Showing posts with label Cheese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cheese. Show all posts

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Greece Greece you sexy beast – the week of heat or tales from the barbecue






Sitting here in sussex looking out at the blank greyness of yet another summer’s day, it is difficult to believe that just over a week and a half ago I was eating far more than is good for me, drinking far more than is good for me and sunning myself on the sunny shores of Greece’s Pelopponesse.

The Peloponnesse, a peninsula off the mainland, is often overlooked by tourists, who instead seek the cultural immersion of Athens or island adventures. Their loss was indeed my gain. The peninsula is huge, with some glorious beaches and stunning mountain landscapes laid out at our fingertips (well, at the wheels of our little rented bipabout).

Our villa was amazing and our hosts Jackie and Pete, who lived in the villa next door were the best source of knowledge for exploring the area. A big thank you!

Obviously, being the gluttonous little lady that I am I was very very interested in the food and it did not prove to be a disappointment – it was unabashedly punchy sunshine food. Food that you couldn't possibly eat in the depths of winter (unless you are under one of those fake sun simulator things) but that makes you revel in the summer sun like a pig in shit.

Want an experience? held on a Wednesday and Saturday, this is the place to go to get your fresh produce. I don’t know whether I’ve been going to the wrong markets recently but in comparison to those I go to at home, it was so down to earth – take it at face value.



There were no fancy labels, extortionate prices, sellers yelling in your ear. In fact, half of the stallholders looked like they were plump and ready for their siesta, whether you bought the produce was up to you. But of course you were going to. Why? Because it was fresh and lovely. The market sellers didn’t have to do the shouting. The food did it for them. Although sometimes it was shouting something on the gorier side of things.





Based in Kalamata, it would have been a sin not to try an olive or two. Or three. But there’s more to the story than just popping olives. No no my friends, Jon and I geared ourselves up for some serious eating pleasure. We ate deep fried anchovies and sprats drizzled with lemon juice, moussaka, kleftico with hefty chunks of lamb sitting on the plate, salted pork by the sea and obviously mounds and mounds of greek salad with slabs of shiny white feta perched atop the veg.

But as much as eating out was a pleasure, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun cooking as we did that week.

The first thing we rolled out on the barbeque were some pork and vegetable kebabs with our very own Greek salad.




There was a return of one of my favourite ever Nigella recipes quick preserved lemons with sea bass, in bastardised form with a local fish (what it was we never quite discovered but dammit it flaked like a lovvie and soaked up the flavour of the preserved lemon marinade beautifully so thank you to the fish man). Ps if anyone can read Greek, help would be appreciated in solving the fish mystery, it was wonderful and I would like to get it again...




Although the making of the preserved lemon syrup takes a little bit of time, it’s not remotely fiddly and, once it’s done you can just slap it onto the fish, wrap it in foil and put it on the barbeque. It is every bit as easy as it sounds.



From that particularly gory little lamb pictured earlier, we had a very meagre but flavoursome rack of ribs, marinated with a little bit of oregano and olive oil, again barbequed for a quick meal. We served it with courgette flowers stuffed with beetroot, feta and chilli and quickly fried.





I still dream about that dinner.


And the last barbecue - king prawns and Greek sausage with butter bean salad and our local vineyard wine... four euros for 1.5 litres. And it was NICE. I know you won't believe me but it really was. Thank God booze isn’t that cheap here (unless you make it) or I could run into a few problems.

To wind it all up, I’d love to say we had a smooth trip back but no, there was a 6 hour delay in Kalamata Airport. Our local Morrissons is bigger than that airport, not fun and Thomas Cook were right old pains in the arses but, it was a brilliant trip. Get to Kalamata my friends.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

March Supper Club

It's been a while... hello hello.

March's supper club saw us take a journey to France aided by the Roux Brothers The Art of Country Cooking.

The cookbook is a tome of gastronomic delights from France organised into the different regions - allowing readers to meander from the Pays Basque to Normandy and back again in the space of a few pages. Recipes range from fairly easy to the technically challenging, perfect for those looking to try their hands at something a little different as I was last month.

