are famed for your use of the finest seasonal produce that your state has to offer, and the account of the serving of a single perfect, unadorned peach for dessert has entered the realms of culinary mythology (and the cafe upstairs is serving the most beautiful red rhubarb tart), this feels like a pointlessly wasted opportunity to showcase your talents. Having said that, the texture was perfect, the sauces intense, the cake as light as a feather, and the walnuts so delicately crystallised their sugary crunch was almost phantasmagorical.

Petit fours of crystallised strawberries, and a pretty nasty little raisin-topped almond biscuit (I think), on a distressingly twee little flowery plate that was suggestive of the sort of cheap tea rooms that propagate a 'quirky' personality through their use of 'mash up' crockery - an odd note to end on.

And, finally, a mint tisane to finish.

$120! Dinner shoots up from $60 during the week to $95 on the weekend. Add tax and a 17% service charged (included) and it makes for a pretty hefty price tag. Was it worth it? With a just marginally more pedestrian main course, I would have said a resounding 'No!', but that beef was the stuff of legend, and in order to have my eyes opened to its true possibilities, I would have paid $120 for that dish alone.

Berkeley Farmers Market

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Sun, 08 May 2011 01:53:00 +0000

I don't pretend, five days in, to be able to deliver a precise definition of California cuisine, but I'm pretty sure that one of its central tenets is "don't mess with Mother Nature!"

I've been to three farmers markets so far (United Nations Plaza, the Ferry Building and, today, Berkeley), and the quality and diversity of what's on offer is the stuff of fantasy. I can quite understand how this state spawned a gastronomic revolution.

On seeing the incredible, and incredibly specific, selection, the first thought of anyone with a shred of respect for food, and the effort contained in its production, must surely be "how can I cook this without detracting from its essential fabulousness?" Anything and everything you do has to be merely a vehicle for enhancing its natural splendor.

It was very hard to walk through this alley of Eden with my hands tied by my lack of cooking opportunities, but I could at least take a photo (and buy the t-shirt!).

I didn't recognise this variety, but the stall also offered oyster, blue oyster, shiitake, portabella, baby portabella, crimini and bog-standard button mushrooms, as well as dried morels, royal trumpets, porcini, shiitake and maitake.

At the United Nations Plaza market, one could buy three different types of strawberry - I forgot to make a note of the varieties, but the descriptions were 'sweet & crispy', 'sweet & juicy' and 'very, very sweet' - each one evenly coloured, perfectly shaped and in pristine condition and an ideal state of ripeness - how different from Sainsbury, where a few vaguely unblemished specimens mask the rapidly rotting flesh beneath.

There was also a stall selling dates - not, of course, just any dates, but medjool, derrie, deglet noor, zahidi, amber and unpollinated derries ... I love this place!

Bouchon

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Sat, 07 May 2011 04:58:00 +0000

The public transport system between San Francisco and Napa Valley somewhat conspires against its car-free passengers. It's pretty good value*, but so excruciatingly long-winded as to scupper the best laid plans of even the most robustly conceived tour schedule.

Every intention to sip a slick of $42-dollar-a-bottle olive oil, trail through sculpture gardens, or sniff out champagne houses turned out to be completely impossible harnessing only the combined horsepower of the Vine bus service and shanks' pony.

Sometimes, just mastering the local transport system can be triumph enough, and, since we must take our victories where we can, I conceded that this was such a moment.

Adjusted expectations combined with sparkling sunshine, a gentle breeze, the adorable attentions of the maitre d', and the excitement of having successfully reached my destination, to find their perfect expression in my opening cocktail, the appropriately named Grounds for Divorce.

Bouchon is the American dream of bistros.

I can say, with certainty, that there aren't many such picture-perfect examples extant in real-life France, and those that are certainly don't live up to these standards of spotless California hygiene. From zinc bar top to tiled floor, mirrored walls to bentwood chairs, the attention to detail is flawless, and, naturally, that effort extends to the menu.

No surprises there, it's classic bistro fare, but delivered to an enviable standard. Workhorses of the bistro repertoire are being churned out to a more-or-less acceptable standard the world over, so it's easy to underestimate the level of skill required to do these dishes justice. But simple also has the potential to be sublime, in the right hands.

