Elderflower Cordial

Elderflower Lemon & Lime

It's the scent of muscat grapes which attracts me to elderflower.  Leave it too late in the season to pick the blooms and the aroma will be closer to cat's pee - and no one wants that.  It's not just when you pick elderflowers but where also matters; well it does to me.  I know how lucky I am to have an allotment and to have access to elders growing well into the centre of the plots so I'm not about to lecture you on harvesting.  All I will say is, I'd think carefully about where I picked blossom and wouldn't gather from trees close to the pollution contamination of busy roads.

Elderflower  is one of those cordials made for generations in family kitchens.  Like 'blackberrying' it connects us to a time when foraging was the norm.  Then, knowledge of free food was widespread and its harvesting, often, necessary.  The flowers and the berries of the Elder are high in vitamin C so were a valuable addition to the diet.  There is a C17th reference to the drink by John Milton, and the blessed Mrs Beeton offered recipes for cordial and wine.  It wasn't until the mid-80's that commercial brands of Elderflower Cordial began appearing on supermarket shelves.  I have to say, there are some good brands out there, but I love to 'cook' the seasons so, for me, at this time of year it has to be home-made.

This year I managed to harvest elderflowers early in the season when the white flowers were just beginning to open and their scent was fresh and sweet with none of the mustiness which develops later in their flowering.  So, don't delay.  Picked just before yet another deluge and wrapped carefully in an improvised cone of newspaper, I raced home with my free booty.  Fresh muslin-wrapped elderflowers added to soft fruit during cooking can be lovely but, to preserve your harvest of blossoms for weeks to come, you can't beat elderflower cordial.  Last year I left it far too late to make mine.  Although I did grab a fistful of overblown blossom heads, and managed to make a couple of bottles, the taste really wasn't up to the mark.  The proof of the wisdom of picking early is in the drinking.  This year's cordial is sweetly aromatic, fresh-tasting and vibrant and bears little resemblance to last summer's drink.

There are plenty of recipes for elderflower cordial around but it's simply water, sugar, elderflowers and citrus so you can't go too far wrong.  I don't like it too sweet as I find it detracts from the flavour so you'll find this recipe uses less sugar than most, but there's no reason why you shouldn't add a bit extra for a more syrupy result.  I know a lot of people add oranges and lemons but I love limes and much prefer to use them in place of orange.  If you want the cordial to keep beyond a few weeks, add a heaped teaspoon of citric acid (available from shops that sell home-brew kits) at the end and sterilise the bottles in a water bath after filling and sealing.  Alternatively, pour your cold cordial into small plastic bottles, freeze it and defrost a bottle when you want it.

To drink; a ratio of 1:5 cordial to sparkling or still water is about right.  To flavour fruit; add 2 tablespoons to around 500g of fruit.  Elderflower goes particularly well with gooseberries, apricots, cherries, strawberries and raspberries.

Elderflower Cordial
(makes about 2.5 litres)

20-25 just-open Elderflower heads
2 large unwaxed lemons (pour boiling water over and scrub well if not unwaxed)
2 unwaxed limes (pour boiling water over and scrub well if not unwaxed)
1.75 litres water
1kg granulated sugar

Cut any excess stem from the flower heads, shake well to release the inevitable bugs.  Put the heads in a large bowl and grate the zest from all the lemons and limes over the top. Bring the water to the boil  and pour over.  Ensure the flowers are submerged and leave to steep overnight. Keep all your fruits in the fridge to juice the next day.  

Next day, line  a sieve with muslin.  Sterilise the muslin by pouring boiling water over it. Strain  the flower head infusion through it into a stainless steel pan.  Add the reserved citrus juice and the sugar.  Bring slowly to the boil, stirring occasionally to ensure the sugar dissolves fully.  Bring to the boil then simmer for 2-3 minutes.  Use a funnel to pour into hot sterilised swing-top bottles.  

The cordial can be used straight way but the flavour develops more after a week or two kept in a dark cupboard.  It will keeps for about 6 weeks.  Poured, cold, into plastic bottles and frozen it will keep for several months.

