Cool as a Cucumber

Cucumber Salad

'Cool as a cucumber' (idiom) - calm, self-possessed, imperturbable, unruffled.  This most definitely does not describe my state with the thermometer now pushing 33C in London and humidity touching 90%.  We Brtis are wimps when it comes to heat.  Well, at least this Brit is.  I'm trying every trick I know not to open the oven or heat up the hotplate.  Cooling salads and fruit desserts are all I want right now and I know I'm not alone.  Far be it for me to rain on the parade of you super-sunners out there, but I'm from the cold north and I could do with a bit of respite.

Until then, I'm making the most of cucumber because actually 'cool as a cucumber' is not just an idiom. Scientists have concluded that cucumber is one of the best things you can eat to cool down in a heatwave, largely thanks to its high water content.

So, it's not just that boring *fruit that you slice and use to ease puffy eyes - though at the moment I'm happy to use it that way too.  However you choose to use them,  UK cucumbers are cropping right now.  Early in the season you don't need to peel or salt them to remove excess water content.  They're best served cold and crunchy, straight from the fridge - bliss.

This recipe is my interpretation of a dish I ate recently at 40 Maltby Street.  It makes a great, refreshing and cooling light lunch with little effort expended, and that's exactly what I need.  It's not too far from a cucumber raita and could also be served as an accompaniment to spicy meat or fish.  Cucumbers originated in the Indian sub-continant where they know a thing about turning down the heat.

Cucumber Salad
(less a recipe more an assembly)

Small cucumbers
Plain yogurt
Mint, chopped
Shallot, very thinly sliced
Lemon Juice
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Salt & pepper
Pea shoots

Add the thinly sliced shallots to the lemon juice and leave to 'cook' for 15 minutes.
Whisk olive oil into the lemon juice/shallot mix to make a vinaigrette (I use ratio lemon to oil 1:5)
Thinly slice the cucumbers (peel only if skins are tough).
Mix the chopped mint into the yogurt and place spoonfuls onto individual plates.  Top with slices of cucumber and the pea shoots, followed by the shallot vinaigrette.  Season with salt and pepper.


*As it has an enclosed seed and is developed from a flower, botanically cucumber is classified as an 'accessory fruit'.

Asparagus in the raw

Raw Asparagus, pea-shoots and mint salad

Spare a thought for the asparagus farmer subject to the vagaries of our climate.  Yes, there has been indoor-grown asparagus for a few weeks now but outdoor grown - and, for me, nothing tastes as good - is struggling with our unseasonal weather.

Normally the asparagus farmer has six weeks of frantic activity harvesting the crop for market, then it's all over until next year.  Traditionally in the UK the season begins around St George's Day (23 April) and by mid-Summer's Day cutting should stop.  The plants continue to put up spears but these are allowed to grow into tall fronds which photosynthesise to build up nutrients for next year's crop.  In November the plant is cut back to ground level.  It takes about three years for an asparagus crown to become established and, if treated right, will will be productive for 10 years.  Quite an investment and hence the relatively high price of those bundles.  Asparagus likes well-drained, rich loamy soil - which rules it out for my heavy clay allotment patch.

Isle of Wight Asparagus

Asparagus needs warm, dry conditions in its final weeks, so it's no surprise that the outdoor-grown crop is late this year.  Last year it wasn't at market before the second week in May.  This year the delay to the season is even more severe.  By 19th May there was still little to be had in London, apart from a small amount from the Isle of Wight - always the first to arrive.  My favourite source is that grown by New Park Farm in Kent which is brought up to London for six weeks every years.  The care and attention they lavish on the crop is clear and I know of no other asparagus that tastes as good.

Freshness is key to taste so, when you do finally get your hands on it, don't let it linger in the fridge.  Those spears are packed with beneficial nutrients too - vitamins A and C, folic acid, potassium and iron.

So how to make a little go a long way and get the most out of its special flavour?  When I get my hands on a bunch of asparagus my first thought is usually how I'm going to cook it.  Until last week, that is, when it was served to me raw.  Sliced super-fine, mixed with a few pea-shoots and dressed with a lemony vinaigrette and a touch of mint, it was the perfect way to eke out a few spears.  I've unashamedly stolen this idea from chef Steve Williams of 40 Maltby Street, though it's my interpretation.  It's as close as I can get to his vibrant, seasonal dish.

Raw Asparagus, Mint & Pea-shoot salad
(Serves 4 as a starter)

8-12 asparagus spears
A handful of pea-shoots
8-10 mint leaves
1 tbsp lemon juice
4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Salt & pepper

Snap the tough ends off the asparagus.  Cut a diagonal slice off the bottom of each asparagus spear then slice each spear as thinly as you can (see result in photo).  Add salt and pepper to the lemon juice and mix.  Whisk in the olive oil to emulsify.  Add the sliced asparagus and the pea shoots.  Serve.