First off, cod brandade beignets with tomato confit and fried sage - these were fantastic! Crispy, flaky, deep-fried purses of salt cod atop intense, juicy, oven-dried tomatoes. Ironically, not quite as salty as they might have been, they needed the extra bite of a little mustard to bring it all together. Tiny quibbles that did nothing to slow their progress down my greedy gullet.

Next up, roast chicken with green asparagus, wild mushrooms and braised fennel (it said caramelized spring onion on the menu, but even I can tell the difference!) with sauce forestiere. Honestly, including the quite superlative chickens available at Ballymaloe, I think this was the best roast chicken I have ever eaten.

and sauteed spinach, with three healthy cloves of garlic, which I scoffed with alacrity - one of the many advantages of having no Prince Charming (or even a frog) to kiss tonight!

And to finish, almond pot de creme with strawberry/rhubarb compote

This was the only unconvincing element for me.

Bistro desserts - iles flottante, profiteroles, et al - are never the most exciting part, and, where anything with almond extract is concerned, I can never quite get away from recollections of the little blue tubs of white glue paste that we used for art projects in primary school. The flavour and texture were variable from top to bottom, and any rhubarb pretty convincingly hidden by the rather gelatinous strawberry topping. How much nicer I think this would have been as a toasted almond pot de creme. I'll try it out when next I'm in the kitchen.

Drink in hand, and grinning like a cat, I spent the whole lunchtime in delighted contemplation of this extraordinarily good life I find myself leading. Three years ago I had just extricated myself from The (H)ex and all his horrors, was under the cosh of a job I hated, and the most exciting food experience I could muster in my crawl-into-a-hole-to-lick-my-wounds life was a trip to Lidl. And now, here I sit, in a restaurant owned by one of the best chefs, in one of the most gastronomically exciting regions, in the world, wondering whether or not to order another cocktail. It hasn't happened by accident, but how fortunate I am, and how sweet it all is.

I may not have seen much of Napa today, but look how far I've come.

At $90, including tip (and one well-earned cocktail), it was pretty expensive, but I guess the cost is in the cachet, and this was, for now at least, the closest I was going to get to the master, so I coughed up with a smile on my face.

* $24 for a round trip to Vallejo, and $4 for an all day bus pass between Vallejo and Calistoga, covering all the Napa Valley bases.

St Francis Fountain

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Fri, 06 May 2011 03:01:00 +0000

Yesterday, I was a woman on a mission.

Or, at least, a woman headed towards the Mission, the Latino district of SF.

While I could, and probably should, have been in search of the city's finest burrito, I've yet to be completely won over by anything involving refried beans.

No. In all the times I've visited America, I've never been to a real American diner, and the Mission, according to my sources, has the real deal.

Growing up in South Africa, where, thanks to the Equity ban, American cultural imperialism rampaged unchecked, my sister and I were enchanted, and obsessed, by the Archie comics. I think she felt some affinity for Betty and Veronica, but my heart belonged to the maverick, beanie-wearing Jughead, a boy who could eat his own bodyweight in burgers.

Pop Tate's, the all-American diner, having a fond place in my frame of reference, it was time to turn fantasy into reality, and St Francis Fountain, on the corner of 24th & York, sounded like just the place.

As it is.

This is no slick, high-chrome corporate attempt to rake in the tourist dollar. It's a we've-been-here-for-more-than-a-hundred-years joint whose authenticity is ingrained in every scratch on the formica tables, rip in the bar stool upholstery, and chip out of the wood veneer booths.

I loved it!

It made the miles of city street I traversed - from bustling downtown, to seedy Market street, through gentrified suburbia and into the barrio - totally worth it. I reckon I made a 10 mile circuit in my pursuit of this heart attack on a plate

a cheeseburger (with the slightly unorthodox/inauthentic addition of guacamole), every trimming a nostalgic heart could wish for, the best fries I've ever eaten, and a meat patty the likes of which I haven't tasted since leaving the old country, all washed down by

a milkshake too thick to drink through the charmingly impractical paper straw, and tasting remarkably like the era these memories/fantasies are dredged from.

The ensuing complex carbohydrate coma lasted a full 12 hours, making me almost fear I would never eat again. Ah, good times!

$21, including tip. (I realised that, for anyone actually interested in the costs, I should clarify that my tipping is in the 20% region - being on the [non]receiving end of some pretty shoddy tipping practices during the ski season has made me a little over-sensitive to stinginess).

