Warm Plum & Citrus Compote

Warm Plum & Citrus Compote

Jane Grigson wrote in 1982 of the ubiquity of the Victoria plum.  Since 1840, when a stray seedling was found in Sussex, the Victoria has been grown for its qualities as a good cropper rather than for its flavour. Even today, more than 30 years on from publication of Jane Grigson's Fruit Book, we seem reluctant to acknowledge its inferiority and so we have reached a point where it's difficult to find other varieties of plum. That's not to say Victoria plums can't be made palatable by cooking, but to eat one straight from the tree is invariably disappointing.  Grigson agreed with Edward Bunyard  (Anatomy of Dessert).  He said, of plums intended to be eaten uncooked, that there was little "encased in red, black or blue" worth growing.

Neither Edward Bunyard nor Jane Grigson seem to have rated the dark, dusky Damson plum.  It is a personal favourite of mine, not just for making Damson gin.  In a Damson souffle its sharp, bitter qualities are hard to beat, but a yellow- or green-skinned plum is my first choice for most other plum dishes.  These range from the tiny intensely sweet Mirabelle, its yellow skin blushed with a fingertip of rouge as its season progresses, to the honeyed flesh of the green/gold Greengage.  I've previously written about Greengages so rather than repeat myself, here's a link to that post which includes a recipe for Plum Tart

The recipe below is based on A Warm Compote of Plums with Honey and Orange from The Art of Cooking with Vegetables by Alain Passard.  Unsurprisingly, Passard uses French Reine Claude plums (Greengage) for this dish, as do I.  The citrus fruit pairs surprisingly well with the Greengages.  However, I've found, if the plums are a little on the tart side, then the quantity of lemon needs to be reduced.

I think it's time I planted a Greengage tree.  Perhaps it should be a self-fertile 'Early Transparent Gage', or, better still, the elusive 'Coe's Golden Drop', if I can only find a source.

Warm Plum & Citrus Compote
(Serves 4-6)

1kg (2lb) ripe Greengages or other plums
40g (1½oz) salted butter (or unsalted with a pinch of salt)
2 tbsp caster sugar
2 tbsp runny honey
1medium unwaxed (or well-scrubbed) orange, cut into segments with skin intact
1 small-medium unwaxed (or well-scrubbed) lemon, cut into segments with skin intact

Choose a lidded frying pan large enough to eventually take the plums in a single layer. Gently melt the butter (and salt if using), honey and sugar in the pan, stirring to amalgamate.  Add the orange and lemon slices.  Partially cover with the pan lid and cook gently for 15 minutes. Wash the plums and add them whole to the pan in a single layer. Partially cover again and cook gently for 30-40 minutes - the fruit should be tender but not mushy.  Take off the heat, remove the lid and leave to stand for 10 minutes.  
Serve warm with vanilla ice cream or double cream.  An almond biscuit goes well too.

Gathering the last of the berries

Blueberry & Raspberrry Mascarpone Pot

On this day of the autumnal equinox the temperature is hovering around 20 degrees C throughout most of the UK.  Plums, apples and pears have made a welcome appearance but English blueberries are still in the shops and I can't be the only person to be still happily harvesting Autumn Bliss raspberries.  These two berries go together so well and need only the lightest sprinkling of sugar to marry the sweet of the raspberry with the slight tartness of British blueberries.

I have absolutely no idea where the recipe at the end of this post comes from.  It's one I've been making for years and, try as I might, I cannot discover its origin.  Having spent a happy hour searching through my favourite go-to books for inspiration on fruits does, however, give me the excuse to share a peek at the work of Patricia Curtan.  I have a bit of a thing about food illustrations and, if only I had the talent, I'd probably abandon photographing - and maybe even talking about - food, swapping it for the illustrative life.  One of my favourite artists is Patricia Curtan who's best known for her beautiful colour relief prints which illustrate many of Alice Waters' Chez Panisse books.  The two below appear in Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters.  You can luxuriate in more of Patricia Curtan's work by going here 

Photo of Raspberries Illustration by Patricia Curtan
Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters

Raspberries are not just for summer and they really are the easiest of fruits to grow.  The trickiest thing about raspberry canes is curtailing their ambitions - they love to spread their roots and produce new canes if you let them.  Planting an 'autumn' fruiting variety can extend the season right up to the end of September or even early October.  'Autumn Bliss' is a great choice, producing large flavoursome berries.  The canes start fruiting before 'summer' raspberries are quite over.