More recipes using elderflowers:
Gooseberry Elderflower Syllabub

Carrot Cake with cream cheese

Carrot Cake with cream cheese

There is something about a cake containing vegetables which appeals to me.  Probably because I grow vegetables and am always looking for ways to use them.  When you've worked your way through a glut lasting more than a couple of weeks, even the most beauteous crop of beetroot starts to look ugly unless you can ring the changes in the recipe department.  Oh yes, I am on familiar terms with Nigel Slater's Chocolate Beetroot Cake and I make a mean Courgette and Lemon Cake too.

Not just any vegetable will do, of course, and I'm not prepared to get too wacky in the name of experimentation.  If you stick to vegetables which have a high natural sugar content you can't go far wrong - parsnips, beetroot, pumpkin or sweet potato for instance.  I'm prepared to at least entertain the idea that fennel could work but haven't yet plucked up the courage to try.  To be honest I haven't yet had a glut of fennel and don't hold my breath that I ever will.

I'd love to be able to say I'm pulling carrots from the allotment right now but, though the seeds have germinated better than is normal on my soil, harvest is some way off.  In any case you don't want to use your best carrots for this recipe.  Whatever you can find is fine here, but the better the carrot, the more nutritious the cake.  Carrot cake is arguably the most obvious 'vegetable cake' but search as I would, I never managed to find a recipe that delivered on its promise. Clearly I'm being very difficult to please as there are hundreds of recipes out there.  In fact I do know in which kitchen my perfect recipe resides.  The cake has everything I am looking for - moist, light, properly spiced and not too sweet.  Sadly, the baker is not yet ready to share it with the world.  Until that day, I still I have this masochistic urge to try again.

This recipe is based on Rose Carrarini's Carrot Cake in her first book Breakfast Lunch Tea.  I've changed the sugar from caster to a light muscovado, upped the amount of cinnamon and added a little orange zest.  It's less sweet than most carrot cakes and it keeps really well.  Next time I plan to make it a day ahead of icing it.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with the original recipe so I apologise for changing it, but I just can't resist.  I'm searching for that extra something, and it's worryingly possible that when I find it, only I will appreciate it.

Carrot Cake with cream cheese
Makes a deep 18cm cake - (double the quantities for a 23cm cake)

2 eggs
125g light muscovado sugar
150ml sunflower oil
2 large carrots, grated
75g chopped walnuts
Zest of half an orange
150g plain flour
1 level teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 level teaspoon baking powder

¼ level teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

Pinch of salt

Icing for an 18cm cake - (for a 23cm cake x 1.5):
200g cream cheese
100g unsalted butter, softened
50g icing sugar
Half tsp natural vanilla extract
A few whole or chopped walnuts (optional)

Heat the oven to 180C (Fan oven 160C)/Gas 4.  Using  a deep 18cm cake tin,  butter and line the base with parchment. 
Beat the eggs and muscovado sugar well, until light and fluffy.  
With the mixer still running, pour in the oil fairly slowly until all is well mixed.  
Fold in the carrots, walnuts and orange zest.  
Sieve together the flour, cinnamon, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt and fold into the mixture.
Pour the mixture into the prepared cake tin and bake for 35-40 minutes (about 50 minutes for a 23cm cake), until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean.
Cool the cake in the tin before turning out.
To make the icing, beat the softened butter with the cream cheese until you have a smooth mixture.  Mix in the icing sugar and vanilla extract.
Once the cake is cold, spread the top with icing.  Decorate the top with walnuts if desired.

Yorkshire Curd Tart - Take 2

Yorkshire Curd Tart

My apologies to those of you who have already seen a similar posting from me on this subject but an annoying Blogger glitch which cannot be sorted has left me no choice but to post this recipe again.  Those of you searching for "Yorkshire Curd Tart" should, hopefully, now see both Take 1 and Take 2

In times of austerity most of us need to think a bit more deeply about what we spend our money on.  Whilst food shopping is the last thing I want to cut back on, the cost of food, food waste and food miles are much on people’s minds at the moment.  This set me thinking about how the home-cook coped in the past when money was tight and yet a sweet treat was called for which did not scream ‘frugal’.  The Yorkshire Curd Tart is a good example, but what exactly is it and why does it fit the bill?