First flush & a taste for tortilla

Tortilla

It's waiting time on the allotment.  Almost everything is planted - save for courgettes, squash and pumpkins - and tender stems are reaching for the light.  My two plantings of broad beans have germinated well and stand between  8 and 12 cm tall.  Looks like Chocolate Spot is going to scar the pods this year as some of the leaves already bear the distinctive marks.  Not a threat to the beans but not a pretty sight.  The peas we planted alongside are struggling, making my carefully constructed pea-stick arch look a little optimistic this year. I could plant again but late peas usually fall prey to pea-moth, no matter how I try to protect them.  I'll keep my fingers crossed that there are stragglers just waiting to emerge.  It's a time to take a breath, weed, weed and weed a bit more, and bide our time.

Spinach 'Dominant' & 'Bordeaux'

Still, we have spinach - vibrant green and reliable Dominant and beautiful, red-stemmed and veined Bordeaux which is much more prone to bolt.  Sown three weeks ago, it feels good to have a fresh crop to pick instead of searching for a few new leaves on the ragged, over-wintering, Rainbow chard.  

Most of the tender leaves went into the salad bowl and, next day, the remaining pickings were added to beaten egg, softened onions and fried potatoes for a tortilla.  I sometimes use chard or a few herbs (coriander is good) instead of spinach.  The Tortilla shown was served just-warm with a mix of salad leaves which, sadly, were not my own.  I doubt there is a prettier, fresher and more interesting mix of salad than that supplied by Chegworth Farm.  They are now my first stop whenever I can't glean what I need from my own plot of land.

Tortilla Slice

So, when is this egg dish a Tortilla and when is it a Frittata?  It seems the difference is in the finishing.  If you cook one side in a pan then slide it under the grill, you have a Frittata.  If you turn it out onto a plate and then return it to the pan to finish it, you have a Tortilla.  I prefer Tortilla and here's the way I make it.

Tortilla
(Serves 2-4)

1 medium onion, thinly sliced
4 medium waxy potatoes, peeled and sliced or diced
4-5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
A handful of spinach or chard leaves
4 eggs
salt and pepper

Gently soften the onion in 1 tbsp olive oil, then put to one side.  In the same pan, gently cook the potatoes in 2 tbsp olive oil until just softened.  Wash and blanch the spinach or chard leaves in boiling water for 1 minute then drain and refresh in cold water (if the leaves are very young you can skip this step).  Drain and chop the leaves roughly.  
Mix the eggs lightly, add the onions, potatoes, leaves and seasoning and mix together.  Heat a round sided 20cm frying pan with a little olive oil until medium hot before pouring the mixture in.  Cook over a medium heat for 3-4 minutes until it's firm enough to slide it out onto a plate larger than the pan (uncooked side up. Place the pan onto the plate and invert so that the uncooked side is now facing the bottom of the pan.  Cook for 2 minutes more before turning it out to serve.

Leeks baked in cream and stock

Leeks baked in cream and stock

Recently I posted on pairing Leeks with Gruyere which, for me is a great combination.  I suggested serving up a dish of leeks with a Sauce Mornay - suitably rib-sticking at a time when winter was dragging on. Soon after, unconnectedly, I read someone's remark that such a sauce was an "old lady's cheese sauce".  In my book it is a classic sauce, albeit one which I don't make often.

The purpose of this brief posting is to come good on my promise to make a slightly more Spring-like baked leek dish once the temperature rose a few degrees.  Leeks have been the vegetable of the winter, for me. Although quite stunted, thanks to the unusually long cold spell, they have proved to be particularly sweet and tender this year.  In this crossover period from Winter to Spring produce, they are still very welcome while we wait for outdoor-grown English asparagus, beans and peas.  If you've grown your own leeks don't leave them in the ground for too much longer as British overwintering leeks will soon bolt and develop the hard core which marks the end of their season.

This dish is so simple there is no need to give you a formal recipe.  It's adapted from Chez Panisse Vegetables by Alice Waters and it does have a sauce - not a classic but it should be.

Leeks baked in cream and stock

Pre-heat oven to 190C (170C fan oven).
Lightly trim the leeks, top and bottom and remove one outer layer.  Slice half way down from the top and wash thoroughly.  Drop the leeks into boiling salted water for 3-4 minutes, drain and lay them in a shallow, buttered oven-proof dish.  Cover with a mixture of 3 parts double cream to 1 part vegetable stock.  Season with salt and pepper and dot with a little unsalted butter.  Bake in the oven, uncovered, for 30-40 minutes.  

A hunk of crusty crusty bread is all this dish needs.

40 Maltby Street, Bermondsey, London

Wild Mushroom Tart
at 40 Maltby Street

The dish pictured above wouldn't be out of place in a top restaurant. However, I ate it in an unpretentious wine bar resounding to the rumbling of trains overhead.  Menus are chalked on boards.  Paper napkins come from a dispenser. Perching stools line the bar and bare tables on a painted concrete floor.  The railway arch is given character by an original unframed Harry Darby artwork or two.  Hardly star-making surroundings.  Just a place where all the attention is on the food and wine - and there just happens to be a Michelin-starred chef in the kitchen.