Photo of Blueberries Illustration by Patricia Curtan
Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters

Blueberries are a fruit I've toyed with growing but they need light, free-draining, acidic ground to grow well. London clay won't do and I'm not a great fan of trying to change the pH balance of soil.  An alternative is to grow the plants in pots filled with ericaceous compost and apply a high potash feed.  There's still the problem that birds love them even more than raspberries.  Hmm, maybe one day I'll grow them but for now I'll leave it to the experts.

Here's the recipe.  It's got to be the easiest in my repertoire and perfect for when you have to knock up a quick dessert.  If anyone does recognise where it comes from, do let me know as I'd love to be able to attribute it.  If you have by now moved on from soft fruit, I think some stone fruit would work for this dish - a barely-sweetened compote of plums for instance.  The grill warms the fruits beneath the molten mascarpone just enough to bring out their fragrance.

Blueberry & Raspberry mascarpone pots
(Serves 4)

A 50/50 mix of blueberries and raspberries (quantity depends on the size of your ramekins)
250g mascarpone
50g demerara sugar

Wash the blueberries and mix with an equal quantity of raspberries.
Fill 4 ramekins to just below the top.
Spoon mascarpone over the fruit 
Sprinkle with demerara sugar.
Place ramekins under a hot grill until the topping starts to caramelise.

Serve with a crisp biscuit, if you like - an almond one will go well.

Almond, Polenta and Lemon Cake with blackberry compote

Almond, Polenta and Lemon Cake
with blackberry compote

Blackberries, or brambles, are probably the most widely foraged foodstuff in the UK.  This is probably a dangerous claim as we seem to have rediscovered our passion for "foraging", but during their season it's hard to take a country walk and not come across someone picking blackberries.  Speak to any seasoned blackberry picker and they'll tell you they have a favourite spot they return to year after year.  That's not to say they'll tell you where it is - blackberry patches are jealously guarded - but it is the spot they will head for each year to try their luck.  That first picking is invested with more hope than expectation.  Will the fruit be plump or seedy?  Fit for a blackberry and apple pie or destined to be sieved for a fruit jelly?

Wild Blackberries

A late, wet start to spring has turned out to be perfect for fruit growing in the UK.  From gooseberries through berries, cherries and currants, all have cropped well this year.  Now plums and gages are starting to arrive and tasting sweet as nectar.  Apples and pears are expected to produce bumper crops too.  Right now it's the turn of wild blackberries, so much better than cultivated ones and they're free.  Foraging is by its nature anarchic but my own written rules are 'leave some for somebody else'.

Almond,  Polenta and Lemon Cake

Blackberry is a fruit I would never plant on my allotment.  It's a bit of a thug and will take over if you let it. Besides, wherever there is a bit of uncultivated land, there is likely to be a bramble patch.  Birds disperse the seeds very efficiently.  If you want a better behaved option, go for loganberry which is a cross between a blackberry and a raspberry.  If you do pick wild blackberries, folklore has it that you shouldn't take them after Michaelmas (29 September) as the Devil will have spat on them.  Superstitious or not, by the end of September in the UK you're unlikely to find berries you'd actually want to eat.

Almond, Polenta and Lemon Cake
with blackberry compote

My first pickings this year proved to be packed with juice, making the seeds barely noticeable.  Half of the berries were the basis for a classic apple and blackberry crumble.  The rest I warmed with a little sugar to enjoy as a compote which would be good, I thought, with a little almond 'something'.  I had almonds; I had polenta; and I had lemons.  With those ingredients, The River Cafe Cookbook was the first book I reached for. Their recipe for Torta di Polenta, Mandorle e Limone is the basis for the recipe below.  I know it's sacrilege, but I did change a few things.

