Curry fest

It was a good night. Naomi was back in the Netherlands for a few days (she lives in Britain now), and the rest of the events unfolded naturally. We rounded up the gang of usual suspects, set a date, planned a menu, and started cooking. It felt comfortable in the way that a gathering of old friends feels comfortable - people you’ve known for years, people who’ve known you for years. You know what their story is, at least some parts of it, you remember who they were all those years ago. You can only wonder who they think you were all those years ago. And hope you (meaning we) will get together every so often for many years to come, and have a good night like this night was.

The menu

Pappadums

Mango chutney

Chick pea and pumpkin curry

Curry beef from Trinidad

Courgette and green pepper sabzi

Cardamom and lime rice

Chapatis

Carrot and sultana raita

Cucumber raita

Chocolate cake with tipsy cream and green chai

Curry beef – Trinidad

Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey’s Curry Bible.

this dish, the aptly if a tad syntactically unexpected yet unimaginatively named ‘Curry Beef’, was a collaborative effort: I made the marinade, naomi cooked the dish. it sounds like a lot of work, because there are a lot of ingredients and the marinating and cooking take a long time. all the ingredients for the marinade you chop up in one go in the food processor, and during the time the beef is marinating, and later, simmering away, you’re not really doing much of anything.

in other words, try this.

for the marinade

6tbsp chopped onion

2 spring onions

2 large cloves of garlic

2tbsp parsley

2–3tbsp fresh coriander (cilantro)

1tbsp fresh thyme / ½ tsp dried thyme

some chillies (see recipe)

½ tsp ground ginger

for the curry

450g stewing beef

2–3 cloves of garlic

1tsp hot curry powder

500–900ml beef stock (see recipe)

1tsp ground cumin

2tsp amchar masala (ingredients below)

amchar masala (a lot of it)

4tbsp coriander seeds


1tbsp cumin seeds


4tsp black peppercorns


2tsp fennel seeds


2tsp brown mustard seeds (we used black)


2tsp fenugreek

preparing the marinade:

put the following in a food processor: 6 tablespoons chopped onion (I used two medium-ish onions), 2 large garlic cloves, 2 spring onions, already chopped in smaller pieces (just use the white and light green parts), 2 tablespoons finely chopped parsley, 2–3 tablespoons finely chopped coriander (cilantro), 1 tablespoon fresh thyme, or ½ teaspoon dried...

I pause here, because we are at the chilli.

madhur stipulates ¼ congo pepper (handle with care) or 3 bird’s eye chillies.

so, 3 bird’s eye chillies to equal one fourth of a congo pepper? quite.

I used one pretty mild chilli instead.

where was I? so, as much chilli as you think you and/or your intended audience can stand, basically, and then ½ teaspoon ground ginger, ½ teaspoon salt, and some fresly ground black pepper.

add two tablespoons of water, and blend into a smooth paste.

cut 450g stewing beef up into 2½ cm pieces (madhur doesn’t say whether the pieces need to be 2½ cm square, or just strips - I cut the meat into squares), and place in a bowl. mix in the marinade, cover the bowl, and leave it in the fridge for 30 minutes to 3 hours (we left it for, gasp, 5 hours. the meat did not complain, nor did we).

Then, the cooking. Over to Naomi:

First, make the amchar masala: dry-roast all the spices in a heavy-bottomed pan for a couple of minutes, cool, and grind in a spice grinder (clean coffee grinders work too). The amounts above make a lot of spice blend (keeps in an airtight container) and require a lot of grinding. Idling kitchen companions are a plus here.

Amchar masala ground, pour three tablespoons of vegetable oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pan. Add two or three cloves of garlic, crushed to a paste with some salt. Stir through 1tbsp of hot curry powder, and carefully soften the garlic without browning (or, if you can stand browned garlic, follow MJ’s instructions and let it brown). Up the heat, add the beef with the marinade and stir for a minute, then let it heat through for ten minutes with the pan covered on a low heat (the mixture will be fairly wet because of the marinade). Then season with salt, and add 1tsp of ground cumin, 2tsp amchar masala, and 500–900ml of beef stock (or simply hot water). The amount of liquid to be added depends on how long you intend to let the curry stew for – for 90 minutes, as the recipe states, 500ml is about perfect; longer stewing means more stock (of course some can always be added later). Bring to a boil, then simmer with the lid on for at least 90 minutes, or longer depending on your cut of meat. Make sure the curry doesn’t dry out while stewing. Before serving, reduce the liquid until it’s thick and sticks to the beef.

Pumpkin and chick pea curry from Tender

This is the curry that started the Curry Fest planning this year. Not quite an Indian curry, but not really South-East Asian either, we thought. It was delicious though. We cooked the curry the night before, and added the coconut milk 20 minutes before serving as we heated it back up. Worked nicely.

