Sloe going in Sussex

Tis the season when you kick back, mourn the passing of summer and start looking forward to that time when you get to eat nice food, have a few days of, drink a few nice tipples and of course, the obligatory spats with the siblings. You know what I'm talking about - Christmas. And what is a festive period without a sip of sloe gin? Beats me.

I first discovered sloe gin at uni, along with other things like a (now lost) amazing capacity to drink White wine, my intolerance of flavourless food and general love of cooking. Anyway, this year I finally sorted my act out and got down to starting off some sloe gin that, fingers crossed will be ready for Christmas.

Now is the perfect time for a spot of sloe picking - the Blackthorn tree is by no means an unusual one, even in London, so the urban folk can get in on the action. Safe to say, there are plenty where we are. .I have discovered a spot of sloe heaven that I shall not, will not divulge to anyone so there :p

Anyway, we decided to follow the recipe from the WI's book (this has played a large part in our soon to be blogged fruit winemaking odysseys) and so far it is looking hot. Worth what felt like endless pricking and chilly fingers from the still defrosting sloes (bunged in freezer for few days until we had time to pack em up) Check back in December for a further update and our verdict on the final tasting.... We'll be giving them a shake week by week to keep them excited.

Recipe
1lb sloes
3oz White sugar
1.5 pints gin

Stalk and clean the fruit, prick and pack into jars. Add the sugar and gin, seal and shake every other day for two to three months. Strain, bottle and cork.

Camping in the Loire Valley

Sorry I've kind of disappeared for a few weeks but don't fear - I have been cooking up a few brilliant things that will be making their appearance on the blog soon. Blackberry brandy, redcurrant wine and elderberry wine anyone?

In the meantime - we went to the Loire Valley on a camping trip - near to Blois and perfectly located to pick up some Cheverny and Cour Cheverny wines. So far, the drinking of said wine has been remarkably restrained. But it's only a matter of time....

The second eldergoose episode

Alas, the season has now passed for elderflowers but I’m a bit behind on t
he blog posts and thought I’d put this up for people to bear in mind next year!

A short blog piece, in homage to John of River Cottage fame for this brilliant recipe.... ours has just finished bubbling so we will be siphoning it off soon and tasting the fruits of our labour. Excellent. Don’t get too worried if you don’t hear from me for a few weeks. I’ll be basking in a self-indulgent but happy elderflower and gooseberry wine stupor. I suppose I should let it develop for a few months but will definitely sneak a glass or two from the demijohn first.



The original recipe
2kg green gooseberries (washed, frozen, then defrosted)
Florets from 10 elderflower sprays
1.2kg sugar
3.5 litres water
1 sachet white wine yeast
1 teaspoon yeast nutrient
1 teaspoon grape tannin (optional – it fills a "gap" in the palate with many wines)
1 level teaspoon pectolase (there is a lot of pectin in gooseberries which must be removed to prevent cloudiness)

The mucking about with freezing the gooseberries breaks down the cell walls to release the juices and makes the difficult mashing process a bit easier. Place the defrosted gooseberries in a clean ceramic mixing bowl and gently crush them with the end of a clean rolling pin. It is important not to crush the pips too much as this will release more pectin (and why a blender is no use).

The whole business is messy, with gooseberry juice squirting everywhere. Never mind. Once it is all nicely pulped, transfer to a large, food grade plastic bucket and pour on about three litres of cold water. Add all the other ingredients and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Cover and leave for three days, stirring occasionally.

Strain through a sterilized, doubled muslin cloth, squeezing out as much juice as you can into a clean bucket. Make the quantity up to 4.5 litres with more water.

Siphon into a demi-john and fit a bubble-trap. Rack off into a new demi-john at least once, then, when all fermentation has ceased and the wine has cleared, siphon into bottles.

Spending time in Cali.... Los Angeles Edition

OK. I am officially rubbish. Goodness knows how many dishes I’ve cooked and thought well, wouldn’t that be perfect for the blog. And how many times I’ve been out and thought oh I’ll just take a photo for the blog. But somehow. The blog has managed to stay in stasis for a few weeks.

But my recent trip to America was just too good to miss out on sharing with you fine folks.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve maybe been a bit snooty about people who go to America on holiday all the time – I mean where is the challenge in going to a country where they speak the same language? Pooh pooh to that. Well I take it back.

So let’s get down to business. The food. Well the first thing is that there was absolutely tonnes of it. If I talked through every dish I had while I was out there, we would be here for bleedin’ ever. So this is going to be a shortish run-through of the things that found a special place in my heart...

Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles

Ever heard the Notorious B.I.G song ‘Goin’ Back to Cali’. Well, I’ll tell ya, it’s a treat. I believe the lyrics go a something like this:

Frequently floss hoes at Roscoe's
If I wanna squirt her, take her to Fatburger
Spend about a week on Venice Beach
Sippin Crist-o, with some freaks from Frisco

Well ladies and gentlemen, this is Roscoe’s... And while I’m not down with the flossing of hoes (dont even want to think about what that means) I can say hand on heart that Biggie made a damned good call on this place.