To a pot of curd cheese add sugar, a scattering of dried fruit, a pinch of spice, an egg or two and a little butter to enrich the mix, pour it into a pastry case and you have it.  Crunchy pastry, soft, sensuous filling and the fragrance of nutmeg filling  your kitchen as it bakes.  Balm for the soul on a cold winter’s day.  Simple it may be, economical certainly, but parsimonious it is not.  Originally it may have been less sweet than later versions, given that cane sugar was heavily taxed until 1874.  It was not until the Napoleonic and First World wars that the growing of sugar beet in Britain took off, out of necessity.

This is my second version of a recipe for Yorkshire Curd Tart.  Versions can be found in many Yorkshire bakeries, particularly in the north of the county, but sadly many current recipes have drifted a long way from the original.   I titled my first attempt “Take 1” as it was my first attempt to capture the tart I remembered.  A trip to the London Guildhall Library for a browse through their extensive food history section confirmed to me that this dish has a little-documented history and there would be few pointers along the way to finding the definitive recipe.

The narrative which resonates with me is that the Yorkshire Curd Tart was a happy by-product of the cheese-making process.  From a time when most smallholders would keep a cow and produce a few small cheeses, inevitably there would be some leftover curds and, well, in true Yorkshire style, ‘waste not, want not’.  Clearly it originated in Yorkshire but the tart I remember from childhood came from a small County Durham bakery - now sadly no more.   A certain  amount of border-creep has taken place with this dish so it’s not uncommon to still  find it in Durham.

Joan Poulson’s book “Old Yorkshire Recipes” tells of the tarts being traditionally served at “Whitsuntide”.  Thanks to PCD Brears' book “The Gentlewoman’s Kitchen – Great Food in Yorkshire 1650-1750” I learned of “Mrs Tasker” who took the trouble to write down her recipes.  Her notebook is annotated to show she lived in Brayton, near Selby, some 34 miles from the east coast of Yorkshire.  A recipe of 1741  tells of making the curd and, of “butter that is well-washed in rosewater”.  Whether the use of rosewater arrived in England with the Romans or we came to appreciate its delicacy after the Crusades  is debatable.  Both Romans and Moors have long histories of its use and rosewater as a flavouring was certainly documented in Elizabethan England.

Curd cheese, lemons, nutmegs

I've tasted quite a few shop-bought Yorkshire Curd Tarts over the past few months, all made in Yorkshire .  As with most things, you usually get what you pay for.  The best of the bunch came from Betty's of York, but I've always had a taste for their version.  Good as Betty's is, I was hoping to find perfection somewhere out there.  My conclusion is that, these days, this is a tart best made at home.  I needed to put into practice what I’d learned.  Taking Jane Grigson's recipe in her book “English Food” as my starting point, I adapted it as my research took me deeper into the origins of the Yorkshire Curd Tart.  The pastry should be a fine shortcrust, the filling dominated by the soft, pillowy curd - not the egg -  and the fruit should, I think, be currants.  You will need much more nutmeg than you may think, unless you choose to add rosewater too – balance is all.  Some recipes call for breadcrumbs and, if your curd is very loose, I can see why but I prefer not to use any.  The addition of a little melted butter helps the tart acquire that rustic browning on top.  The following recipe is as near as I can get to doing justice to this singular tart.

Some writers advocate substituting “cottage cheese”  for curd.  Do not be tempted as the result will be nothing like intended.  Fromage frais is perhaps nearer to the texture.  The curd consistency is best when fresh (2-4 days old).  If you buy them from a cheese-maker the texture of this natural product will, of course, vary.  You could *make your own curds, or do as I did and get to know an artisan cheese-maker.   Now, just as way back then, they’ll have an amount of surplus curd just crying out to be made into a delicious, fragrant Yorkshire Curd Tart.