Not wanting a cake as large as 30cm, I cut down the recipe to suit a 17cm x 6cm round tin.  It produced a beautifully light cake which is also gluten-free.  I found the lemon didn't come through quite enough for me so I increased the amount of lemon zest recommended.  I should mention the finished cake is fairly fragile so take extra care to prepare the tin.  The cake keeps well for a couple of days but it will lose its crunch.

Almond, Polenta and Lemon Cake
with blackberry compote
(Serves 4-6)

150g (6oz) unsalted butter, softened
150g (6oz) caster sugar
2 medium eggs
150g (6oz) almonds, skinned and ground fairly finely (or use ready-ground almonds)
Half a tsp of vanilla extract (or qtr tsp of vanilla powder - Ndali brand is very good)
Zest of 2 lemons
Juice of half a lemon
75g (3oz) polenta
Half a teaspoon baking powder
Pinch of salt

For the compote:
300g (12oz) blackberries
25-50g (1-2oz) icing sugar (depending on sweetness of berries)


Preheat oven 170C (fan 150C)/Gas 3.
Lightly butter a 17cm x 6cm round tin and dust with polenta.
Cream the butter well with the caster sugar.  Add the ground almonds and vanilla and mix briefly.  Gradually beat in the eggs. 
Gently fold in the lemon zest and juice, followed by the polenta, baking powder and salt.
Spoon the mixture into the prepared tin and bake for about 30 minutes or until a skewer comes out fairly clean (under-cooked is better than over-cooked).  Leave to cool in the tin before turning out.

While the cake is cooking, put the blackberries in a heavy-bottomed pan with no more than 1 tablespoon of water.  Heat until the juices flow.  Remove from the heat and mix in 30g of icing sugar, adding more if the compote is too tart.  

Spoon a little compote alongside a slice of cake.  I don't think it needs the addition of cream but it's up to you.

Rosie's Blackcurrant and Lemon Posset

Rosie's Blackcurrant and Lemon Posset

Blackcurrants don't have the jewel-like appearance of red and white currants but they pack a powerful punch.  A little goes a long way.  This is just as well if you grow your own, as keeping them to yourself in the kitchen garden is a battle.  Despite their tartness, birds love to feast on them.  I can happily strip redcurrants and eat them straight from the bush, but a little sugary help is necessary to make blackcurrants palatable.

Rosie's Blackcurrant and Lemon Posset
refrigerated overnight

Having picked blackcurrants at my allotment I was looking for some different recipes.

Almonds go wonderfully well with blackcurrants, so anything involving frangipane is an excellent idea. Chocolate and mint, I know, also pair well, but what else, I wondered.

According to Niki Segnit, author of The Flavour Thesaurus, blackcurrants have an affinity with juniper and coffee too. Even more surprising perhaps is the suggestion for pairing the fruit with peanuts.   Her thesis is based on the American taste for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Segnit does point out, in the USA,  the jelly involved is likely to be made from Concord grapes rather than blackcurrants.  She does, however, detect a "catty" quality common to the currant and the grape to support this idea.  I confess to never having eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich so I can't vouch for the combination.

For the recipe below, I think the blackcurrants work fine on their own.





Recipes for 'possets' are recorded as far back as the 15thC.  The term usually refers to a mixture of hot milk curdled by the addition of ale, wine or sack and sometimes with spices such as ginger added.  It gave a looser result than what we expect of a posset today.  By the 16th century sometimes egg was added to thicken the mixture.  The poor used old bread to achieve a similar result.  Later, cream began to be used and lemon juice became the preferred curdling agent.

Blackcurrant compote

This recipe comes from the talented and scholarly *Rosie Sykes, currently Head-Chef at Fitzbillies in Cambridge.  It was recently printed in her column for the Guardian (co-written with food journalist Joanna Blythman).  It's so perfect that, apart from adding a little extra sugar to my very tart home-grown blackcurrants, I make it as instructed.  Blackcurrants are coming to to the end of their season but blackberries are taking over and they would, I think, make a great alternative.