The name of the restaurant says it all, chicken and waffles are the main attraction here. That is a plate of southern fried chicken, huge fluffy waffles drowned in a vat of maple syrup. Sceptical? I was but can see the appeal of this gorgeous little heart-attack on a plate. If you’re going at the weekend be prepared to queue.

I’m saving Fatburger for next time. Speaking of burgers...

Bob’s Original Double Deck Hamburger
Bob was a big boy. He ate lots of his own burgers, probably washed down with quite a few of his milkshakes too. Bob's is one of the original diners

They are very nice. For me though, half the excitement was checking out the vintage cars gathered in the parking lot for their weekly meet. Swing by on a Friday evening and hang out with the drivers who are a massive fount of (slightly obsessive) information about their Beach Boy-styled cars! Then chow down on a big juicy burger.

Melisse
After lounging around in my sandals and summer dresses, Melisse cropped up a refreshing breath of formality. Chef Josiah Citrin serves up a gorgeous amalgamation of haute-French cuisine at this Los Angeles institution. We were almost more impressed by the service than by the food and the food was excellent. Watching the waiters however, was like watching a well-rehearsed and much practiced ballet. Dishes were served with a flourish and worked their way through a catalogue of the most delectable ingredients....a trio of foie gras, artichoke soup, wagyu beef.

Asia de Cuba
Asian and Cuban food? Asia de Cuba pulls off what could be a disaster of flavours with excellent style. It’s no wonder that this is one of the Sunset Boulevard hotspots... That and the rather cute waiter....



Santa Barbara Wineries – Kalyra & Fess Parker
I couldn’t go to California without heading out to some wineries. So when Rachel had the brilliant idea of visiting some of the wineries from Sideways in Santa Barbara County, I was enthusiastic to say in the least. We started off with Kalyra, a small winery in Santa Ynez headed up my Aussie-born winemaker Mike Brown.

I’m not going to pretend to be an expert but the Sangiovese caught my tastebuds’ attention ...

We moved on to the larger, more industrial Fess Parker winery a fifteen minute drive away where the pours were on the generous side. Hence the notice...

I find it hard to get excited about wine in the same way that I do about food but the woman behind the bar was incredible and her passion was infectious. So Rachel and I got a bit tiddly and passed out in the car back to LA. The end. I did pick up a Riesling that I’ll be cracking out at the Christmas Supper Club in a few days. I loved it at the time, but the subsequent hangover obliterated the reasons why... will keep you updated.

Ice Ice Baby and other vanilla inspired things from a spice island

It’s been a long, long time. Many people have pointed it out and I've mumbled stuff about being busy, feeling tired and other rubbish excuses that popped in to my head. I could sit here and apologise until I’m blue in the face, or we can just get down to the good stuff and do what we came here to do. Plumping for the latter? I thought so... Don't think I haven't chastised myself though. There will be a weekly post from here on in.

I’m fresh off the plane from a trip to Tanzania and Zanzibar – two of the most interesting places I’ve visited to date. Unfortunately the Tanzania side of things was limited to Dar Es Salaam, but on the plus side, we had plenty of time to mooch around Zanzibar and discover the hidden and not so hidden delights of this crazy-sounding island.

For me, Zanzibar has always summed up images of the exotic. Everything from its name to its moniker of the ‘spice island’ has always suggested beating hot suns, deliciously fragrant and punchy cuisine, verdant scenery, amazing beaches and postcard perfect panoramas – basically as different from dear old Blighty as you can get. Thank god, ever since getting back to one of the most depressing and finger-numbing winters known to man, I’ve been entranced by thoughts of sunkissed skin, floaty dresses, cool, thirst-quenching drinks and all those other things you take for granted when the sun is shining.



But back to the Spice Island: What could be more zesty and exotic food-wise? Tumeric, cloves, cinnamon; you name it, they grow it in lush plantations buzzing with potential flavours that are every foodie’s delight. And who was this foodie to resist?

The first thing I did on settling down in Stone Town, the island’s capital (and only) “city” was jump in a taxi and hot-tail it down to the Kizimbani spice plantation about a half-hour’s drive out of town. Fingers crossed that it wasn’t going to rain (it was the middle of the wet season), Farzana and I were introduced to Rashid, our guide for the afternoon.

“For such a small island, Zanzibar produces a lot of spices,” Rashid started solemnly “we are the world’s leading producer of cloves for example – did you know that?” he smiled as we dutifully shook our heads. “But enough of that, you didn’t come here to find out about facts and figures. Guess what this is...”

Taking a few leaves from the nearest plant, he scrunched them and rolled them between his fingers then held it up to our noses for us to smell. We were hit by blasts of the pungent aromas of basil, but not quite as we knew it. Finally one of us hazarded our guess – we were half right, it was Zanzibari basil.

Unveiling the tumeric

And so the pattern continued as Rashid led us from plant to plant, picking a few leaves here, a pod here, getting us to guess what they were and explaining their tastes, medicinal benefits and a brief history of where they were from originally. While I was undoubtedly excited by the discovery of curry leaves, ginger, peppercorns et al, it was the appearance of the vanilla that really caught my attention.