The Slanted Door

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Wed, 04 May 2011 04:51:00 +0000

I'll admit I'm a post behind - I still need to document four days of bakery bingeing in Copenhagen ... any day now - but with two trips so close together, needs must that I begin documenting my trip to California, before I get even further behind.

Fusion food being my particular interest makes this jaunt the perfect opportunity to stuff my face in the name of professional development, but although the budget for this trip blows about half of my ski season earnings - chefs really don't earn enough - in reality it only amounts to one meal a day, if I'm to make them count.

Still, there's little value in coming to a gastronomic mecca like California and eating rubbish, and, this place being the embodiment of all the foodie values that Ballymaloe espouses (Darina and Alice Waters are bezzas, unsurprisingly), makes the experience even more pertinent.

I've got bookings at Bouchon and Chez Panisse in the diary, but today's edible education comprised the following:

Lunch at The Slanted Door

I've read repeated reviews declaring this Vietnamese fusion restaurant by Charles Phan unmissable, and who am I to argue? I left the ordering in the capable hands of the fabulous waiter, my new darling, Jonathan, who did me proud.

First up, from the raw bar, halibut with crispy shallots and thai basil:

I'm a big fan of raw fish, so this was bound to be popular, and having never had Thai basil before, I was intrigued to try its slightly aniseedy, citrus and floral flavour, quite distinct from the usual Italian basil. As well as the chopped shallots, there was a hint of lime, and, I think, the tiniest amount of chopped garlic. But at $16 for two small pieces, I was a bit concerned that lunch in this vein wasn't going to take up much room.

Next, something I would never have ordered for myself, which was unbelievably delicious, and filling, daikon rice cakes with shiitake mushrooms and shallots:

This seems to have been made like a savoury rice pudding, with a smooth, almost custardy texture, then moulded and left to cool and solidify. To serve it was pan-fried until lightly crispy and served with a hot, tangy 'broth'. I have to assume that the mushrooms were part of this sauce, (along with, at the least, fish sauce and soy), since there was no evidence of them in the rice cake. I also expected the daikon to add a little heat, but there was no hint of this, although it was far from bland. The generous garnish of coriander made for an eating experience quite distinct from the rice cake and broth on their own - always interesting how one additional element can really elevate a dish. Not a huge portion (about 2.5" square) but I stopped worrying about being hungry!

Next up, in complete contrast, was a refreshing salad of grapefruit and jicama (a vegetable, I now realise, I saw in its natural state for the first time today - spotted in a corner shop just down from my hostel in Little Saigon - looks a bit like a mis-shapen potato, has a fairly non-descript flavour, but great juicy, crunchy texture, and doesn't discolour, so good for serving raw), red cabbage, pickled carrot and candied pecans:

Another example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. It had a light dressing with a tiny amount of heat, and more Thai basil. I loved the pickled carrots - which really were as orange as the photo suggests - pickling meant they had lost a little of their bite, in a good way, but were not at all sharp or sour.

Despite being pretty full at this stage, my greedy oinker status dictates that dessert is a must, and here, the lovely Jonathan really came into his own. Asked for his recommendation, he declared of the strawberry bread pudding "If I could live inside a dessert, it would be this one". Well, that's quite some endorsement, so how could I say no?

I'm not usually that keen on French toast, but then again, I've never had a doorstop-sized hunk of bread - somewhere in the hybrid zone between pain de mie and brioche - quite like this. Soaked in heavily vanilla-scented sweet custard (a thin version of creme brulee mix?), it has made a convert of me. The cross-cut strawberries had the lightest hint of lime that also added another dimension.

Of course, sugar being my thing, I'd also been tempted, for the academic interest, of course, by caramelized pineapple with coconut tapioca and spicy cashews, so here it is:

In my defence, I didn't actually order two desserts, but, I am, proudly, the biggest fag hag in the Western hemisphere, and my over-the-top enthusiasm, general flirting and shameless declarations of love (how can you not be instantly in love with someone who contemplates living inside a dessert?) for the lovely Jonathan, had the unintended effect of scoring me a complimentary extra. Not quite as good as his own recommendation, the pineapple was a bit cloying, but the tapioca was a hit.

And, all in all, I couldn't have bettered this first experience of eating out in San Francisco - food, flirting and freebies, a veritable five star occasion.