Blackcurrant and Lemon Posset
(Serves 4)

300g blackcurrants, washed and stripped from their stalks
25-40g icing sugar, depending on tartness of fruit
400ml cream (I used double cream)
Rind of 1 lemon
125g caster sugar
Juice of 2 lemons

Put the blackcurrants in a pan with 1 tablespoon of water.  Heat gently to a simmer and cook for about 5 minutes until soft and bursting.
Remove from the heat and, while still warm, stir in 25g of sifted icing sugar.  Taste and add more sugar if the fruit is very tart (as Rosie says, you want to carefully balance the tart and sweet).  Leave to cool.
Put the cream in a small pan with the lemon rind.  Bring to a "scald" (just to the point where it's about to boil) and, over the heat, add the caster sugar stirring to dissolve.
Turn up the heat and add the lemon juice.  Simmer for 3 minutes.
Remove from the heat and leave to settle for a few minutes.  
Strain the mixture through a fine sieve into a jug, discarding the lemon rind.
Divide the sweetened blackcurrants between 4 ramekins or glasses and gently pour the posset on top (too fast and you'll get too much 'bleeding' of fruit into posset).
Cool to room temperature then cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight.


* Rosie Sykes' book The Kitchen Revolution is published by Ebury Press

Raspberry Cordial

Raspberryade

The raspberry harvest can get a little out of hand at this time of year.  It reaches a point when even friends and neighbours start avoiding you so as not to be pressed into taking yet more raspberries.

In summer, the mid-season crop is juicy and fragrant and there is nothing better than a big bowl of rasps served simply with vanilla ice cream or honey-laced yogurt.  However, the first and last pickings can be either seedy, sharp or weather-ravaged.   This is when you need a few ideas up your sleeve because, unless you freeze them quickly, the delicate berries do not keep well.

Raspberry Cordial

Jam is the obvious choice but if the fruit is excessively seedy, as my first harvest of the year was, for me seedless jam is the only way - more on this, soon.

My second harvest was little better on the seed front, so what to make?  Having recently made Elderflower Cordial, I had a couple of empty bottles, so raspberry cordial seemed like a good idea but how?  At times like these there are three books I reach for, Jane Grigson's Fruit Book; Nigel's Slater's Tender Vol II; and Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters.  It was Alice who came to my rescue with a recipe for 'Raspberry Syrup' - "cordial" seems not to feature in the American vocabulary.

So, now I have a few deep pink bottles of cordial lined up in the larder to bring a touch of summer when the heat is long gone.  You can use this in the same way as Elderflower Cordial, diluting 1:5 with water to make a refreshing raspberryade.  I have an urge to try a little rosewater in the mix too.  Adding a splash of neat Raspberry Cordial to a glass a Prosecco is an excellent idea.  You can also add a tablespoon or two of the cordial to perk up a bowl of less flavoursome raspberries, or spoon a trail through yoghurt or ice cream.  Simply scale this recipe up or down according to how much fruit you have.

So far my summer raspberry harvest stands at almost 6kg and the canes are still fruiting.  Oh, and did I mention, the autumn-fruiting canes are producing already!

Raspberry Cordial

Take 600g of raspberries, place in a saucepan and crush with a potato masher or a fork.  
Add 1 litre of cold water and bring the mixture to the boil.  Skim off any scum then simmer for 15 minutes.  
Remove from the heat and pour the mixture through a non-reactive sieve, pressing on the fruit to extract as much liquid as possible from the pulp.
Measure the hot liquid and pour it back into the pan.  Add two thirds as much sugar to the liquid giving a ratio liquid:sugar of 1.5:1
Return the pan to the heat, stirring until the sugar is dissolved.  Bring to the boil and immediately remove from the heat and pour into sterilised glass bottles or jars.


Adapted from Raspberry Syrup recipe in Chez Panisse Fruit by Alice Waters

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'.

Cherries with almonds & Sabayon sauce

Cherries & green almonds

The first English cherries have arrived with early varieties Inga and Merchant making an appearance at market over the weekend.  Warmed in the last few days by a sun we had almost forgotten existed, the Ingas are slightly tarter and firmer than the Merchants.  So, while we're feasting on handfuls of the latter, I decided to make a dessert of the Inga cherries.  With temperatures hovering around 30C in London I had no wish to heat up the kitchen any further, so it had to be something easy and cooling.