I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t even think to associate the green, full pods with the shrivelled, black stalks that I’ve picked up time and again from the shelves of my local supermarket. They looked so fresh, I thought they were runner beans! (What, I never claimed to be a horticulturalist or plant expert...) – it was only when he cracked the pods open that we found out what it was.


Of course, I couldn’t go home without buying a pod or two to bring back with me and I’ve been itching to lay my hands on them ever since. So tonight I got them out into the kitchen and did a little bit of experimentation. I wanted something that used the vanilla in a different way to the normal sweet treats I dish up at the table.

Much as I’d like to do a Vanilla Ice and claim a fake cultural background for this dish to make it seem a little more from the Zanzibar hood, I can’t in all honesty say that the dish I came up with was particularly inspired by Zanzibari cuisine – apart from the fact that they do eat a LOT of seafood there and it is a seafood dish. It was adapted from a recipe on the Vanilla Pod’s website.

What I will say is that once I tried it, I couldn’t actually give a toss where it could have hearkened from and I sincerely hope that you feel the same...

Pan fried scallops with a vanilla reduction, port and pear compote and rocket salad


18 fresh scallops
Zest of one orange
1 cinnamon stick
3 star anise
180g sugar
50ml rose wine
50 ml balsamic vinegar
50ml orange juice
4 firm pears peeled and finely sliced
200ml ruby port
2 vanilla pods
Madras curry powder and salt to season

Take one of the vanilla pods, the three star anise, orange zest, cinnamon stick, 100g sugar, rose wine, balsamic vinegar and put on a low heat in a pot to reduce. Once the liquid has turned a light caramel colour, add the orange juice and simmer to a workable consistency.

Place the other vanilla pod, the port and the remaining 80g of sugar in another pot and simmer until it creates a syrup. Add the sliced pears and continue to simmer until the liquid has been absorbed. Remove the vanilla pod and blend the mixture into a compote.

Lightly season the scallops with the Madras curry powder and salt, pan fry at a high heat until seared on each side. Serve immediately drizzled with the vanilla reduction and aside a spoon of the pear compote and a handful of rocket.

It was a steak as big as my head

No lie. I sat and stared at it. It stared right back at me. Immediately, I knew this steak meant business. Meaty, bloody, tasty business that would leave me disdainful of all other steaks I’ve had in my life....

Well you’ll probably want a bit of background and who am I to deny? Let’s set the scene, I am sitting in La Cabrera - often referred to as Argentina’s best steakhouse, or parilla (no easy task as there’s one everywhere you turn). There are ten of us at the table – and though the buzzing sound of chit chat and laughter had been quite prominent a few seconds before, the silence hung over each and every person. The kind of silence that comes about because you have so much to say that it’s not even worth saying anything, that saying nothing is actually the nearest thing you can get to coming close to expressing what you are feeling. Scene set? Moving on.



“That’s the biggest steak I’ve ever seen in my life”. The silence was broken by Mike, and everyone quickly chimed in with some form of agreement. But then it was quiet again, the only noise the sloshing of the wine into the equally gluttinous-sized glasses as the waiter worked his way down the table and as people divvied the steaks in two and began to take in the true meaning of an Argentinean asado. I almost didn’t want to eat it in case it turned out to be a disappointment – no chance. The first taste was exquisite, the second taste was sublime. The third, fourth and fifth disappeared in a haze of steak-infused haze that I can only vaguely recall with a shiver down my spine and a smile on my face.


It's a rubbish picture but you get the point when that's HALF the steak...

Although there were sauces and chips and pumpkin and many, many accompaniments, all I was concerned about was the steak. Screw papas fritas, how good can chips be? And sauces? Who needs sauce? I grudgingly conceded to some pumpkin as an effort at a balanced meal (a poor one you needn’t point out) but, really, it was like having one of Cinderella’s ugly sisters on stage at the same time as Marilyn Monroe – the contrast is so great that the ugly sister suddenly appears to be a sub-human ork-like animal when really she is just an unfortunate looking lass with a few warts. In fact, if you’d seen her on her own, you wouldn’t have thought she was that bad at all.

The only other thing I was really paying attention to was the glass of Argentinean Malbec gracing my hand in between each steakfested mouthful. Whoever first decided that red wine and a good (great!) steak went hand in hand really deserves a page in history.



Rewind a few hours. I’d been told that there was a steakhouse so good that people queued for hours outside to get a seat and a bite and I’d laughed. How good could one steak be? It’s the middle of Argentinean winter and therefore fairly nippy outside. I’d obviously be game, because I’m a curious soul who’s always wanting to put these things to the test but the rest of the city? Especially when you can walk right into any steakhouse and pretty much guarantee a decent if not mindblowing feed?

Well if I hadn’t been so busy eating my steak, I’d have been eating my words. In the end ten of us went to the restaurant, which meant a very long wait outside, in the cold. But you know what, it wasn’t so bad. We had heaters (good), free slices of chorizo (good good), champagne (err excellent) and a whole lot of conversation.



By the time they found us a table someone slyly suggested that we stay for one more on the house, but we figured we might as well see what the fuss was about. And now I know, and now you know and I will never laugh at the idea of waiting outside a restaurant again.