400g tin of chick peas

2 onions

4 cloves of garlic

a thumb-sized piece of ginger

3 large stalks of lemongrass

2tsp ground coriander

2tsp ground turmeric (curcuma)

6 green cardamoms

2 red chillies

a pumpkin of about 750g–1kg

250ml vegetable stock

400ml tin of coconut milk

a tablespoon of yellow mustard seeds

a handful of fresh coriander leaves

Peel and chop the onions, and soften them on a low heat in a good splash of light vegetable oil (such as rapeseed or groundnut). Peel and roughly chop the garlic and ginger, remove any tough leaves from the lemongrass and cut this a bit more finely to avoid tough threads. Make into a paste in a food processor and add to the softened onions. Add the ground coriander, turmeric, lightly crushed cardamom seeds (minus the pods) and chopped chillies.

Cut the pumpkin into large-ish cubes (peel or leave the skin on, according to preference). Add to the pan, together with the drained chickpeas and vegetable stock. Bring to a boil, then simmer until the pumpkin is soft yet maintains its shape. (If you want to serve the curry the next day, here’s a good place to stop.) Stir in the coconut milk. Heat the mustard seeds in a bit of oil until they pop, then add to the curry. Take the pan off the heat and stir in the coriander leaves.

Courgette and green pepper ‘sabzi’

I have to give you the official name of this dish, because it’s too good: ‘Tori Aur Hari Mirch Ki Sabzi’. Oh yes. It’s dead simple and made for a nice veggie side dish. The recipe was, again, adapted from The Curry Bible.

Peel about 500 gr. courgettes and cut them into thick fingers, 4 cm long and 1 cm thick. Then take a green bell pepper, quarter it lengthways, remove the seeds and cut it crossways into 1 cm wide slices. Heat 3 tablespoons of oil (olive or corn) in a wok or a large frying pan, over a medium-high heat. Put in ½ a teaspoon of cumin seeds and ¼ a teaspoon brown mustard seeds. As soon as the mustard seeds start to pop (which could be a matter of seconds), add the courgette and the pepper. Stir and let them fry for 5 minutes. Then add 2 tablespoons of yoghurt, and cook until it has been absorbed, stirring all the while. Reduce the heat to low and add a tablespoon of chopped coriander and ½ a teaspoon of salt. Stir for a minute, then add a generous pinch of cayenne pepper and a squeeze of lemon juice. Toss, and taste if the balance of flavours is to your liking.

The cayenne pepper and the lemon juice at the end is a shortcut – Madhur Jaffrey writes you can add them if you don’t have any chaat masala on hand. In the spirit of not getting too stressed out, we took this short cut. But if you have some time, do make chaat masala. You can use it on other veggies as well. To make it, mix together 4 teaspoons of lightly toasted, ground cumin seeds, 1½ tablespoons amchoor, 3 teaspoons cayenne pepper, 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, ¾ teaspoon black salt (I have never seen that in my life! has anyone here? what does it taste like?) and 1 teaspoon salt. Make sure to break up any lumps in the mixture. Put it in a jar with a tight lid, and store it away from sunlight and heat. If you want to use the chaat masala instead of the cayenne pepper and lemon juice, put ½ a teaspoon on the vegetable mix at the end.

Raitas, rice, pappadums

we made two different raitas, one with cucumber and one with carrots and raisins. two raitas might seem a bit much, but I knew there were going to be some people whose eyes would light up at the sight of raisins in the raita, and also some people who would be, shall we say, less pleased. and if you’re gonna make it a party, make it a party, you know? two raitas it was, then.

I usually don’t use a recipe for raita, but this time I did. sort of. that is, I read madhur jaffrey’s recipes for them, and followed her instructions for the amount of spices and salt, but I didn’t go so far as to measure the yoghurt or anything. still, it felt good to just be able to follow instructions without having to think about what I was doing too much.

Cucumber raita

first, roast some cumin seeds and put them into a spice grinder or a mortar & pestle. peel one half of a cucumber, and grate it into a bowl. add a teaspoon of ground cumin seeds, and 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper. add a dollop of yoghurt, stir everything together, and check for seasoning. add some salt and pepper if needed.

Carrot and raisin raita

peel two medium-sizes carrots, and grate them into another bowl. add a handful of raisins, a teaspoon of ground cumin, 1/4 teaspoon of cayenne pepper, a good dollop of yoghurt, mix, and check for seasoning. you can always add some more yoghurt if you want to change the consistency. the raita I usually make is less ‘liquid’ than the ones you get in indian restaurants. questions of authenticity aside, and questions about the importance of authenticity aside, I like it better my way. but you may not.

Rice with cardamom and lime

depending on the rice you use, you may need to wash the rice before cooking. the best way to cook rice, for me, is to measure it in a glass or a mug, and then to add twice the amount of cold water. so, one cup of rice, two cups of water. cook rice this way often, and you’ll learn which cup in your cupboard will give you the desired amount of rice. as a point of reference, a good portion is usually 75 gr. per person. put the rice and the cold water in a pan, add 5 pods cardamom, and bring to the boil. once the rice starts boiling, reduce the heat to the lowest flame, and leave the rice to cook slowly until all the water’s absorbed. it completely depends on the rice you use how long this will take. when all the water’s absorbed, turn off the heat and let the rice sit and steam for a little while longer.

serve with a few wedges of lime alongside, to be squeezed over the rice à volonté.