Cherries, green almonds, Sabayon

Having picked up a handul of the last of the fresh velour-overcoated green almonds at market and with some elderflower cordial in the larder, I had a head start.  Mature almonds will work fine but if the cherries and the green almonds happen to overlap, it's a nice way of using the early nuts which are milky and fresh tasting.

So far, so easy; but what to add to make it look like I'd made an effort without expending much time or energy at all?  A thin cooled custard perhaps?  Then I thought how long it had been since I'd made a sabayon or zabaglione, whichever you prefer to call it.  Dairy-free and cloud-like, it seemed just right for a hot summer's day.

Cherries, green almonds, Sabayon sauce

Sabayon is so easy to make and I find Jane Grigson's advice the best.  It takes only 2 minutes whisking with an electric whisk if you want a warm frothy sauce to eat immediately, 5 minutes to produce a 'creamier' one. If you want to make it up to an hour ahead (the one in the photographs above), you just need to keep whisking it off the heat until it has cooled.  This stops it separating before you get to eat it.

Cherries with almonds & Sabayon sauce
(Serves 4)

300g cherries
2 tablespoons elderflower cordial
1-2 teaspoons caster sugar
4-5 almonds

For the Sabayon:
1 large egg yolk
1 tablespoon caster sugar
2 tablespoons sweet white wine, Marsala or elderflower cordial

Wash, halve and de-stone the cherries over a bowl.  Add the Elderflower cordial and sugar.  Allow to macerate for at least 30 minutes.

For the Sabayon, put all three ingredients in a heatproof bowl.  Place over a pan of just simmering water so that the bowl is not touching the water.  Whisk for about 2 minutes until pale and uniformly frothy - at this point you could serve it immediately as a warm sauce. 
For a 'lightly-whipped single cream' consistency for immediate serving, continue whisking over the pan for another 4-5 minutes.
If you want the sauce to stand for an hour without separating, take the bowl off the heat and continue whisking for a further 4-5 minutes until the mixture has cooled and thickened a little more. 
Drain the fruit and serve - sauce or fruit first is up to you.  Top with slivers of almond and a sprig or two of mint.

The excess juice from the macerated cherries makes a lovely drink topped up with water.
   

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.

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

Candied citrus

Candied Cedro

I'm ending this year on a preserving note.  Though everyone has their sleeves rolled up and heads filled with Christmas dinner thoughts right now, don't miss the fantastic flow of continental citrus arriving over the next few weeks. Packed with vitamin C, citrus fruit is just what we need at this time of year.  

With the Mediterranean citrus harvest well under way, it's time to get candying.  Candied citrus peel is so versatile.  It can be eaten simply sprinkled with caster sugar, dipped in chocolate, or added to cakes, breads, tarts, and ice-creams.  Of course, you can buy candied peel in tubs from the supermarket, but if you're enjoying the gorgeous fresh fruits, don't throw away the peel.  If you candy it properly, and keep it in the fridge, it will be good for months.  Above all, it tastes far better than the supermarket version.

Despite their association with the Mediterranean, all members of the orange family originated in China and were brought to Europe by Arab traders.  The present day citrus groves stretching from India across to Spain mark the path of conquering muslim armies in the sixth and seventh centuries.  The first oranges grown were the bitter Citrus aurantium.  Too bitter to eat from the tree, they were cultivated for the scent of their blossom, for perfumes, and for distilling into orange blossom water to flavour food.  Sweet oranges, Citrus sinensis, arrived in the 17th century. 

Cedro

Bergamot and Cedro both belong to the bitter branch of the citrus family. Bergamot is somewhere between an orange and a lime in shape and size and green/yellow in colour.  Its juice is highly aromatic and quite intoxicating. The oil is used in perfumes and to give Earl Grey tea its characteristic flavour.  The peel candies well too. With the Cedro, it really is all about the peel.  It has, very little juice to speak of but produces, probably, the most luscious candied fruit of all.  But I have a special liking for candied grapefruit peel which turns to deep amber and retains that particular bitter note that appeals to me.

In North African countries, sour pickled citrus fruits are favoured and used for flavouring tagines.  The Italians like to candy fruits whole.  In the hills around Genoa the rare Chinotti grows.  The candying process transforms this rather bitter citrus fruit into the most exquisite Christmas treat rarely found outside Liguria. 