I'll admit, I had my heart set on a French Onion Soup to start which (shock horror) was not in the book so I improvised a little recipe of my own (lets face it, it's not that hard :P )

As I hadn't done a seafood main at the supper club for a while, the Sole Poached in Cider with mussels, scallops and shrimps caught my eye. Although sole is a favourite of mine, I very rarely get to cook it at home so the dish was perfect. Making the sauce was far more challenging than the recipe suggested at first glance but when finished proved itself a creamy accompaniment to the sole. Delicious.

I chose the particularly intriguing Pays Basque Custard Tart as dessert - which involes piping creme patissiere within a dense, moist sponge mixture for a custard tart completely different to those we're accustomed to. This was topped off with a blood orange sauce.

And, of course, the cheese.....










A selection of images from another fun and chatty supper club in March. Thank you to all those who came.

Monday, February 21, 2011

The Perfect Weekend


Those of you following me on Twitter will have figured out that I had a bit of an intense week with exams and revising and coursework and other fun tidbits. So it’s an understatement to say that it was a relief to finally make it to the weekend… it was well worth the wait. In fact, I might go so far as saying that it was one of the best weekends I’ve had in a very long time.

It started with quince cheese. A few weeks ago, my partner in chutney/pickle/jam/supperclub crime, Natalie and I were browsing through our local Turkish shop picking up ingredients for what was to evolve into the lime pickle.

Happily browsing through the vegetable section, we came across what I would describe as one of the ugliest fruits I have ever seen in my life. After a bit of rooting around the labels section we saw that the rather unfortunate looking fruit were quinces.

Tick tock went the brain. I have always loved quince jam, and, on my jaunts to Spain, the dusky membrillo (a form of quince cheese). For a long time too, fruit cheeses had rather appealed. 1+1= 2. And that was how the idea of the quince cheese came into being.

Brilliant as things are in theory, sometimes they are a bit trickier to execute in real life, as we found out on Friday night. The rudimentaries of making quince cheese are not that hard to get your head around. Essentially you peel and wash the fruit, deseed it, boil the hell out of it for a few hours, push it through a sieve, add sugar and boil the hell out of it a bit more before putting it into your containers of choice.

If only it was that simple. I’m never a fan of peeling things, however, it was the coring that proved to be a bit of a bitch, to put it politely. Somehow, it was only once that was done, we were a few glasses of bubbly down each and it was past 10pm that we realised that the rest of the recipe was going to take at least 4 hours.


Bubble bubble toil and trouble

What better reason to put on a soundtrack of eighties tracks and err air guitar to Toto – Hold The Line? None that I can think of. It totted up to around 5 hours in total. And at one point it looked like, well, like vomit...



But my goodness, I had a slice yesterday on a slice of Black bomber and it was heavenly.

That alone doesn’t a perfect weekend make. Those who have been reading for a while will know how forthcoming I can be about BAD dates. However, to balance the table a bit, for once I am going to tell you a bit about a good date (two to be precise, in one weekend).

The first involved True Grit and dinner at a local Spanish restaurant Galicia. Those that live within striking distance of Croydon would do well to make a beeline for this empire-sized restaurant who somehow manage to consistently serve up gorgeous tapas time after time in a convivial and friendly setting.

269-275 High St
Croydon CR0 1QH
020 8686 0043


The second involved (hold your breath)…. Leaving London. Well to get to Sussex, which isn’t that far but sadly, is a lot further away from the big smoke than I get most weekends. We went to an absolutely gorgeous place called The Hatch…..

It was delightful. Small, cosy and deservedly popular – you’d do well to reserve a table if you head down on a Sunday, as it was, we bagged the last available table arriving bang on the dot of opening. Though there’s quite a large menu involving quite a few fishy dishes that looked rather tempting, we’d come for the roast and that’s what we got…

The beef was tender, rare, juicy and saucily accompanied as you can see by the usual trimmings and lashings of gravy.



I did not take a picture of the sticky toffee pudding that rolled out for dessert but safe to say, the moment it ended was one of those moments. You know the ones where you honestly wish you could order the same thing right away and relive the unadulterated pleasure without a) feeling sick from being so gluttonous b) your stomach popping open and spraying everyone with the contents of your gut.

Colmans Hatch
East Sussex TN7 4EJ
01342 822 363

http://www.hatchinn.co.uk/

The rest of the day was spent tramping around Ashdown Forest, visiting Pooh Bear’s haunts and generally realising how overrated growing up is and how fun jumping in the mud with your wellies is. Maybe not quite enough exercise to burn off the luncheon calories but dammit, a pretty good way to start anyway.