$40, without alcohol, but including a hefty tip for my sweetheart.

Noma

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Sat, 30 Apr 2011 20:33:00 +0000

Paying homage to the King - I am not worthy, I am not worthy!

Yes! I have eaten AT Noma! All that salaam-ing works up an appetite ...
for cakes from Le Glace, Copenhagen's oldest bakey

Beauty parade

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 20:54:00 +0000

They say a lady never reveals her secrets ... then again, that ain't no lady!

A quote perhaps more appropriate for Mae West, but let's apply it here all the same. This is Marilyn:

She's one of the seven cakes I bought from master patissiere, Patrick Chevallot, to celebrate my penultimate day in the Alps. All season, I have a led a life of pecuniary deprivation and relentless anhedonia, in pursuit of the larger goal, come the autumn, of choices that only money can buy.

No beers in the sunshine, no lunches up the mountain, no tacky Val d'Isere souvenirs, I've been the very model of abstention, but in a final paltry act of defiance, I spent twenty five euros on all the cakes I have eyed with wonder over the last five months.

Of course, I persuaded myself that this is, yet again, an essential part of my continuing professional development, and I'm happy to confirm that the eating of them has been educational!

The other reason I was determined to guzzle a gateau or seven before my hasty exit, is that I have tried, with repeated lack of success, to attend the pastry class purportedly held every week by Monsieur Chevallot himself.

I even tried to attend his scheduled demonstration as part of the (damp squib) Pistes Gourmandes - I was determined to be one of the lucky few to attend a pastry workshop, in ski gear, 2000m up a mountain at the Folie Douce - but it was not to be. I did get to fill and coat about 300 profiteroles, but hey, been there, done that.

In a fit of pique after that aborted effort, I peered through the shop window to find something, anything, to learn, and came across his version of Mont Blanc, the traditional regional dessert of meringue, cream and chestnut puree. Beautifully finished with glace chestnut slices and gold leaf, its most intriguing novel component was a blackcurrant compote at the base. I immediately amended my own less comely version, substituting his creme chantilly with a vanilla mascarpone cream, and the new and improved version won several "dessert of the week" accolades in the ensuing weeks.

With a track record like that, further investigation seemed, not merely justified, but positively obligatory. What else could I dissect and turn into a personal portfolio piece?

So, let the beauties in question reveal their all ...

As previously introduced, the lovely Marilyn:

Described as: Creme brulee vanille, biscuit chocolat, cremeux chocolate Caraibe, sabayon chocolat Manjeri

Translation: Shiny, very shiny, with a delicate strip of white marbling (do they do that with an airbrush, I wonder?) and a small square chocolate wafer with a gold transfer of the name Marilyn and some lip prints (apparently Master Patissiere attention to detail leaves nothing to be desired - they don't get to wear the French flag on the collar of their chef's jacket for no good reason!). This is everything a chocoholic could hope for, impossibly rich and decadent, with the added bonus of a creme brulee filling, but as W.C. Fields opined about children, I couldn't eat a whole one.

OMG rating: *****

Roule myrtille

Described as: biscuit legere, confiture et mousseline myrtille

Translation: So pretty to look at, and on it's own, probably as delightful as one could hope for, but next to all that other decadence, it seemed a little plain. Delicately slender poppy seed sponge wrapped around juicy blackcurrants in a blackcurrant mousse, all glazed, with a creme chantilly flourish and purple-coloured white chocolate feather - plus a little gold leaf finishing touch - mais, bien sur!

OMG rating: **

St Michel

Described as: biscuit brownie cassis, chocolat creme vanille, mousse chocolat mure

Translation: A glorious velour coating (again, one for the airbrush? although I have seen cocoa butter aerosol spray in the Cash 'n' Carry, so that could be the answer - dontcha just love French pastry?!), offset by the most perfectly even, high gloss chocolate dripping - such control - topped with a blackberry, and set atop a brownie base encrusted with toasted hazelnuts. Two consistencies of creamy chocolate filling, with a strong creme de mure accent, being the highlight for me. The brownie was a bit of a lowlight, as I found the crunch too great a contrast with the other sensations going on.