Marmalade has long been a revered preserve in the UK and most families have their recipe.  It's a particularly British taste that only the bitter Seville orange can meet.  The peel, for me, has a certain bitter appeal when candied.   They too will be arriving very soon but it's time to get candying the citrus fruits that are already here.  

Candied orange and lemon peel

Candying whole fruit is something I leave to the experts, but preserving the peel is rather easier.  Some people like to scrape away the white pith under the skin of the fruit before candying.  It's not necessary so long as you boil the skins in fresh water several times to remove the bitterness and you get a much more luscious candied citrus.  Just make sure you candy only one type of citrus peel at a time to ensure you retain its specific flavour.  I like to candy some in quarters and some in thinner slices, but it's up to you.  

Candied Citrus
500g (1lb) citrus peel (pith attached)
600g caster sugar + 60g to sprinkle on the cooked peel
350ml water

Cut the peel into the size, or sizes, you want.  Place in a heavy-based pan, cover with water, bring to the boil and cook for 10 minutes.  Drain the peel and repeat this process twice more.  Dissolve the sugar in the water over a low heat, then bring to the boil.  Add the peel, turn the heat down to a slow simmer and cook until the peel is translucent.  This will take from 30 minutes for thin slices to 2 hours for thick quarters of cedro.  

If you're candying various sizes, use a slotted spoon to remove the citrus peel when translucent and place on greaseproof paper.  I like to leave leave the largest pieces in the syrup for 30 minutes after turning off the heat and before placing them on the paper. Spread them out so the pieces don't touch and leave overnight. Next day sprinkle the peel with the reserved caster sugar.  the keeping quality of candied peel depends on how moist your finished peel is.  You want it soft and yielding yet dried out enough after cooking not be too moist and sticky the next day when you sprinkle it with the 60g of sugar.  They'll keep in a plastic container in the fridge for several weeks or even months depending on moisture levels.  If it's soft and luscious you'll want to use it but if you do want to store some for longer, then allow some pieces to dry out for longer before sugaring and storing.

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.   

Cannellini Bean and Escarole Soup

Cannellini Bean and Escarole Soup

Having woken to London's first sunny day in weeks, I considered not publishing this recipe for a warming soup.  However, just as one swallow does not make a summer, one sunny day does not mean we are out of these dismal weather troughs yet.  So here is a really simple, healthy bowl of 'beans and greens' to get you through the next few days.

I have to own up to stealing this recipe a couple of months ago from Dave Cook.  He passed on some of his vast kitchen knowledge to a handful of keen amateurs, of which I was lucky enough to be one.  Like all simple dishes, it relies on good ingredients.

For the 'beans' element, I prefer to soak and cook dried ones for this soup but you could use the bottled Spanish Alubia beans which come in excellent cooking stock.  The freshness of packaged dried beans is difficult to judge.  The 'best before' date on the packet sitting on your supermarket shelf will lead you to believe they will keep for a year or more.  Well, yes they will but the longer they are kept the longer they will take to cook, and they will not taste so good.  Italian and Turkish food shops are good places to shop for dried beans as they are used a lot in the cuisines of both countries.  For this reason there is likely to be a fast turnover of stock.  If the locations are good for you, I can recommend Leilla's shop in Spitalfields or Lina Stores in Soho.  Any white bean will work in this recipe. 

The 'greens' in this recipe is escarole, a broad-leaved endive which looks a bit like a large, frilly romaine or cos lettuce but it is a bit more robust.  Escarole is sweeter and less bitter than its endive relatives with which you might be more familiar.  You could use something like turnip tops (cima di rapa) if you blanch them in boiling salted water for a minute or two first then plunge into cold water to retain the colour.  As I had some turnip tops, this is what I used for the soup photographed.