Pappadums

the most convenient way of cooking pappadums is in the microwave. place the raw pappadum on a plate - as flat as possible - and put in the microwave for a minute. alternatively, heat up a dry frying pan, and let the pappadums cook and crisp up in there, making sure they don’t catch.

we served them as an appetizer of sorts, with very (very) good mango chutney alongside.

Chocolate cake with tipsy cream and green chai

We could have made kulfi or red bean ice cream or tapioca pudding… but somehow we both weren’t really up for anything quite Asian for dessert. Besides, chocolate had been looked forward to. So for dessert we had, once again, Kate’s Winning-Hearts-and-Minds cake. We served tipsy cream to go with it, inspired by Michel Roux Jr (hands up who misses Michel and Monica Galetti?). Ours was slightly sweetened whipped cream with a couple tablespoons of whisky. To remain somewhat curry-appropriate, our drink of choice was green chai (by Clipper – delicious).

Thanks for the good times, R, N, A, S and G!

- An & Na

breakfast

It is not my intention to reduce autumn to a cliché, a pile of pumpkins and apples and turning leaves. But apples do play an important role in my life these days. Don't look at me like that! They do. The breakfast I've been eating the last couple of weeks has been spelt muesli (with a little cinnamon, spelt puffs, dehydrated apple, sultanas and almonds in. I love the bulk section of my health food store) with a grated apple, yoghurt and a little extra sprinkle of cinnamon for good measure. Much like the breakfast Naomi wrote about in her first Anenna-post! A good cup of Earl Grey (or as some people, who shall remain unnamed here, call it: Early Grey) alongside is mandatory. And a good cup of coffee later on in the morning is a regular, too.

In the summer, my breakfast was cornflakes from that same bulk section, oat milk and some fruit. For that blissful week in France, it was a croissant and a piece of baguette with homemade jam, eaten in the shade of banana trees. I could have gotten used to living like that.

What do you guys do for breakfast? Do you do 'seasonal breakfasts' as well?

***

Another thing: this post inspired me greatly this week.

- anne

The first night of frost

First night frosts are expected soon, and according to all the experts, that means our chards, kales, cabbages and sprouts will be in optima forma any time now. Bring it on, Abel & Cole. I look forward to the first Dutch curly-kale-flecked-potato-mash-with-smoked-sausage meal of the season already. The leafy green winter veg debut of 2011, however, was for cavolo nero. Which, in fact, was a cavolo nero debut for me.

Cavolo nero is the super gorgeous veg you know from the cover of volume 1 of Nigel Slater’s Tender (what!? you don’t own, indeed you have never seen a copy of Tender? for shame!). Or as the mystery ingredient listed in the indexes of the River Café books. It comes in bundles of matte dark green leaves with a bubble-wrap surface. The flavour is a bit like curly kale, but stronger and quite sweet (apparently sweeter after the first frost). I liked it a lot. I cooked up the sauce below, took a bite to taste, and could have kept eating it straight from the kitchen processor (which would have been sad... but delicious). If you come across this black kale, I’d definitely recommend giving it a try, and this sauce is perfect for showing off the flavour.

PS. Be warned. When executed, this recipe will leave a trail of Very Green utensils.

Fusilli with cavolo nero and parmesan

From the River Café Cook Book.

a good bunch of cavolo nero

a clove of garlic, peeled, whole

fusilli / farfalle / conchiglie

olive oil

parmesan

Cut out the tough core of the cavolo nero leaves, keeping them whole otherwise. (Easy trick: fold the leaf in half and take out the stem in one cut.) Boil, together with the garlic, in salted water for a few minutes. Take out the leaves and garlic (keep the water for boiling the pasta), and pulse in a kitchen processor to a rough paste. If you dislike a strong garlic flavour, add only half the garlic at first, and more to taste. Add a good bit of olive oil and pulse until the green mess comes together in a thick sauce (how much depends on preference – more oil gives a smoother paste and, of course, a richer dish). Serve as a pasta sauce, topped with grated parmesan.

- Naomi

but not simpler

“Make things as simple as possible, but not simpler.”
- Albert Einstein

This is more of an idea than a recipe, but I wouldn't want you not to know about it. I got it from Nigel Slater, of course, from his book Appetite. The idea is this: get some soft cheese, like a tallegio, or a brie, anything melt-y. Cut it in little pieces, and place those in a bowl. Boil some water for pasta, and steam some veggies (I like broccoli in this, and whole wheat penne). Put the veggies in the bowl with the cheese, swirl around a bit, add the pasta, swirl around a bit more, and the cheese will start to melt and form a bit of a sauce, with little nuggets of cheese remaining as tasty bites.