OMG rating: ***

Vosgienne

Described as: creme vanille, myrtille, biscuit d'amande et pistache

Translation: The softest almond paste (not quite marzipan, so much better, less in-your-face) that leaves one incredulous at the skill that can manipulate such delicate ingredients, and a pistachio sponge, encase vanilla cream, with a healthy dollop of blackcurrants that are not quite compote, not quite jam, but both juicily fresh and stickly preserved, all stylishly branded with Monsieur Chevallot's calling card. The marketeer in me applauds.

OMG rating: ****

Merveilleux

Described as: meringue, ganache, glacage

Translation: Pretty much what it says on the tin - a large dome-shaped meringue (the de rigeur shape du jour, apparently), with a thin layer of ganache, coated in a smooth chocolate glaze, that is slighly more plastic (i.e. pliable, as opposed to inedible) than the glaze for the Marilyn. Personally I find chocolate and meringue an uninspiring combination, but I like this for its sheer style, and, respect for the chewy meringue!

OMG rating: **

Charlotte Framboise

Described as: biscuit cuillere, cremeux framboise, mousse framboise, biscuit madeleine citron

Translation: Look at those perfect raspberries. Every one a little red orb of dimpled perfection. How do they get the icing sugar to stay dry - I wonder if the added silica helps with that, as well as free-flowingness? The surrounding sponge had raspberries and, I think, angelica, without being remotely 'chewy', and the lemon madeleine base lent a perfect note of citrus to the outstandingly punchy, creamy raspberry confection. This was my favourite. The OMG rating should really read 6 out of 5.

OMG rating: *****

Clafoutis framboise Chibouste citron vert

Described as: pate sucree, framboise, creme citron vert

Translation: the one I most wanted to try, not least to discover what creme Chibouste tastes like, and because everything about it looks so perfect - the perfectly crimped pastry case, the perfectly round smooth creme, the perfectly shiny glaze, the perfectly halved strawberry - both sides with a bit of hull - all of it perfect, perfect, perfect. Will I ever be able to produce something this beautiful? A strongly scented lime chibouste, lightly set with gelatine in a savarin mould, the perfect combination of structure and creaminess, without a hint of rubber. Set atop a miniature raspberry clafoutis in a cake-like case, glazed and topped with all that perfect fruit. I loved it. Clever and stylish, and now that I've deconstructed it, totally do-able at home.

OMG rating: *****

*** In mitigation of my unadulterated piggery - and yes, we have long ago established that I am capable of scarfing an entire box of cakes solo - I did actually share these with 2 other chefs and a couple of chalet hosts, although all opinions expressed are my own - because, hey, it's all about me!!

A taste of things to come

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 19:12:00 +0000

Two more hot dinners, and the Alpine experience is over.

While other more far-flung adventures await me, I'll be back in France over the summer, including a 6 week stint in Provence. With this in mind, and again with the whole using-up-the-stores thing, I made a walnut tart for tonight's dessert.

I've made this once before, last summer - also in France - when, for the first time, I got the point of walnuts. I've never been a fan, preferring sweet pecans to walnuts usually rancid results, but, several happy hours of cracking fresh nuts with new friends in the midi-Pyrenees sunshine have given me a new outlook.

Nonetheless, somewhat sceptical of the overall quality of my bulk purchase, I decided to offset any potential bitterness with a couple of ameliorations - honey and lavender. I liked this tart before, but now I think it is a real winner.

For a 10" tart (serves 12)

Shortcrust pastry base, blind baked

450g walnuts, pulsed to small chunks
180g sugar
200 ml double cream
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp dried lavender
45g melted butter
Runny honey

Put lavender and sugar in with walnuts to pulse. Beat eggs and cream with vanilla until well combined, then stir in melted butter. Add to walnut-sugar mix. Pour into pre-baked tart shell. Bake for about 20 minutes at 180 C. Tart should still be slightly wobbly at centre. Take from oven and immediately drizzzle honey generously over the surface. Serve with creme fraiche.

Fool's gold

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 18:56:00 +0000

I've had a lot of fun over the years internet dating, but I'm notorious for my ability to scare away that delicate critter, the dating male, with my foot-in-mouth disease.

My favourite example of this being the time my mystery correspondent insisted on signing himself 'R'. As our witty repartee gathered pace, I pressed him for a name. Coyly, he resisted my several entreaties. Finally, exasperated, I took to guessing. Richard? Roger? Rumplestiltskin?