Chef Steve Williams has a CV which includes The Square, The Ledbury, and The Anchor and Hope and earned his star at The Harwood Arms in 2011, making it the first Michelin starred pub in London. Leaving in 2012 to travel and cook, Williams spent a few months contentedly foraging and cooking at Harry Lester's Auberge du Chassignolle, deep in the Auvergne.  Happily for me, he's now back in London cooking at my favourite bar, 40 Maltby Street, making customers very happy.

It's almost 2 years since I first wrote about 40 Maltby Street.  Back then it was simply a Friday night dinner venue which served to showcase Gergovie Wines, albeit with a great chef, Dave Cook, in the small kitchen off the bar.  It's grown up a bit since then and, I have to say, has matured nicely.  Any place that has managed to attract people at least once a week - I promise you I'm not the only one - for 2 years is certainly deserving of a second review in my book.

Pollack at 40 Maltby Street

40 Maltby Street is co-owned by Raef Hodgson and Harry Lester.  Back at its birth, a run of trestle tables was set up to accommodate around 40 people. Dishes were served in en famille fashion and were based around, say, a whole lamb or two and whatever else was in season.  It was a good formula, albeit one where you had to be open to trying something you might not have been offered before - lamb's pluck is not for everyone!

Roast Pork at 40 Maltby Street

Things moved on and now you can eat at 40 Maltby Street Wednesday to Saturday (see below).  This has allowed them to have a far broader menu.  Dave Cook returned to his native Australia last Summer, making way for Steve Williams. He has gradually changed the menu to his own style and dishes are a broad mix to complement the wines. Working alongside him is Kit Hodgson who specialises in pastry and serves up unmissable pies and puddings.

Apart from being sure the food will be seasonal and impeccably sourced, you can never predict what dishes will be chalked on the blackboard.  Possibly a broth; maybe chicken with wild garlic; or lamb with barley and greens; sometimes a Venison or Mock Squab pie or an Onion tart with Lancashire cheese.  Often there's a roast and, maybe, a salt-baked fish.   There could be Egg mayonnaise,  Leek and mussel gratin, Brandade in crispy potato skins, Croquettes, Mushroom tart or Anchovies, kohlrabi and mint.  There are always British cheeses, terrines or a plate of charcuterie, and almost always a baked ham on the counter.  Last Saturday a simple-looking dish of broccoli, soft-boiled egg and hollandaise sauce with toasted almonds was made outstanding by the use of brown butter and sweet-sour Moscatel vinegar.  Pearly flakes of perfectly cooked pollock came with buttery, soft leeks dressed with bacon and chervil, the necessary crunch provided by roast potato.

Seasonal puddings could be Prune and Lemon or, maybe, Damson soufflé, Apple pie fritters, Eve's Pudding, Steamed Treacle sponge with custard, Frangipane tarts, Lemon Posset.  I could go on, but I'll spare you the torture.  I'm shocked to find I have no recent photos of the puddings.  Clearly I just couldn't wait to tuck in.  There's usually a number of meat and fish-free dishes.  Everything is made in the small open kitchen with skill, passion and generosity.

Menu at 40 Maltby Street

If you can resist the food, you can just pop in for a glass of wine.  40 Maltby Street is one of a small number of bars and restaurants in London who are introducing a new generation of natural winemakers from the South-East France/ Northern Italy/Slovenia/Spain wine-growing areas.  Employing ethical methods of growing, some organically or biodynamically, with little intervention in the development of the wine, produces interesting and surprising results.  The yield from these growers is small, hence the labels on offer at 40 Maltby Street are ever-changing as they find more good, artisan winemakers.  Some can be challenging but I can honestly say there has only been one glass I really didn't enjoy at all.  There are always a few bottles open for drinking by the glass and a wider range to enjoy by the bottle. You can also buy to take away.  My favourites have to be Tete de Bulle from the Auvergne, anything from Italian winemaker Davide Spillare, a glass of Rosso die Muni from the Veneto and Pacina Rosa from Tuscany.  Mark-ups are transparent and remarkably low.

40 Maltby Street draws a diverse crowd from off-duty chefs, through arts and media folk to local residents.  Housed in a railway arch beneath the London Bridge to Dover line, it is about a 10-minute walk east of London Bridge Station.  It's a wine bar with food so don't expect fancy service, though it is always professional.  What you will get is a warm welcome, great wines and food worthy of a Michelin star, all in simple surroundings.  It makes me very happy every week.