I think it's also in Appetite, though it may have been in The Kitchen Diaries, or somewhere else all together, that Nigel wrote about how not making too much of a fuss is what keeps him from getting tired of cooking. Yes. Sometimes I want a big to-do, a challenge, a complicated cake or a curry with 25 ingredients. But it's recipes/ideas like these that keep me from resenting going into the kitchen every night. Keeping it as simple as possible. But not simpler.

- Anne

Lemons plus cream equals angel piss

How can I not write about the weather? There I thought it was autumn, I prepared for it, I was ready. And lo and behold, it’s summer again! (“Lo” being short for “look”, in case you were wondering (I know I have). So that “behold” is a bit redundant, really. “Lo, it’s summer again!” would make just as much sense. Except summer must be felt, not lo’ed or beheld.) Anyway, it’s been gorgeous. 27°C, deep blue skies, shorts and sandals everywhere. It would be a crime not to celebrate. So lemonade it is. An in-your-face lemonade. A lemonade with a mean kick. A lemonade that doesn’t hold anything back. Perfect for the last days of summer.

And since I must be sensible, at least a bit, a second lemon recipe that will survive the inevitable cold snap. This one’s perfect for breakfast, regardless of the weather. Plenty zingy, make no mistake, but at the same time creamy and soft. It reminds me a bit of the recipe that started my love for lemons and cream: a children’s cookbook’s cream-and-lemon dessert that reportedly tasted “like an angel pissing on your tongue”. Very exciting pudding, that! This lemon curd is a bit more moderate, its kick slightly more gentle, but just as much of a treat, especially on a sleepy morning. So there. Two lemon recipes to zing away the last of summer and welcome autumn with a tang.

Whole lemon lemonade

Makes about 1 litre of squash, to be mixed about 1:5. Perfect with nothing but soda and ice. Or with a good shot of gin and lots of mint.

6 organic, unwaxed lemons

120–180g sugar (unrefined, but light in colour and not too coarse)

400ml water

Wash the lemons well. Cut into eights, removing the pips. Tip into a blender with the water and sugar (honey works too), and run for a few minutes, until it all has turned into a thick liquid. If the mixture has bits, strain through a cloth or sieve, or just leave as is, in case you fancy a chewy lemonade with a bitter kick. Sample, and add extra sugar to taste. Keeps in the fridge for quite a while.

And if the summer bug has really got you, challenge October and British tradition alike and serve with Pimm’s, strawberries, oranges, cucumber and mint.

Lemon curd

Does lemon curd sound like more hassle than you would ever put yourself through in the kitchen? Believe me, this is easy. And so, so good. Thickly spread on sourdough toast, spooned through yoghurt, or straight from the jar. It would almost beat the perfect breakfast. Almost.

4 organic, unwaxed lemons

150–200g sugar

100g unsalted butter

3 large eggs + 1 extra yolk

First zest, then juice the lemons (use a very fine zester, and make sure you don’t take any of the white pith). Simmer some water in a pan the right size to hold a heatproof bowl (the water should not touch the bowl). Combine the lemon juice, lemon zest, sugar and butter in the bowl, and whisk intermittently until the butter has melted. Whisk the eggs together, and add them to the lemon mixture. Whisk until combined, then simmer for another 10 minutes, or slightly longer, again whisking occasionally. It is possible to do the whole process over direct heat, as long as it’s very low and you keep stirring, but I prefer whisking rather than stirring the mixture, in which case a bowl is a much better vehicle than a pan.

Stir occasionally as the mixture cools, then spoon into sterilised jars, seal, and refrigerate. Keeps for a couple of weeks.

- Naomi

tempeh goreng

I got this recipe from a friend, and while it's supposed to be a dish among many dishes in an Indonesian rice table (I think), I mostly cook it when I eat alone, and take it as the main component of my meal, together with some rice and steamed vegetables. it's so, so easy to make, and yet cooking this still leaves me feeling I've taken care of myself by cooking something good. and tasty. tasty! unbelievably tasty.

strangely enough, I never really started eating tofu and tempeh until I wasn't a vegetarian anymore (I know... I know! what did I eat?). tempeh especially used to scare me a little. what do I do with it? how do I cook with it without the result being horribly like eating a sponge? the answer, of course, consists of two words: soy sauce. for those of you who are scared of tempeh like I was, try this recipe! you won't be disappointed.

to avoid genetically manipulated soy, I always buy organic (both the tempeh and the ketjap manis - indeed any type of soy sauce I buy).

tempeh goreng

thanks randy!

you can either start this recipe the morning of the day you want to eat it, or about 15 minutes before you want to eat it. both versions start the same, you cut the tempeh in small cubes of about 2 by 2 cm. then you can either put them in a bowl of water and some tamarind paste, and leave to marinate for the day, or you can skip that step. heat a generous amount of oil in a frying pan, and add the tempeh, a diced onion and a pinch of salt. fry until the tempeh is a deep golden colour, and the onion is starting to caramelize. add a minced clove of garlic and let that fry with the tempeh and onion for a minute. then add some demerara sugar (half-white organic caster sugar was what I used, beause it was all I had in the house, and it was just fine, but I can see how the caramel-y taste of demerara sugar might add a deeper taste to the dish) - a tablespoon or so, stir to combine, then add two tablespoons of good ketjap manis, stir again, then add a handful of (roasted, salted) peanuts, stir to combine, and enjoy!