Yorkshire Curd Tart - Take 2

 Pastry:

(makes enough for 2 x 22cm tarts)

250g (10oz) plain flour

25g (1oz) ground almonds
150g (6oz) butter
75g (3oz) icing sugar
Grated rind of half a lemon
1 egg yolk
3 tablespoons milk

Filling (makes enough for 1 x 22cm tart)
300g (12oz) curd cheese
2 eggs
125g (5oz) caster sugar
50g (2oz) currants
Grated rind of half a lemon
A good pinch of cinnamon
Half a nutmeg, grated
1 tablespoon of rosewater (optional – if used, reduce the nutmeg a little)
25g melted butter

Sift the flour into a mixing bowl and add the ground almonds.  Add the butter and rub in with fingertips.  Sift in the icing sugar, add grated lemon rind and mix.  Lightly beat the egg yolk and milk together and stir into the dry ingredients.  Mix until the paste just comes together, turn out and knead gently to smooth the surface.  (You will need half of this mixture for your tart so divide and freeze the other half for next time).  Cover and rest in fridge for 30 minutes.

Lightly butter a 22cm shallow tart tin.  Roll out the pastry thinly on a lightly floured surface and line the tin with it.  Prick the base with a fork several times and rest in the fridge for 15-20 minutes.  Preheat the oven to 200C (180C fan oven).  Bake the pastry blind for 10 minutes.  Remove the baking beans and paper, turn down the oven to 180C (160C fan oven) and return the tart to the oven for another 4-5 minutes to fully cook the base.

Mix the curd cheese with the currants, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon rind (and rosewater if using).  Beat the eggs with the sugar then add to the curd mixture along with the cooled melted butter.  Pour into the pastry case and bake in the oven for 30-35 minutes until the top is golden and the filling set.  Once cooled, serve with no embellishment.

*Make a simple lactic curd by bringing 1.5ltrs  of whole  milk (“raw” if you can get it) to just below boiling point, add juice of 1 lemon, leave overnight in a cool place (not the fridge) then pour into a muslin-lined sieve to drain the curds.

A version of this piece appears in The Foodie Bugle

The Modern Peasant - Jojo Tulloh

The Modern Peasant - Adventures in City  Food
Jojo Tulloh

'The Modern Peasant' didn't hook me, it was the subtitle 'Adventures in City Food' that did.  Rooted in this maddening, chaotic, fascinating city of London, it pays to have an adventurous spirit, not least where food is concerned.  It's not the  multiplicity of cuisines on offer in this cosmopolitan metropolis that the author, JojoTulloh, finds so enthralling.  It's the new wave of small urban producers that interest her.  Buying food from them, growing some of her own and making simple food from scratch - "rediscovering an earlier tradition of cookery" - has reconnected her to the source of food.  She sees the word "peasant" not as a negative term but as a description of a person producing high quality food.  Whether they are doing so for pleasure, profit or out of necessity - these are her 'Modern Peasants'.

Like Jojo, I have revelled in the emergence of bakers, brewers, bee-keepers and butchers.  I am ever-delighte to discover cheese makers and ice cream makers tucked into unlikely arches and forgotten corners of the city.  Whenever I can I will inveigle my way behind the scenes .  It's no wonder, then, I seized on The Modern Peasant.

The book starts with a "pilgrimage" to Italy's Apulia region, specifically, to the farmhouse where foodwriter Patience Gray spent the last 35 years of her life.  It was here, with her lover, the sculpture Norman Mommens, that Gray lived off the land and wrote her autobiographical cookbook Honey from a Weed.  If you don't know this book, Jojo Tulloh's introduction will make you want to delve into its pages.  The book and the visit made Tulloh look at her own life and how she procured her food.  She returned to London "determined to eat more weeds (Patience's universal panacea), get bees and seek out those who could teach me their hard-earned skills."