40 Maltby Street
London SE1 3PA
Open: Wednesday and Thursday 5.30-10pm
Friday  12.30-2pm and 5.30-10pm
Saturday 11am-5pm
(No resercvations)

Battling birds & corralling cabbages

Cabbage January King

January is a dispiriting time on the allotment in the best of years.  When the calendar flicks over to February it's a welcome sign of good things to come. That said, after the toughest growing year most people can remember, it takes a strong breed of gardener to take any pleasure in their plot right now.  It's not only amateur gardeners who are finding times hard.  Commercial growers have been hit badly over the past 12 months with record-breaking wet weather resulting in poor yields.  Worryingly, much UK arable land is still under water. This bodes ill for production in the coming year.

In my own plot a few parsnips hold on tight in the heavy clay soil.  Pulling one is akin to trying to extract a wellie-booted foot after a stomp across boggy ground.  I should be glad the parsnips have grown so well, but half an hour to release one from its sodden slumber is enough to make anyone question the sanity of growing winter crops.  Even the leeks are struggling to put on any girth this year.  Overwintering onions and garlic have rotted in the waterlogged ground so I'll need to plant afresh in early Spring.

It's the pigeons that have brought me here today.  Their appetite for brassicas at this time of year is insatiable.  Not only do I have to net the only green vegetables that will grow through winter but I feel obliged to check the birds haven't got themselves entangled in their attempts to rob me of my stash. Today all is well, both black cabbage and broccoli have recovered from the winged army's last gale-fueled raid.  They will, no doubt, mount a second front given half a chance.

Fortunately, however bad things seem, there's always something cheering. The 'Early' purple sprouting broccoli is living up to its name this year.  I harvest a few spears before ensuring the plants are safely tucked away from winged marauders.  The rhubarb crowns I moved in autumn from an overcrowded, weed-ridden spot are repaying my efforts.  Obscene pink protuberances push gamely skywards.  The blackcurrant bushes are already in bud.  I make a mental note to protect their fruit from blackbirds this year so that I can make that blackcurrant trifle they robbed me of last June.

However difficult growing your own food is, it's worth doing.  Sometimes knock-backs are good, if only to help us appreciate the fragility of our eco-system.  Let's hope, should we have another bad year on the allotment, our farmers fair better.  Back home, with a small but precious haul, I accentuate the positives and send off my seed order for the coming year.  That done, those precious stems of broccoli are boiled and dressed, still hot, with anchovies and olive oil.   It's a classic combination which hardly merits a recipe but here's what to do if you haven't come across it before.

Purple Sprouting Broccoli with Anchovies

750g purple sprouting broccoli
1 small tin of anchovies in oil, or 6-8 salted anchovy fillets
Juice of 1 lemon
3-4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Pepper

Bring a pan of water to the boil and add salt.  Wash and trim any tough stalks from the broccoli.  Add to the boiling water and boil for 2-3 minutes depending on thickness, until tender but still firm.
While the broccoli is cooking, mix or pound the anchovies together with the lemon juice, olive oil and pepper.
Drain the broccoli well and toss with the anchovy dressing.  

Good served with crusty bread.

The Calҫots are here - Food Find

The annual Calҫotada festivals are a feature of winter in Spain's Catalunya region.  Somewhere between a spring onion and a leek, calҫots were orginally the onions harvesters missed in the autumn. The alliums remained in the ground over winter and in January/February sprouted from the old bulb.  These days they are a delicacy and are planted deliberately to over-winter.  Their harvesting is often celebrated with a festival when calҫots are consumed in vast quantities.  In Valls, in the province of Tarragona, the biggest Calҫotada takes place on the last Sunday in January.  Visitors manage to get through some 100,000 calҫots in a single weekend.  

If you can't get to Spain for the festivals and you live in London, you're likely to find them on the menu at Jose Pizarro's tapas bar and restaurant in Bermondsey.  You can also buy them from good grocers.  Tony Booth of Tayshaw, trading on Druid Street SE1 goes to the trouble of buying them direct from a Spanish farmer.  From tomorrow you'll be able to get them for the next few Saturdays from his Bermondsey railway arch.  Here's a link on my way with Calҫots and a recipe for the essential Romesco sauce to eat with them.

Location of Tony Booths Tayshaw arch and other nearby Saturday food traders:
Spa Terminus

The Art of Cooking with Vegetables by Alain Passard

The Art of  Cooking with Vegetables
Alain Passard

Some time in the 1990's I was lucky enough to eat at L'Arpege in Paris.  Dish after sublime dish passed from kitchen to table.  I remember every plateful being simple but wonderful with, mercifully, none of the primping and tweaking one might have expected.  But it was the end of the meal which I remember best.  Yes, Passard did make an appearance, in a self-effacing way but what has stayed with me was the way a basket containing a whole tray of exquisite baby madeleines, hot from the oven, was placed before us.  It was a nice touch which left us feeling like we had dined with friends rather than at a Michelin starred restaurant, albeit we had paid for the privilege.