And there we have it, the perfect weekend. Lets hope there are many more to come.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Crumbs and Dirty Dishes Supper Club: The Porky Edition



See the full album on our Facebook Page

I’ve just come back from filming an edition of Market Kitchen. The one thought in my mind? I love pork. No. I really, really love pork. Almost as much as I love steak.... debatably more. Chefs Rachel Allen and Charita Jones cooked up a storm with Berkshire rare breed pigs: I wont the spill the beans about the dishes – you’ll have to keep your eyes peeled on Good Food channel towards the end of January. It will be worth it.

In the meantime, the supper club has been going well. I’m rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation about Sunday’s upcoming Christmas edition, complete with roast goose and homemade mince pies. Mmmn. But the last one was arguably my favourite so far.

It’s sad to say but the torment of the pork shoulder roasting overnight was unbelievable – every five minutes I would wake up to a waft of fragrance. It was worse than a child on Christmas eve.... Overall it was in the oven for a good 12 hours and literally falling off the bone with a good layer of crackling. Absolutely gorgeous.

The menu:
Parmesan and chive scones with red onion marmalade
Slow roasted pork shoulder with anchovy sage potatoes, braised fennel and greens
Vanilla pannacotta with spiced pears poached in red wine
Cheese and biscuits













Photos once again by Nadine El Hage http://www.flickr.com/people/nadineelhage/
January’s Supper club will be on the 16th – Four courses £20, ten places. Get in touch at crumbsanddirtydishes@gmail.com

Recipes to follow soon....

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Chomping Through South-West Ireland



Up until last month, my experience of Ireland was limited to an 18 hour stint in Dublin along with three girly friends to celebrate my 21st birthday and a few tall, dark and handsome men with irresistible accents. You might think I’m joking when I say 18 hours – I’m not even sure it was that – being young and energetic I relied on the fact that we could stay up all night, go for drinks, party and then get back to London the next morning.

Not so last month’s trip to the Emerald Isle. I wasn’t sure what to expect from a seven day gourmet tour of the country ending with the Galway Oyster Festival but it was going to have to set the bar pretty high to impress. It did.

Within an hour of getting off the plane, I was rolling up my sleeves and helping out with the feeding of one of the lambs at Rathbaun Farm: the lamb was possibly the only animal I’ve ever met whose very, very enthusiastic appreciation for its food surpassed my own – as it literally dragged me across the barn trying to get the dregs of its milk from the bottle.



Culinary treats abounded from the first day – holed up in the secluded Cashel House, I have very fond memories of the sticky toffee pudding that rounded off the evening’s dining. Forget the mediocre semi-dry sponge too often masquerading under the title of sticky toffee pudding – this dish lived up to its reputation in every sense of the word – a dense, moist pudding with lashings of toffee sauce and a dollop of cream to set it off.

The next morning, when getting on what is possibly the smallest plane in the world I might have wished I’d shown a little less gusto with the pudding the night before as I heard the dreaded words ‘Hop onto the scales then – we need to weigh you to make sure we distribute the weight evenly throughout the plane’. Urgh... but it was worth it when we stepped off the other end on the smallest Arann island Inis Aer.



After tramping around to take in the views of the small stone-wall fields and rugged coastlines, we went to the small independent Fisherman’s Cottage restaurant run by Enda and Maria Connelly for some local seafood treats – treats being the operative word. The table was piled high with simple mouthwatering fare such as lobster and crab platters, saltfish fritters, mackerel escavetch and seaweed scones. Most of the ingredients used in the dishes are sourced locally, from within a one kilometre distance – making it a locavore’s dream.



Seafood platter



Mackerel escavetch

From Inis Aer, it was a short hop skip and jump over to the biggest of the Aran Islands, Inis Mor. Although it’s the most developed of the islands, it’s still incredibly relaxed – you can still travel around the island by pony trap – though in practice this is the domain of the tourists....



Visible from much of the isle. Dun Aonghasa is a prehistoric fort atop a cliff with absolutely stunning views out to the mainland. So focused was I on storming my way up to the top, I just about caught the rainbow that saw fit to appear at the very moment we reached the fort. Didn’t run off in search of the leprechaun though, rather a shame as a pot of gold wouldn’t go amiss but hey....