Tulloh makes the case that by producing some of our food ourselves, witnessing the labour that goes into its production or buying direct from the producer, we will appreciate it more and waste less.  For chapters headed Baked, Fermented, Planted, Foraged and Pickled, Preserved, Foraged & Smoked she spent time with producers.  In a bakery she takes us from the description of a container of dough bubbling "like the sac in a bullfrog's throat" to a succinct explanation of autolysis.  She forages on Hampstead Heath with "someone who knows" and enjoys the thrift of making jams and pickles for a well-stocked larder.  Many of these chapters end with some excellent 'Tips", techniques and a few simple recipes.  She shows just how easy and satisfying it is to make your own bread, yoghurt, ricotta or ginger beer.

Like all of us who are fortunate enough to 'borrow' a little piece of land on which to grow crops, Jojo Tulloh values it beyond measure.  In a section titled The Practical Peasant's Year, she makes the point that "To grow something is to become aware of the elements.  Earth, air, sun and fire become part of your consciousness".  That's not to say she is blindly romantic about it.  Time spent on the allotment is "not the most logical or effective use of my time" but "there is a deep calm and concentrated peace that comes from the monotony of task performed outside".  Even when growing feels like a battle "there is a strength there that can be gained and is almost as worthwhile as the produce you take home".

Returning to Patience Gray, The Modern Peasant ends on a few of the foodwriter's recipes and acknowledges that food is not the only important thing in life but it is a daily necessity that shouldn't be made light of.

My enjoyment of this book was helped along by a peppering of great quotes, particularly those taken from William Cobbett's Cottage Economy.  Reading, learning, growing and making has "added another layer" to Jojo Tulloh's life.  I have to say I feel the same way and this book gives voice to that feeling.  It's an interesting and inspiring read and one I am likely to return to in future for reference.

The Modern Peasant - Adventures in City Food
Jojo Tulloh
Illustrated by Lynn Hatzius


Book courtesy of Chatto & Windus

Michael Pollan at the RSA - How cooking can change your life

Home-grown courgette
ready to be 'Cooked'

Michael Pollan seems to be everywhere in London this week.  Yes, he has a book to sell but you've got to admire his stamina.  Maybe it's down to all that good home-cooked food he eats.   Let me say at the outset, I have not read his latest book so this is not a review, but I am a Michael Pollan fan.  It's not that I see him as some kind of guru - though some do - it's that what he has to say so often makes perfect sense to me. His RSA dialogue yesterday was chaired by Tim Lang, Professor of Food Policy at City University, London,  who introduced him as one of the 100 most influential people in the world.  Pollan self-depracatingly pointed out that if he truly was, "then the world would look very different".

His latest book, 'Cooked - A natural history of transformation', is the latest in a series of books exploring our complex relationship with food.  He's sometimes accused of being anti-progress, idealistic and elitist, tags he brushes off lightly.  Pollan is the first to say - and he did again yesterday - that he isn't propounding any radical new thoughts on food, and he isn't trying to turn the clock back either.  Rather he feels that we should be teaching our children to grow food and cook so that they can make choices about food; get away from the mindset of "if it can be outsourced, that's what we should do"; cease to define leisure activities as being "what industry can't do for us".  We need to get the whole family involved in food preparation if we are going to have a healthy relationship with food.  In his own experience, if a child grows and cooks something then he will eat it and appreciate it.

'Cooked' is published at a time when the actions of the processed food industry and its relationship to government are under scrutiny, both in the UK and the USA, like never before.  Pollan propounds instead of feeling powerless in the face of big business, we can refuse to swallow their line that they are making life better for us.  By taking back control of our food, it becomes a political act.  It's what he calls this "middle link" - the processed food industry - that has most influence over our food and health.  They know that the additives they introduce into foods are "addictive" but it's not a word they like to use; they prefer to describe it as "craveability" or "snackability".

Statistics show that home-cooking in the USA has fallen by half since the mid-60's - and where America leads the UK so often follows.  Studies show there are lower rates of obesity in cultures where home cooking is the norm.  Pollan feels we lose contact with the basics of food production and preparation at our peril as home cooking holds families and communities together.  By cooking, as opposed to eating processed foods, he suggests we can break our dependence on corporations while at the same time improving the health and wellbeing our of our family.  This was re-inforced when Pollan revealed the suitably cynical advice given by Harry Balzer, a seasoned market researcher for the food industry, when goaded into answering the question 'what should people eat for good health' he replied "eat anything you want, just cook it yourself".