In 2000 Alain Passard, shockingly, removed red meat from his restaurant menu.  A brave move from a man who had worked hard to gain no less than 3 Michelin stars.  I haven't eaten at L'Arpege since the change in focus, but it does still have those 3 stars.  All the vegetables used in the restaurant are grown on Passard's biodynamic farm south-west of Paris.  As I grow biodynamically myself, I probably appreciate his enthusiasm more than most. His passion to unite a love of cooking with that of art took him on a "quest for gastronomic and visual harmony" and The Art of Cooking with Vegetables, is published for the 25th anniversary of L'Arpege.

Vegetarians will love this book for its unusual and interesting pairings.  It's so different, with not a grain of quinoa in sight, that I can see it appealing to the most committed meat eater too.  It takes vegetables seriously and, in 48 seasonal recipes, places them centre stage.  Despite the title, there are a few recipes for fruit too.  Personally, I love the colourful collage representations alongside the recipes but if you prefer to see clearly what you're aiming for you may not share my enthusiasm.  Having been given this book as a present, I opened it a little nervously thinking my cooking couldn't possibly live up to the recipes within.  In fact the recipes are very simple and in the case of the two I've tried so far, you really can't go wrong.  Both were visually impressive and delivered on taste, just as promised, so I'm keen to work my way through the book season by season.   Alain Passard would like his readers to be "a cook and an artist" and with recipes like these, how can we fail.


Published by Frances Lincoln Limited 

Lardo, London

Lardo
Courgette, goats' curd & anchovy pizza

Any place where nobody raises an eyebrow at someone knocking back a gin cocktail with a slice of  Melanzane alla Parmigiana is my type of place.  Lardo is the kind of restaurant where you can just relax and enjoy simple, good food. The cooking is consistent and confident, service is knowledgable and kindly, everyone knows what they're doing and they give every impression that they're happy to be there.  In short, it's very hard to find a bad word for Lardo.

Opened by Eliza Flanagan, formerly general manager of Bistrotheque, and Young British Foodie, Matt Bedell, in July this year, the menu is short and not too stretching.  Head Chef Damian Currie, formerly at Zucca and St John Bread & Wine should ensure a keen following.

Carnivores could be disappointed unless they make the most of the charcuterie, though I hear there is suckling pig to be had some days.  With carefully sourced pork from Graham Waddington of Native Breeds, and a preference for the rare, curly-haired, Mangalitza pig, the team spent a year working to perfect their own charcuterie.  The resultant coppa, cured loin, salami and lardo are served up as small plates and sometimes used on pizzas. Charcuterie and Pizza pretty much sums up Lardo.  A madly glitzy disco ball oven squats in the corner of the open kitchen, its gaping jaws hungry for wood throughout service.  Thin, crispy disks of dough are draped with thoughtful seasonal toppings.

Lardo
Melanzane alla Parmigiana

There are a few non-meat small plates too - with an emphasis on the small.  On two separate visits we ate a good slice of Melanzane alla Parmigiana served at just the right temperature to appreciate the flavours; a beautifully fresh plate of Broad beans, pea shoots, pecorino and mint served with pretty good focaccia; and three of the pizzas - Courgette, goats' cheese, and anchovy; a Lardo with rocket; and a classic Margherita.  All the pizzas were good but it was the most beautiful to look at, courgette (pictured above), which became a little dry and boring towards the end.  Nothing a slug of good olive oil wouldn't have fixed.  As yet I've failed to get as far as the puddings.

Housed in the ground floor of the warehouse-like Arthaus building, it's a 5 minute walk from London Fields railway station.  Come December, that lovely disco ball of fire in the corner is going to make Lardo the cosiest winter spot in Hackney.

You can expect to pay around £4-7 for small plates and £8 or £9 for pizzas, so it makes for a very reasonable meal.  There's a decent range of European wines on the drinks list plus freshly squeezed juices, but so far I'm afraid I've failed to progress beyond those Limonade and Bitter Lemon Sipsmith gin cocktails.

Lardo
197-205 Richmond Road
Hackney
London  E8 3NJ
Tel: 020 8985 2683
@lardolondon
Open 7 days a week

Gooseberry Elderflower Syllabub

Gooseberries 'Invicta'

If you love rhubarb, chances are you also appreciate gooseberries which share an acidity that people seem to either love or hate.  This sharpness does mean both fruits need quite a bit of sugar to make them palatable to most.  You could add a leaf or two of the herb sweet cicely which is a natural sweetener and reduce the amount of sugar.  At this time of the year gooseberries have a grassy tartness which I love.  A week or two from now they will have mellowed to a yellow gold colour and need less sugar.  There are a few red varieties, such as 'Pax', which are sweeter and look pretty but the old variety green 'Invicta' is good for me.  It fruits reliably and prolifically and has good flavour.  Having picked these beauties from my allotment I couldn't wait to get cooking with them.

Like rhubarb, gooseberries are good with oily and smoked foods such as mackerell and are useful for cutting the richness of fatty foods such as pork, duck and goose.  Their possibilities for puddings are many, from crumbles, tarts, jams, jellies and sorbets to creamy panna cotta, fools and ice creams.  They make a fine take on Eton Mess and are gorgeous in a Gooseberry Meringue Pie.  Pair them with cream for a luscious pudding, such as this rich syllabub which complements the poached fruit perfectly. 