- anne

It was (we may say) satisfactory

Sometimes, my veg box surprises me with the stuff I almost forget about; the things I cook while I secretly look forward to other vegetables I get to have later. I was excited for the aubergine and the red pepper in last week’s box – two pre-box staples that I now don’t eat so often any more. I looked forward to the baby leaf spinach. And they were good. But the best meal I had all week was a plate of steamed runner beans with butter and some chilli flakes. I still can’t believe how good it was. Or indeed why it was so good. I’ve had lots of green beans in my life, and never have been too excited about them. Enjoying these so very much felt quite spectacular.

Apart from veg box magic, the trick is definitely to buy very fresh beans and cook them for no more than a few minutes. And some proper butter, of course. They go with almost anything. Or with nothing at all.

Runner beans with butter

In my experience runner beans are best when very fresh; when they lose their snap, it can’t be recovered. Buy fresh, eat soon, and cook briefly.

a good bag of runner beans

delicious salted butter

some dried chilli flakes

Top, tail and string the runner beans, and cut into twos or threes (small enough to fit the pan or steamer). Steam in a small layer of water or in a steamer basket for 2–4 minutes. Take the beans out immediately as they turn bright green, and run them under cold tap to stop them from cooking any further. Add a knob of good butter, toss, and top with chilli flakes.

Zingy spicy version: let the butter soften a bit, then mix with half a chopped fresh chilli, grated zest of one lime and a finely sliced clove of garlic. Delicious with fish or seafood.

- Naomi

autumnal apple cake

so, in last week's post, naomi and I unknowingly wrote about exactly the same thing. we didn't know, we swear! we never quite know what the other is going to write until we publish our posts. it's one of my favorite moments of the week: hitting the 'publish' button and then immediately go read naomi's post.

anyway, goes to show how much great minds think alike, I guess. when we found out we had both written about that particular early september feeling of transition, we jokingly said we would this week both be writing about apples. so here you go, na! apple cake.

there's this cliché about the difference between cooks and bakers: cooks are intuïtive, they add a spice here and a spice there, they're going on their instincts and experience, they just throw things together: they are easygoing, go-with-the-flow types who know how to enjoy life in the kitchen and at the table. but they are messy, too. and experimenting for experimenting's sake can lead to some truly untasty food. bakers, on the other hand, never miss a beat. they follow recipes meticulously - they have to, because in a baking recipe, every little half teaspoon counts. bakers are clean, in control, and just that little bit boring. their measured way of working stands in stark contrast to the joy that is eating a good cake or pie or cookie.

like every good cliché, this one has some element of truth to it. of course, that every cliché has an element of truth is in itself the greatest cliché of all. anyway, measurements do matter. and going by taste is fun to do. but this cake proudly defeats the cliché. it was an experiment of sorts, and it worked! the other night, we had a friend 'round for dinner, and I wanted to make something apple-y for dessert. an apple crumble? yummy, but... I was in the mood for something different. and so made an apple version of nigella lawson's tried and true madeira cake recipe. it was good! it was good, people. cinnamon, apples and lemon zest. is all I'm saying.

oh, and you don't taste the nutmeg as nutmeg at all, it just brings a nice deep flavour to the cake.

do use organic butter, eggs and sugar if you can. if anything, it'll taste that much better.

autumnal apple cake

adapted from nigella lawson's 'my mother in law's madeira cake' from how to be a domestic godess.

ingredients:
2 apples
a little lemon juice
240 gr butter
200 gr sugar
the zest and juice of one lemon
3 large eggs
200 gr wheat flour
100 gr spelt flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
fresh nutmeg

preheat the oven to 170 degrees celcius. grease a tin loaf and line with baking paper.

peel and quarter two apples, cut out the cores and slice the apples into thin slices. put the slices in a bowl of water and some lemon juice, to keep the slices from turning brown. then crack on with the cake! cream the butter with the sugar and add the zest of one lemon. then, one by one, add the eggs. after each egg, add a teaspoon of flour. this helps with the stability of the batter. then add the two flours, baking powder, cinnamon, a good grating of fresh nutmeg, and a pinch of salt, then add the juice of the lemon and mix very well. put the batter in the loaf tin, and push the apple slices in the top. sprinkle with some more cinnamon and some sugar. put in the oven for about an hour and a half - but each oven is different, and each time baking a cake it is a little different. start checking after an hour.

let the cake cool down for at least 15 minutes, then enjoy!

- anne

These days

These days are Nico days. Days of quiet breakfasts with a cafetière of coffee and steamed milk. Days of suddenly wanting to take photos of familiar scenes, just because the light of autumn makes them look so new and fresh and beautiful. Days for reading poetry at night; days for picking up long books once abandoned. Days of writing, while a lamb shank sits in the oven, quietly, patiently melting.