Like all island people, the folk on Inis Mor know how to party in my personal favourite sense of the word – great food and a spot of craic: the destination? Ti Joe Watty’s... Local singers and musicians take to the stage while the pub focuses on putting out some rather mouth-watering treats. I maintain that the lobster and chips might not only be one of the tastiest I’ve ever tasted but was definitely the best value at €29 for a monster-sized portion...

Back on the mainland, we drove through the picture-perfect views of County Galway and County Mayo before settling in at Delphi Mountain Resort for a pampering session complete with a seaweed bath – a novel experience to say in the least. In line with the resort’s emphasis on sustainability , food is sourced as locally as possible before being served in the restaurant.


Views from Delphi Mountain Resort

And then, it was time. We wended our way to Galway for the Oyster Festival – the perfect place to gorge yourself on the world-famous Galway Bay Oysters and shake a leg at what’s been named as one of the 12 best experiences on earth. The festival was made up of a series of events from the official opening ceremony to black tie dinners and afternoon celebrations. We’d barely settled into the hotel before we were whisked off to put back a few pints of Guinness (or other tipple of choice) in the local pubs in preparation for the Friday night party.

I can’t say I have ever encountered a night where I’ve quaffed lots of champagne, eaten oysters and not had a good night and myself and new mate Jill ended up storming the dancefloor later as the party stepped up a notch.

It follows that a good night can be followed by a slightly err rougher morning – if it wasn’t for the fact that we were going to a cheese shop and deli, I’m not sure getting out of bed before midday would have been a valid option at all. I was rather glad when we got to Sheridan’s Cheese Shop & Deli and Seamus Sheridan announced it was his birthday and promptly cracked out a few bottles of prosecco accompanied by (of course) more oysters.



The deli is one of the orginial artisan cheesemongers in Ireland and the perfect place to pick up local cheeses like Cashel Blue – a rather punchy blue cheese and Durras an unpastureised cow’s milk cheese from West Cork.

We carried on with the festivities with the afternoon gala lunch where the official Guinness World Oyster Opening Championship takes place. Though mainly occupied with tasting the seafood platters, oysters and other delights tantalisingly wafting past me – I did take the time out to notice that the oyster opening contestants have rather delicious arms, especially when employed in opening up one of my favourite little tidbits. When I do finally write my Mills & Boon bodice ripper, it will involve one of the said contestants – Mr Ireland and Mr Sweden would make particularly good fodder methinks.

And then, it was almost all over – but not before we’d spend the night at the wonderfully quaint and romantic Mustard Seed Lodge in Adare, County Limerick. Game dishes such as the rabbit terrine particularly stood out for their intense flavours, as did the braised duck (gorgeous), the crème brulee too was definitely something special. In the morning it was one last full Irish breakfast and then time to go home – sad. That said, I can’t imagine it will be that long before I make my way back.....

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Sunday Supper Club – Big Event for a Big Weekend



It’s not often that you will pass a driving test, have your last day at work, found a new flatmate, do your first supper club and witness the birth of your first niece over the course of one weekend... So you can imagine that last weekend was rather a special one.

The driving test proved the old adage third time lucky to be true and I’m now the proud aunt of one very cute niece Summer, whom I hope to influence in ways good and bad in the years to come. She’ll definitely have to put up with old aunty Julianna butting into her life fairly frequently, because after watching the closing stages of my sister’s labour, I’m fairly confident that I will not be running to do that anytime soon myself. The horror....

Moving swiftly on, the 19th of September proved to be a big day – not only was it the day Summer was born, but it was also the day I held my first not so secret Crumbs and Dirty Dishes Sunday Supper Club.

I’ve been toying with the idea of a supper club for a while... some of the most enjoyable nights out I’ve recently had have been eating in other people’s homes or random factories in Dalston (see Shacklewell Nights). And so, after dithering and dithering I bit the bullet, sent out the emails and started plotting the menu.

The experience proved to be a fun one... I can’t say that waking up at 9am in Dalston after a rather heavy party on Friday night and having to hare my way back to Brixton to do some market shopping pre-flat viewings was quite the way I would have planned it. Neither was waking up at 5am on the Sunday to start the cooking.