Toasted Hazelnuts

With a history going back to at least the 17th century, originally syllabub was a frothy drink made by milking directly from the cow into a bowl of wine, cider or ale which you consumed on the spot.  It progressed to a firmer textured cream by the whipping in of tart fruit syrups or wine.  As the resultant dish was more stable it was possible to keep it for a day or two.  Hannah Glasse describes a recipe for 'Everlasting Syllabub' in her book The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy, first published in 1747 which calls for  "Rehnish wine, half a pint of sack and two large Seville oranges".   She also stipulates the addition of calf's foot jelly.  A step too far for me.  

Here then is my easy version.  Wine or elderflower cordial to flavour the syllabub? The choice is yours. If you opt for elderflower then you might want to leave it out of the poached gooseberries. 

Gooseberry Elderflower Syllabub

Gooseberry Elderflower Syllabub

for 4-6 servings

100ml sweet white wine or elderflower cordial

Finely grated rind and juice of 1 lime

50g caster sugar

300ml double cream

600g Gooseberries

125g caster sugar (if you add sweet cicely, reduce the sugar content to around 100g, taste and adjust as necessary)

2 tablespoons elderflower cordial

50g hazelnuts, toasted, skins removed and roughly chopped

Mix the first three ingredients together and leave to stand for several hours or overnight so that the flavours are fully blended.   

Wash and top & tail the gooseberries.  Gently melt 125g caster sugar and the elderflower cordial in a heavy based pan and add the gooseberries.  Cook gently until the fruit is soft but not mushy (about 10 minutes).  Leave to cool completely then refrigerate.

 
Start to whip the double cream and, as you do so, add the liquid.  Continue until soft peaks form.  This will happen very quickly (the mixture will stiffen further in the fridge).  Spoon gooseberries into serving glasses top with the syllabub.  Refrigerate for at least 2 hours (will keep in the fridge for at least 24 hours) and, when ready to serve, scatter with the toasted hazelnuts to add texture.


A version of this article also appears on James Ramsden's blog

A bowl of warm raspberries on the longest day

Tender II
Raspberries

It's hard to believe we've reached the longest day of the year as I sit here looking out at thick grey cloud and a steady drizzle.  On the positive side, there's no need to water the crops.  Soon we growers are going to have gooseberries, strawberries, raspberries and currants in abundance.  Time for a larder clear out to use up all the bottled fruits and jams from last year to make way for the new.  Hopefully you haven't still got fruit squirrelled away in the freezer - an admission of one forgotten pot of raspberries just unearthed here, and not for the first time. 

My solution at times like these is to blitz them frozen with a little honey to make a simple sorbet or turn to page 1088 of Nigel Slater's Tender II - 'A dish of warm, heady berries'.  Nigel's recipe calls for fresh berries (raspberries, loganberries, tayberries) but his very easy recipe will rescue defrosted ones too.  Essentially the recipe is this: 

Weigh your berries and put them in a heavy-based saucepan. 
Add 1 tablespoon of caster sugar (less if your fruit is already sweet) + half a tablespoon of eau-de-vie de Framboise + half a tablespoon of water for every 100g of fruit
If using frozen fruit you won't need the added water. 

Bring slowly to the boil, then simmer 2-3 minutes, just until the fruit is about to burst. 
Serve warm over ice cream, or double cream and perhaps a crisp merinque if you have it.

If you don't have eau-de-vie, Nigel suggests a raspberry liqueur.  Strawberry and blackcurrant flavours go well with raspberries too or you could use a little rosewater at the end instead.  I experimented with a pomegranate and rose cordial which worked very well.

Last year's raspberry crop was abundant on my allotment.  Particularly from an unidentified summer fruiting variety - possibly Malling Jewel - gifted to me by an allotment neighbour.  A wet autumn sadly reduced much of my late fruiting more fleshy Autumn Bliss crop to a soggy pulp.  This year I've noticed the canes of the summer fruiters haven't grown as tall as normal.  They look rather stunted but are heavy with the promise of fruit. 

As for those jars and bottles in the larder, I need to use them up now as I'll need plenty of empty ones over the next three months to take all the fruit we can't eat or share.  I feel a gooseberry meringue pie coming on.  As for that raspberry jam, I'll be posting a recipe using it in a few days time to banish the weather blues.   

Moro Restaurant

Wood roasted pork
at Moro

Yes, this is a terrible photograph, but quite honestly I was far too interested in eating the food on the plate to worry about such aesthetics.  If you'd been there to experience the aromas coming from this dish you would have felt the same way.  What's more, it lived up to its promise.