Spanish-spiced, slow cooked lamb shank

Lamb shank is a cheap cut, at least in the UK, and prepared this way it takes almost no effort (if a bit of time). The result, however, is an amazing piece of meat, full of flavour and falling-off-the-bone tender. It’s worth tracking down sweet smoked paprika for this Moro-inspired dish. Smoked paprika has recently become one of my favourite spices, sweet and deep in flavour with a wonderful smoky finish. One lamb shank serves one or (from 350–400g or so) two.

one lamb shank

two or three cloves garlic

juice of one lemon

Spanish sweet smoked paprika

some sprigs of fresh (lemon) thyme, leaves off the stems, crushed or chopped

a glug of olive oil

Either pound the garlic to a paste in a pestle and mortar, or crush under a knife and chop very finely. Combine with the lemon juice, olive oil, thyme, paprika, and some sea salt and black pepper. Rub the lamb shank with the marinade and place in a 140°C oven (285°F; 15-25° less if fan-assisted). Leave for three to four hours, until the meat falls off the bone. Tip out most of the fat from the dish, deglaze on the hob with some red wine or port (or simply water or stock) and reduce slightly to make a sauce, to be dipped up with flatbread or spooned through potato mash. A salad of the purple-and-orange carrots I received in my veg box today would have been the perfect accompaniment. But I ate them all for lunch.

- Naomi

days of the future passed

even though I bought a new wool sweater yesterday, and I *almost* look forward to wearing it, it is still summer. it is still summer! I love this time of year, when the last few days of warm weather feel like a treat, the sun is low, and there's a feeling of richness in the air, of fullness.

a good time, in short, for soup. I sort of made it up as I went along, and it turned out so well, I know it's gonna be a regular in the months to come.

oh, and it's even better the next day.

spicy carrot soup with ginger and coconut milk

Noooo! Blogger threw a post away AGAIN! Recipe back soon...

- anne

Autumn is coming

September is a strange month. For me, it’s always been a time of excitement about the new school year interspersed with a strange sort of nostalgia. Looking forward to eating homemade apple sauce and wearing a warm coat mixed with longing for the summer past in a feeling not unlike the kind of homesickness that sets in before you’ve even left. It’s stranger still in places like this, where one single September day can represent two entire seasons. Midday hot enough to feel like July, sitting by a bay on the hot stone, feet dangling in the water, a feeling of endless summer. The late afternoon is perfect for a barbecue, although it feels like evening already, and after dinner, all of a sudden, it’s cool enough to put on a wool jumper. Dinghy sailboats and kayaks on the water during the day, at night the smell of wood fires. Days with a timeless feel, at once confusing and beautiful.

I had been looking forward to making elderflower cordial in June, but I was too late to pick the flowery heads. Fortunately the elder offers two harvesting seasons, and early in September it rewards the waiters with branches heavy with tiny black berries. Elderberry syrup was a first for me, but I don’t regret the two hours spent on picking and preparing the berries. The flavour of the syrup is distantly reminiscent of elderflower, but the strong floral notes of the blossom are replaced by something closer to blackberry or blackcurrant. Just the thing for carrying a fresh bright summer into a warm autumn.

Elderberry syrup

Elders can be found in lots of places, both rural and urban, and the berries can generally be picked from late August to mid-September. To make the preparation easier for yourself, make sure to pick only the berries that are black, and avoid any that have already dried out (also, make very sure you are picking from the common elder – many berries, including some similar-looking ones, are highly toxic!). Pick whole heads, but obviously don’t empty entire trees / shrubs. Be prepared to encounter several earwigs, ladybirds and small spiders, both when picking the berries off the tree and while preparing them. It’s best to make the syrup, or at least pick and clean the berries, the same day you collect them.

The measurements in the recipe are a bit odd, but this is what I used, and I thought the syrup came out just right. A lot of recipes also use cloves in the first boiling stage. I don’t like them, but do add some if you think you will.

a bag of freshly picked elderberries (think one or two kilos)

water (same volume as the berries after they’re picked off their stems)

sugar (500g per litre of water – I used a mixture of organic golden and soft brown)

juice of one lemon per litre of water

some fresh slices of ginger (optional)

Sterilise some clean glass bottles (for instance old wine, olive oil or cordial bottles): lay them in a cold oven (without any plastic bits), heat to 140°C, and leave for at least 15 minutes, or till you are ready to fill them.

Submerge the heads of elderberries in plenty of water, removing debris and insects that float to the top. Repeat a couple of times. Pick the berries off the stems, taking care not to include any unripe – green or purple – ones, nor more than a few small bits of stem (this will take a while). Wash the picked berries once more.

Cook the berries with the ginger and an equal volume of water for about 20 minutes, until soft. Sift through a fine cloth or jelly bag (not just through a sieve), squeezing out all the liquid. Discard the pulp and seeds. Return the juice to the pan, add 500g of sugar per litre of water used, and simmer for another 15 minutes. Turn off the heat and add the juice of one lemon (or to taste).