Cannellini and escarole soup

250g dried cannellini beans (500g cooked)
1 whole carrot
1 whole stick of celery
Half a white onion
2 plump garlic cloves, sliced
1-2 small dried chillies, deseeded and crumbled
A handful of basil leaves, torn
a handful of parsley, roughly chopped
6 or more roughly torn escarole leaves
50g parmesan, plus more to serve
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt & pepper

Soak the beans overnight in plenty of cold water.  Drain and bring to the boil in a large pan of fresh water with the whole carrot, celery stick and half onion.  Boil fast for 10 minutes to remove toxins, skim off impurities then reduce to a simmer for an hour or more (depending on freshness of the beans).  When the beans are soft, discard the vegetables.  Remove a quarter of the beans, puree and then return them to the pan.  This will thicken the soup and give it a silky texture.

Fry the garlic and chilli in olive oil and cook without browning.  Add the basil, parsley and escarole and cook for 1 minute to wilt.  Add all to the beans pot.  Add grated parmesan and salt and pepper.  Serve with a drizzle of good olive oil and shavings of extra parmesan. 

Hop shoots - two bites of the bine

Risotto of hop shoots

If I lived in Kent, Surrey, Sussex, Hampshire, Herefordshire or Worcestershire I'd probably be scouring the hedgerows for wild hops right now.  Since the 13th century these English counties have been centres of hop growing, mainly for use in flavouring and preserving ales.  Hops contain alpha-acids which turn sweet ale into bitter beer, a process first recorded in Bavaria in the 9th century.  Commercial growing in the UK is now more centralised but I'm told by those who forage that these fast growing perennial plants can be found in the wild.  I do know that hop bines grow vigorously and this 'cut-and-come-again' approach does no harm at this time year, and the young shoots make good eating.

April is the time of year when, apart from perhaps a few hardy salad leaves and some kohlrabi there is little in the kitchen garden to harvest. In my own allotment, apart from some overwintering onions and garlic, only a barely-there row of spinach, sown three weeks ago, signals anything growing to rival the weeds. The early potatoes, peas, broad beans and chard are at last in the ground but it will be several weeks before there is anything to show for our planting efforts.  If you are impatient for the English asparagus season to really get going - there is asparagus around early this year but the flavour is not yet really formed - then look out for wild hops at market now (or in the hedgerow perhaps).  Here is a really good YouTube clip to help you identify hops in the wild.

The top 10cm tendrils are what you need. The plant will continue to grow vigorously and be good for harvesting in September for beer making.  Hops share some of the earthy characteristics of asparagus and, after boiling in salted water for a couple of minutes, are similarly good with eggs, pasta and rice dishes. 

Nicholas Culpeper  wrote in 1695 of the hops' blood-cleansing properties and declared them of great value in treating a large number of ailments - everything from ringworm to "the French Diseases".    Hops were grown by the Greeks and Romans as a garden crop, the young shoots being eaten and other parts being used medicinally - as a poultice for boils.  Much more recently, from the Veneto region of Italy, came Riso con  i Bruscandoli - a risotto of wild hops.  Claudia Roden, in her book, 'The Food of Italy', states that "the Veneto is richer in vegetables than any other region" and reminds me that Venetians like their Risotto quite liquid in comparison with other regions of northern Italy.  After the excesses of Easter, a tonic which also tastes great sounds like a good idea to me.  If you can't get your hands on hop shoots then you could use asparagus or broad bean tops.  As soon as broad beans flower, nip out the top 3-4cm of soft growth which is so tempting to blackfly, rinse the tops and add them to the risotto for the last 2-3 minutes of cooking.

If you want to read more about the cultivation and use of hops in England I recommend 'English Hops' by George Clinch published in 1919.  You can find all 138 pages of it here.  It has a wonderful frontispiece showing a 1729 engraving of the "Hop Market in the Borough of Southwark" (site of the present Borough Market in south London) - close to where I buy mine today.

Here's my recipe for

Risotto of hop shoots
(serves 2-4 depending on how hungry you are)

1 handful of hop shoots (the top 10cm tendrils of spring growth)
30g of unsalted butter
1 shallot, finely diced
1 large clove of garlic, sliced
150g of Carnaroli rice
50ml of white wine (optional)
About 800ml vegetable stock
A small pinch of saffron (optional - it's more for colour rather than flavour)
30g unsalted cold butter, diced
Salt & pepper
50g parmesan, grated + extra for serving

Wash the hop shoots thoroughly and cook in boiling salted water for two minutes.  Immerse them in cold water to preserve colour and bite.   Heat the stock to a simmer and if using the saffron, add it now. 