There's a confidence about the food at Moro that's been there from the first day they fired-up the wood-burning oven and opened the restaurant doors.  From your first taste of their distinctive bread, the wood fired oven imparting an almost liquorice flavour, you sense these people know what they are about.  It's a confidence borne out of apprenticeships at the River Cafe for both husband and wife Sam and Sam Clark.  Having learned all about the very best food of Italy from Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers, almost 15 years ago they took the decision to pursue their own shared passion for Spanish and Muslim Mediterranean food.  After much travel and many experiences Moro was born to marry the robust style of Spanish food with the exotic lightness of the Muslim cooking they encountered.  As at The River Cafe, the emphasis is on good ingredients simply cooked.

So why have I been absent from Moro for so long?  The fault is mine.  I have a bad habit.  I don't like to pre-book a meal if there is the option of eating at a convivial bar.  I like spontaneity, though I seem to be in the minority on this judging by many of the food critics.  OK, so sometimes you're going to be turned away, and that's disappointing, but it's not the end of the world.  Mostly it works out.  That said, after failing to secure seats three times in a row at the 'no-bookings' bar I flounced out.  Well, more fool me.  A return this week (and I still hadn't learned my lesson so I didn't book) reminded me just how good this noisy, vibrant, unfussy restaurant is.  The long, narrow room is furnished plainly, a splendid bar running virtually the whole length of the room.  An open kitchen spans almost the full width at the far end.  Moro engenders loyalty and a sense of family.  Some of the staff have been here many years, and so have many of the diners. 

The wood-fired oven not only bakes the daily loaves but some of the dishes too.  The menus are seasonal, currently starters might include a Lebanese spring vegetable soup, Salt cod with broad beans and mint or English Asparagus with almond sauce and sherry vinegar.  On our visit, mains embraced Wood roasted chicken with méchouia and chermoula, Charcoal grilled mackerel with tomato, celery, lemon and red chilli salsa with fried potatoes, and there was a Mixed vegetable mezza.  The dish I swooned over was not Iman Bayildi, it was a plate of Wood roasted pork with lentils, asparagus, peas and broad beans with grilled onion salad and thyme.  Succulent meat, melting, crispy crackling, the sweetest of onions and a mix of lentils and vegetables pepped-up with a stunning sherry vinegar sauce.  It didn't stop there.  A rosewater and cardomom ice cream, made with condensed milk, came with poached rhubarb and mulberries and scattered with preserved rose petals.  It was a heavenly assemblage and made the Malaga raisin ice-cream with Pedro Ximinez seem ordinary - but only by comparison.  Other desserts on offer included Yoghurt cake with pistachios and pomegranate, Chocolate and apricot tart and Alfonso Mango (a rare fruit this year thanks to poor weather).

Service was as good as ever and the wine list as solid and interesting as I remember.  You can also eat small dishes at the bar for most of the day.  A three course meal with a glass of wine and service will cost you around £45.  It's not cheap but you won't come away hungry, and may not even make it to dessert - though I will find the rosewater and cardomom ice cream dish hard to resist if it's on offer next time.  Oh yes, there will be a next time, and I might even book ahead to avoid disappointment.

Moro
34-36
Exmouth Market
London EC1R 4QE
Tel (to book a table): 020 7833 8336
No bookings taken for the bar

Moro has a baby which I reviewed earlier, Morito, right next door and serving tapas sized dishes
You can also read my review of Moro the Cookbook

Purple Artichokes with black olives

Purple Artichokes

As the spring broad beans and peas begin to appear at market you might expect me to be regaling you with stories of abundance on the allotment by now.  Well, it doesn't work quite like that.  Some domestic growers do manage to bring in Spring crops early, but that's because they've raised their plants under glass before planting out.  For those of us who have to sow our seeds directly in the ground things happen a little later, especially if the weather is as unreliable as it has been this year.  For biodynamic growers there is the added complication of planting to the biodynamic calendar in less than ideal conditions.  Generally, the best guide for starting to sow can be taken from the weeds.  Once they start to appear you can start to plant the hardiest of your seeds - broad beans, peas and spinach.

The positively hot weather in early April saw me sowing seeds for three types of spinach.  All grew happily through a cool, wet May and are currently my only harvestable crop.  A first planting of broad beans and peas the second week in April is just flowering, so I'm a little behind.  The next few weeks should be much more productive with Charlotte potatoes, broad beans, peas, onions, shallots and garlic all growing well.  My gooseberries will soon be ready for a first picking and the blackcurrant bushes are laden with unripe fruit.  I'm determined to get the currants before the birds strip every last one, as happened last year.  Pink Fir Apple potatoes, carrots, parsnips, Borlotti beans, courgettes and squash have now been planted and my nursery bed of brassicas is, as yet, untouched by slugs, flea beetles or pigeons.  I'm particularly looking forward to my Long Red Florence onions which I grow from seed.  Harvested when thick-necked, they are gorgeous to the eye, sweet in flavour for salads and silky in texture when gently fried.