Pour the syrup into the sterilised bottles, taking them out of the oven one by one as you’re filling them. I read somewhere that placing the bottles on a wet towel when filling prevents them from breaking, though I usually just pour wherever, and I’ve never had any bottle or jar break on me. Screw on the lids immediately and turn upside down.

The syrup mixes with water about 1:10, and is a beautiful dark purple even when diluted. Also delicious in yoghurt, over ice cream, in blackberry-speckled porridge, or, on the last hot day of the year, through sparkling water on ice with a generous shot of gin and a slice of lemon.

- Naomi

the meditative power of chopping mushrooms

is a force to be reckoned with.

though I was also glad it was over at some point.

this mushroom ragoût (halfway done in the picture above) has been a favorite over the years. the recipe is from nadine abensur's cranks bible, an impulse buy almost ten years ago now at the vegetarian cookbooks section in my local bookshop. it was one of my better impulses, if I may say so myself. nadine's writing sometimes borders on the smug (you know, vegetarian people are Better than meat eaters and that), but her recipes are fantastic. I love the sense of abundance in her style of cooking, the celebration, her love for vegetables, her true respect for food.

I used to be a vegetarian, and although I still largely eat vegetarian (maybe meat or fish once every two weeks), I am not anymore. the underlying reasons for becoming a vegetarian are still there, I just no longer believe not eating meat is the best way for me to express those reasons. the subject is still very important to me. maybe I'll write about it some more here in the future.

a rich mushroom ragoût with vermouth

adapted from nadine abensur's recipe in the cranks bible
it's great with pasta, but as nadine notes, there's very little this ragoût doesn't work with - eat it over brown rice, use it as a filling in a pale, rich omelette, eat it on toast, with roasted potatoes and steamed brussel sprouts (as we did one christmas eve)... we had some simple slices of cucumber alongside it yesterday, because it was what I had in the house. I can also imagine a shaved fennel salad being an extraordinarily nice accompaniment to this.

start by slicing all the mushrooms. I used three punnets of white button mushrooms for this - about 750 grams all in all. that seems like a lot, and it is, but mushrooms do cook down an awful lot. it was not an extravagant amount of ragout for the two of us. nadine uses all kinds of mushrooms in her recipe, from dried, soaked cèpes to otherworldly looking enoki. that would be wonderful, I think, but I never used anything but plain button mushrooms or brown button mushrooms, because, well, mushrooms are expensive.
melt a pat of butter in a large, heavy pan, on the lowest heat possible. finely chop two cloves of garlic, and let them soften gently in the butter, stirring all the while. when the garlic is softened, but not brown, start adding the sliced mushrooms. the pan I use can't hold all the raw mushrooms at once, so I add them in batches. they will cook down quick enough. turn up the heat to a medium, and when the mushrooms start softening, add a dash of tamari, a dash of tabaso (or a pinch of cayenne pepper), and a little bit of regular pepper. nadine uses salt here, too, but for me the tamari is salty enough.

when the mushrooms start softening even more, and have released some of their juices, add a good slosh of vermouth, 2 teaspoons of dried thyme (or the chopped leaves of a sprig of fresh thyme) and a handful of chopped fresh parsley. a note on parsley, by the way - the last couple years there has been some talk about 'regular' parsley not being very tasty. true foodies are supposed to buy flat leaf parsley. I say flat leaf parsley is fine, but so is the regular stuff, if you buy - or indeed grow - organic. anyway, where was I? oh yes, let the mushrooms cook down some more. when about half of the juices they've released are cooked down (this can take some time, and give it time, the flavour will only improve), add 4 tablespoons of cream. turn the heat down low again, and let the ragout simmer until it's reached the desired consistency. check for seasoning, add some more fresh chopped parsley, and apply to face.

- anne

One cake plus one cake is a whole lot of cake

And good food there was. Brunch for dinner, fresh fish, Moroccan feasts, Vietnamese stir-fries and sushi bowls paired with long conversations about all kinds of things, roast chicken shared with family, and plenty of cakes. A wedding cake even. And two birthday cakes, to my delight (and not just mine, thankfully).

My mum requested a cheesecake for her birthday. No problem, I love cheesecakes. A while back I had made the German-style cheesecake from Breakfast, Lunch, Tea – lovely, but more a modest afternoon snack to offer an unexpected passer-by than the kind of cake that turns a birthday into a real celebration. I settled on the New York cheesecake I came across at Smitten Kitchen. Go look at her photos. You’ll know why.

For my dad (who gave me pretty much free reign by saying he’d like chocolate, “or fruit, or something else”) I baked a chocolate ganache cake known as Kate’s Winning-Hearts-and-Minds cake, which actually took the wedding cake tally to two, in a way. (Do go and read about that here, or even better, in her book; it’s a wonderful story.) An indulgent cake if there ever was one, and perfect in small slices paired with a scoop of cinnamon ice cream or some boozy whipped cream. A cake with attitude, too, rising and falling and stamping its feet, but after doing double duty in the oven it came out perfect, gooey in the middle and with a gorgeous crispy top. As I was melting the chocolate and butter (very carefully over a direct heat, not recommended, but certainly less hassle) I couldn’t resist adding a couple teaspoons of cinnamon, and even though it’s surely blasphemy, I loved the result. Rich and warm and spicy. I think it did win its share of Dutch hearts and minds.