Oddly, I never got a response to that last one ... I can only assume that I was right, and having stamped his foot, as the story goes, he disappeared through the floorboards never to be seen again - a loss to the dating world, I am sure.

But, it turns out my passing fancy is not the only one capable of spinning gold from less-than-promising raw materials, as this evidence of my first efforts at spun sugar can attest ...

Houston, we have a problem

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 20:33:00 +0000

The very best thing about being a self-employed chef, is that now, everything I would spend my money on anyway - books, lessons, equipment - is tax deductible. I can fool myself into thinking that the extravagance of Japanese vegetable turners, fish filleting masterclasses and books I have no shelf space to store, are all a virtuous part of my self-styled programme of continuing professional development.

It's that tedious time of year when I have to do a round up of the ins and outs of my bank account, and having singularly failed to keep all those tiresome Amazon emails, I had to do an order history review.

Thanks to the realities of being stuck up a mountain with an extremely unreliable postal service, and bereft of the instant gratification of overnight delivery, the 2010/11 tax year counts as, for me, an unusually modest period of acquisition:

Mad about Macarons (Jill Colonna)

Sarah Raven’s Food for Family & Friends (Sarah Raven)

Frozen Desserts (Francisco Migoya, CIA)

Les Halles Cookbook: Classic Bistro Cooking (Anthony Bourdain)

Scandinavian Cookbook (Trina Hahneman)

Spice Market (Jane Lawson)

Bistro Laurent Tourondel: New American Bistro Cooking (Lauren Tourondel)

Bouchon (Thomas Keller)

The Cook’s Book (Marcus Wareing et al)

Snowflakes and Schnapps (Jane Lawson)

The Salpicon Restaurant Cookbook (Priscilla & Vincent Satkoff)

Sweet Seasons: Fabulous Restaurant Desserts Made Simple (Richard Leach)

The Modern Café (Francisco Migoya, CIA)

Made in Great Britain (Aiden Byrne)

Fusion: A Culinary Journey (Peter Gordon)

Today’s Special (Anthony Demetre)

How To Eat In (Adam Byatt)

Alice’s Cookbook (Alice Hart)

My Kitchen: Real Food From Near And Far (Stevie Parle)

Chef’s Secrets (Gordon Ramsay)

Maze: The Cookbook (Jason Atherton)

Formulas for Flavour (John Campbell)

Jelly (Bompass and Parr)

The Flavour Thesaurus (Niki Segnit)

A Year in My Kitchen (Skye Gyngell)

My Favourite Ingredients (Skye Gyngell)

Plenty (Yotam Ottolenghi)

Gourmet Food for a Fiver (Jason Atherton)

Indulgence: Slices (Murdoch Books)

Indulgence: Cookies (Murdoch Books)

Sugar Baby (Gesine Bullock-Prado)

Foodography (Helene Dujardin)

But, given that, during the last three years, my possessions have spent more time in storage than out, I'm starting to wonder if the length of the list shouldn't give me greater pause for thought?

Having said that, I just ordered two more pastry books as a welcome home gift to myself.

Hmm, it's not just Houston that has a problem.

As pretty as a picture?

noreply@blogger.com (fitymi) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 09:58:00 +0000

Let's face it, crumble just isn't glamorous.

It's hard to make something topped with gravel look sexy.

Despite that, and my not being a fan in general, I was so excited to see rhubarb in the Cash 'n' Carry the other day, that I made this version, with integral custard, and it was so good there was spoon-sparring over the spare portion.

So, here's the how ...

Makes 8 - 10 depending on ramekin size.

Crumble (from Shaun Hill's Merchant House Cookbook)

100g plain flour

50g porridge oats

70g salted butter

50g caster sugar

Blitz all ingredients in food processor. Spread on baking tray and bake at 170 for 10-15 minutes until golden. Crush to a crumble.

Rhubarb

Large bunch of rhubarb

Sugar to taste

Cut rhubarb into 1" pieces. Simmer with sugar until softened. Don't overcook, as it will have an extra bout of cooking under the custard. Divide between ramekins.

Custard

4 large eggs

500ml cream

100g sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

Beat all custard ingredients together thoroughly. Pour gently over rhubarb, and bake in a moderate oven until set.

When the custard is cooked, top with the pre-made crumble. Serve hot or cold.