Purple artichokes with black olives

Artichokes are a crop I've never tried to grow as they are perennials which need quite a bit of space.  If you have the ground to devote to them, they require very little attention.  Plant rooted offsets in spring rather than seeds which can be very variable.  The deep purple varieties are, unfortunately, not very hardy.  Cover the crowns with dried leaves in winter to protect from frost.  You should divide the plants every three years to keep them healthy.  Growing them in a flower border is a good option as they are tall, stately and compact with blue-grey thistle-like leaves.  Leave a few unpicked and purple thistles heads will appear from the choke to add a bit of drama to your planting.  As well as the main heads they produce smaller satelllite buds which are perfect for the recipe given here. 

While I wait for my own vegetables, I couldn't resist buying some of the beautiful egg-sized Italian purple artichokes pictured above.  The heads were tightly closed indicating freshness and their small size meant they had very little hairy choke.  I wanted to serve them as simply as possible and this recipe is based on one in 'Chez Panisse Vegetables' by Alice Waters. I piled the stuffed artichokes onto salad leaves for a light lunch but they make a good accompaniment to roast or grilled lamb.  They would probably be good with green puy lentils.  You can keep them in the fridge for a couple of days in the cooking juices.

Purple Artichokes with black olives

(Serves 2)

6-8 small purple artichokes

A handful pitted black olives

1 garlic clove

A few parsley sprigs (plus the stalks)

1 Bay leaf

A splash of white wine

A splash of good olive oil
Salt & pepper
A little lemon juice or vinegar

Strip off the outer 2-3 rows of leaves (more if the artichokes are larger), trim the stalk end. Slice off the top third of the artichoke and use a teaspoon to remove the hairy choke from the centre.  Artichokes contain tannic acid so, once prepared, stop them turning brown by popping each in a bowl of cold water with a good squeeze of lemon juice or a tablespoon of vinegar while you prepare the filling.

Chop stoned black olives, a clove of garlic and a few parsley leaves, mix together and stuff the artichokes.

Put about 1 inch of water in a pan, add a splash of white wine, the parsley stalks and a bay leaf and add the stuffed artichokes, standing upright.  Season and pour a tablespoon or two of olive oil over.  Bring to the boil, then cover and simmer for about 30 minutes.

Serve at room temperature with the juices spooned over.  A few parings of parmesan on top would be a good idea unless you want to keep it totally vegetarian.

Borlotti Bean Bruschetta

Borlotti beans

It's been a strange year for growing fruit and veg in England.  As in the flower garden, my vegetable plot has raced through spring and summer with each crop being a fleeting affair.  Even courgettes were not so prolific this year whereas last summer I was sinking under the weight of the crop.  Borlotti beans have fared a little better. They are neither the easiest nor the most productive, but they are certainly the most beautiful legume to grow.  Personally I dislike runner beans - the only vegetable I turn my nose up at - so I grow these beauties instead.

I have no time or space for starting plants off under glass so I plant straight into the ground around the second week of May and provide a wigwam of 2m canes for them to twine their way up.  The pods start off green and go through to deep pink/white then purple marbling if you leave them on the plant long enough.  It's best to harvest the pods when deep pink and obviously plump with beans.  Leave them too long in the UK and they become vulnerable to pests and disease, particularly in wet weather.

If I get a good crop I leave some pods to dry on a well-ventilated windowsill for a couple of weeks before podding them and storing the beans in a jar.  Later in the year I'll rehydrate them for use in a Ribollita soup, but mostly I'll use them fresh within a day or two of picking.  This recipe is a favourite in my family.  The method for cooking the beans is borrowed from Sally Clarke, though she uses a mixture of fresh herbs instead of gremolata to flavour the beans.  I prefer the punchiness of this classic garlic, lemon zest and parsley mix.

Borlotti beans with gremolata 

Borlotti Beans with Gremolata

Fresh Borlotti beans (you are unlikely to have a huge amount so whatever you have)
1 small onion
1 carrot
1 stick of celery
stalks from the parsley leaves used in the gremolata
1 clove of garlic
Salt and pepper
Extra virgin olive oil

For the gremolata:
1 clove of garlic, crushed to a paste
zest of half a lemon
a handful of parsley leaves, chopped

Pod the beans and place them in a pan.  Add a few rough chunks of onion, carrot and celery, a bay leaf and a crushed garlic clove.  Cover with water, bring to the boil then simmer for 30 minutes until the beans are tender.  Add a good pinch of salt and a grinding of pepper and leave to cool in the liquor.  You can refrigerate for 2-3 days at this point. 

Drain the beans and remove the pieces of veg and the herbs.  Put the beans in a bowl and marinate in olive oil.  Mix the gremolata ingredients together and stir into the beans and olive oil.

I like to serve this on grilled sourdough as bruschetta, but it also goes well with slow-roasted tomatoes and mozzarella.

TIP: If only it was possible to preserve the wonderful colours of the uncooked beans.  The reality is cooked beans lose almost all of that marbling.  My friend, the chef, Carla Tomasi recommends adding a few drops of vinegar at the start of cooking and I'm convinced this does preserve a little of the colouring.