* UPDATE *
I made the chocolate cake a second time this week, and with a few small changes it came out completely differently – still delicious, but different. First, I didn’t have an 8-inch (20cm) springform pan, so I used a 24cm (about 9.5 inch) one, ingredients unchanged. Second, I was using a fan-assisted oven again, but unlike two weeks ago, this time I sensibly adjusted the oven temperature from 190°C (375°F) (which I even cracked up to 200°C for 10 minutes after the cake had been in for 30 and was still wobbly) to 170°C (340°F). The result of the former was, obviously, less height and a larger circumference. The result of the second was a cake that was all of a sudden very well-behaved: done in the advertised 20 minutes, no cracks, a smooth, uniform texture, and almost no falling at all. Together, they made for a very different kind of cake; less rustic, more sophisticated. A bit like a tarte au citron in chocolate form. I really can’t say I liked the one more than the other, but even though the flavour was almost identical, these cakes had (if you can tolerate the metaphor) very different personalities. So contemplate the hearts and mind you wish to win, and take your pick!

- Naomi

She’s not there

Anne is off to live the good life. She’ll be back next week.

The wheel’s kick and the wind’s song

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you last week’s vegetable adventures from the middle of the North Sea, on my way home for an eagerly anticipated break. I’m carrying more food than anyone could eat on a twelve-hour journey, plus a tub of fresh pesto made last night when I should have been asleep and some packets of particularly delicious feta for my parents. I’m sure they will get the holiday cooking off to a good start. There will be lots of visits with family and friends and two birthdays, so even though I have to miss my by now very beloved veg box for two whole weeks, I trust there will be plenty of cooking and baking. More soon!

Last week’s box: Cambridgeshire short cucumber, beetroot bunch, carrots, celery, cos lettuce, runner beans, tomatoes, courgettes.

This week no box… but lots of good cooking ahead!

- Naomi

Buffalo mozzarella with very ripe tomatoes

Two tomato celebrations in eight days is a self-justifying set of events, I’d say. As long as it’s August, anyway. I learnt from the back of the carton keeping my mozzarella safe (and well-designed) that a great mozzarella is firm initially, and gets softer with age, and that the best experience is to be had if you manage to eat it while still firm. I’d always assumed it would be the other way around. But while I do love soft mozzarella, I have no problem trusting the Laverstoke farm mozzarella makers on this one. Judging by their cheese, they sure know what they’re talking about.

Salade Niçoise

The art of poaching eggs really deserves its own post some time. But what better role for a good poached egg (post-asparagus season, anyway) than as the proverbial cherry topping a salade Niçoise?

Nigel’s bolognese

The initial batch of Nigel’s bolognese was – dare I say it? – a wee bit disappointing. (And I had such high hopes.) I think the vegetables-to-sauce ratio was a bit off, and the cooking was slightly rushed. I cooked up the “leftovers” (still enough to feed a small family) a few days later with more passata, and that was rather good. It’s probably a sauce that ages well, anyway. Here’s what Anne had to say about it, plus a recipe.

Beetroot and courgette pancakes

These were an experiment, but I quite liked how they turned out. This kind of basis is very versatile – I imagine these would be good as beetroot–carrot pancakes too, or with some ricotta stirred into the batter, or two eggs for a lighter texture… We had them with grilled sea bream, but in the absence of fish they would go well with sour cream.

some beets (I had four smallish ones, which was enough for 12 small pancakes)

a small courgette

buckwheat flour (or spelt, or any other kind)

an egg

garlic, minced

a fresh chilli, chopped

some fresh coriander, chopped (stalks included)

butter for frying

Peel and grate the raw beetroots and the courgette (the latter unpeeled). Combine in a bowl, then add enough flour to coat everything and soak up any juices, but not so much that there’s spare flour on the bottom of the bowl – about one small cup. Season with a small pinch of salt (beetroot is high in sodium, so it won’t need much) and stir in the garlic, chilli and coriander. Add enough water to form a thick batter (half a cup or so, but start slowly). Add the egg and check for consistency. My batter just held together enough to be transferred to the pan heaped on a tablespoon, but slightly runnier would work as well. The only thing to be careful about is that it’s fluid enough to make pancakes of even thickness, or they will be hard to cook evenly. Add scoops to the pan, flatten with a fork, and fry in browned butter, about ten minutes on each side.

Braised beet greens

My bunched beetroots had beautiful shiny stems and firm leaves, so I cooked those up to go with the pancakes. Chop the stems, 2cm or so per piece, and tear up the leaves. Wash the stems and greens very well, then braise with some lemon juice and chilli flakes for about ten minutes in browned butter – the stems need a few minutes longer than the leaves.