A call from my sister at 11am, just as everything was ticking along nicely to say that her labour had started kept things nice and spicy (especially as I was one of the birth partners) – the afternoon was punctuated by progress reports and I had fingers and toes crossed that I’d make it in time for the birth.

By the time people rolled into Brixton at two, we were merrily doling out the Bellinis and trying to stop ourselves scoffing the Brie, Pancetta and Mussel Tartlets that smelt so tempting in the oven.


These were followed by braised lamb shanks with parsnip gratin and wild mushroom gravy, which went down particularly well and the blackberry and clotted cream shortcake appeared to have found a few fans.

As someone who is frequently tormented by the choice between cheese or pudding (a choice between cheese and anything is always particularly unfair) I’d decided to serve both... the cheeseboard consisted of a ripe Brie, Cambozola, Dolcelatte, Cheddar, goat’s cheese and herbed Feta sourced from a new love, the Portuguese delicatessan under the Brixton railway arches.

But essentially a supper club is about the people. Our crowd was fantastic – so I’d like to say a big thank you to them and my very helpful sous-chef Natalie for making it such a special afternoon. And Nadine for the wonderful photos.



Dates for October/ November’s supper clubs are as follows:
10th October
7th November
28th November

Price: Twenty pounds including four courses and a welcome drink. BYO booze.
Email crumbsanddirtydishes@gmail.com to sign up or to be added to the email update list.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Bar Boulud: Lowering the Expectations of the Average Londoner



Once in a while you come across a new restaurant that is worth all the hype, that truly warrants the media fuss, press coverages and swarms of people desperate to try out the new place to be.

Most of the time, unfortunately, you don’t. Bar Boulud in the Mandarin Oriental, Hyde Park is one such destination.

Saying the restaurant is an exercise in disappointment is a bit excessive. A bit. I suppose it depends on how high your expectations are in the first place. If you are looking for a perfectly pleasant dinner, be reassured, you’ll get what you expect. No more, no less.

If you think all Michelin-starred chefs serve up turds of overrated and overpriced junk and approach with this mindset then guess what. You are in for a TREAT! The food at Bar Boulud really tastes far superior to a turd.

Raise your expectations higher than either of these two options and you’re setting yourself up for a disappointment. So I suppose that it was really my own fault that I found this restaurant to be so overwhelmingly lacklustre. Expectations were just too high and I take full responsibility.

Maybe I’m being a bit harsh. Some of the food was decidedly on the side of brilliance – the Boudin Blanc sausages came with a truffle sauce that didn’t really taste of truffles but was unarguably the highlight of the night. A plump little saucisson lying sexily on a mashed potato base and drizzled with the sauce.



The cheese board too was pretty stellar – the Stinking Bishop comes highly recommended. But I hope I am not the only one that sees the discrepancy between three (three!) Michelin stars in New York and a dinner where the sausage and the cheese are the stars of the show. Thought not.

A brief run through: charcuterie – ok, scallops – large but lacking in flavour, chicken – same story. Meh.

Service was friendly but unreliable – the sommelier only popped up halfway through the meal, even though we’d asked for wines to be matched to each course. For the first course, we were left to our own devices wine wise, not a tragedy but not quite up to standard. Otherwise, glasses were dropped, wine was spilt... teething stages I’m sure.

One of my biggest gripes was the sheer number of people they had packed into the space. It’s a large restaurant by anyone’s standard, so is it really necessary to pack the tables so closely together that punters feel like wiggling and jiggling like a sardine as the surroundings are so conducive to doing so?

It was a Friday night and it was heaving. I could literally hear the woman next to me inhale as she finished chewing and was far too close to another table’s plastic-surgery face fest than is ever comfortable whilst eating. Diners were squished together closer than the rails of Next on the first day of the sale.

In short, go to Bar Boulud if you want to eavesdrop on society’s ‘finest’, complete with a step by step runthrough of what they’ve just purchased in Harrods but don’t go forthe food. You’re setting yourself up for a fall and will be far better saving the pennies for Blumenthal’s restaurant in the same hotel later this year.

Waiting rating: Ditzy would be a compliment
Scoffing potential: Not as good as you'd want it to be with all the fanfare
Wallet buddy: Not particularly friendly, especially in light of the actual food
The crowd: London's wannabe hip crowd and those with more money than tastebuds

66 Knightsbridge
London SW1X 7LA
020 7 201 3899