Melt the first of the butter in a large, round bottom pan and add the diced shallot.  Cook on a low to medium heat until soft then add the garlic.  Cook for another two minutes before adding the rice.  Stir for two minutes to coat the rice and until the grains become transluscent around the edges.  If using wine, add it now and cook until it has disappeared.  Add a ladleful of stock and some salt and pepper and stir.  Once the liquid has been taken up by the rice, add another ladleful and continue this way until the stock is used up and the rice is cooked (firm but tender without a chalky centre).  Add the hop shoots, roughly chopped, for the last 2-3 minutes.  

Once you start adding the stock, the dish should be ready in about 20 minutes. You don't need to stir the rice continually but do it often and towards the end make sure you stir it well.  The consistency should be creamy but, in the Venetian manner, quite loose.  Take the pan off the heat and stir in the diced butter and parmesan.  Taste and add more salt and pepper if needed.  Serve with extra parmesan.

Moreish Meringues - use those left-over egg whites



Meringue with cream
and toasted hazelnuts

We've all seen those gigantic puffs of white meringue prettying-up the windows of trendy bakeries.  They've often had a scattering of cocoa powder, or a swirl of fruit puree if you're lucky - some sort of flavouring if you're not - added to thrill.  All too often they prove to be mere eye-candy; full of promise but lacking any substance.  I know it's only egg whites and sugar so lightness is a given, but meringues need to be tasty or what's the point?  My meringue is the antidote to the sweet, strangely powdery confections which are so often the reality of this window dressing.

For me a meringue should be a crisp shell with a slightly chewy centre where the sugar has gently caramelised.  The colour should be somewhere between pale coffee and caramel, depending on the sugar used.  I made the one in the photograph above with a lovely Costa Rican cane sugar bought from Monmouth Coffee.  It delivers a somewhat darker meringue and a lovely caramel flavour, but Billingtons also do a good range of unrefined sugars.  Toasted chopped hazelnuts can be added to the raw meringue mix with the last of the sugar, or can be sandwiched with the cream just before serving.

Mixing merinques

Some cooks add a pinch of salt to the recipe to improve the flavour.   If you do, add it towards the end of beating as it can decrease the stability of the egg whites and weaken the protein network that forms the structure of the meringue.  Though I wouldn't subject my lovely Costa Rican sugar to this, you could aso warm the sugar on a baking tray in an oven set at 140C for 10 minutes.  I'm told this results in a firmer meringue, though that's not something I'm looking for.  Another school of thought recommends warming the egg whites and all the sugar over a pan of simmering water until the sugar disolves, then beating the mixture for 15 minutes in an electric mixer for an airier result.  Both of these methods add to the workload for, to my mind, no discernible improvement in taste.

Meringues made with soft brown sugar

If, like me, you often have egg whites going spare, remember they freeze well.  Pop them in a container and top it up each time you're left with one or two.  Just remember to use them within a couple of months.  If you keep the containers to 2's or 4's then you'll have useable amounts  for making meringues, friands, amaretti biscuits...  or an egg-white omelette if you absolutely must!



Hazelnut Meringues
(makes 20-24 large, 10-12 pairs)

4 egg whites (140g) at room temperature
250g unrefined caster sugar (or soft brown sugar)
2tbsp toasted hazelnuts

Brush a baking sheet with a little oil and line it with parchment paper.  Pre-heat the oven to 120C (Fan oven 100C).  Whip the egg whites to soft peaks.  Gradually add half the sugar and mix to stiff peaks.  Using a metal spoon, fold in the rest of the sugar (and, if using,  2 tablespoons of toasted chopped hazelnuts or whatever you prefer).  Place rounded tablespoons of mixture onto the lined sheet and place in the oven for about 1hr 45 mins (a little less for smaller meringues) or until they are crisp to the touch.  Turn off the oven and leave the meringues in to cool down.  Serve with cream, whipped just until it holds, and those toasted hazelnuts if not already added to the meringue.

The meringues should keep well for about 10 days stored in a tin.  You can also use them to make a parfait - crush them, add to fruit and whipped cream, freeze for a couple of hours and serve in slices.