In 'Cooked', Tim Lang explained, Michael Pollan delved into the 4 elements - fire, water, air (bread) and earth (fermentation/bacteria) -  spending time practically learning about each and considering skills, knowledge and food progress.  He believes many of us fetishise cooking and readily accept we cannot cook because we cannot achieve the standards of professional chefs.  The food industry has demonstrated a phenomenal ability to capitalise on socio-political movements - witness the KFC marketing slogan from the 1970's which was targeted at working women - an illustration of a chicken 'bucket" emblazoned with the words "Women's Liberation".  Thereby redefining 'not cooking' as the progressive thing to do.  Today domestic knowledge is often disparaged as something not worthy of our time.  I should mention here that Pollan is clear that both genders have responsibilities when it comes to cooking and household chores, and so do children.

Asked the inevitable question whether he saw any correlation between class and cooking Pollan said he did, but the answer was probably not quite what the questioner expected.  He opined that real cooking historically came, and continues to come, out of peasant cooking because it's they who had/have to make the most of what's available to them.

On the role of the state, whilst insisting he held no sway at The White House, Pollan praised the efforts of Michelle Obama in championing food growing and healthy eating.  He pointed out however, that her actions so "freaked-out" the powerful food industry that they drew her into a conversation about "reprocessing" processed food and from there she was doomed to failure.  Nevertheless, her digging up of part of the White House lawn to grow vegetables remains a significant example to the world's most powerful nation.

When NYC Mayor Bloomberg faced escalating public health spending with 75% going on diet-related ailments (principally obesity and type-2 diabetes) he was advised the single most significant remedy would be to cut soda consumption.  Trying to ban 32oz soda cups he came up against the power of the fast-food industry.  Whilst legislation may be seen as futile (of course you can order a second 16oz cup, but at least you might stop and think whether you really are that thirsty) Pollan acknowledged that there is no silver bullet but the "nudge effect" can be valuable.

There was even a request for advice on kitchen design, and Pollen managed a thoughtful reply.  There should, he thought, be as much space for food preparation as possible so that everyone in the family can get involved.  On the subject of schooling he feels there are few things more important than growing and cooking and should be given more prominence in our classrooms.

With confirmation that we are 90% bacterial and 10% human, Michael Pollan feels we've figured out a diet for the 10% - those fats, sugars and chemicals which taste so good - but but not for the 90%.  He ended with the advice which will forever be attached to him - "eat food, not too much, mostly plants".  Still, in my opinion, excellent advice.

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.

Spring on Plot 45

Prunus Victor 2013

Just when we thought Spring would never arrive, we are suddenly overwhelmed with fruit blossom.  Here in London, ornamental cherry trees have flowered so spectacularly over the last couple of weeks that even the most city-hardened of us have been snapping away and indulging in competitive photo postings.  The blossom of the edible blossom is now tentatively unfurling along with that of plum, apple and pear.  On the allotment, our gooseberry and blackcurrant bushes have finished flowering and bear promising tiny green fruits.  From nearby hives, the honey bees, that last week covered the bushes in a frenzy of activity, have moved on to richer pollen pickings.  They play a vital role in pollinating our crops, making for greater yields, so it feels good that absolutely nobody uses chemicals here.

Gooseberry Invicta 2013

Apart from the currants and berries, which thankfully need little attention, you have to get up close to see signs of the last three weeks of hard work on the allotment  Trenches have been dug and both Charlotte and Pink Fir Apple potatoes are planted, carefully spaced to leave plenty of room for each to spread.  There they lie, buried so deep it always seems miraculous that the shoots can find their way to the surface.  Soon they will appear and before we know it we'll be earthing up the ridges to increase the yield.

The Summer raspberry canes are taking a buffeting in the strong winds today so I'm glad I got round to tying them in on my last visit.  The Autumn fruiting variety, Bliss, are sprouting lushly from ground level, reminding me I really should do some more weeding in that bed.

Garlic 2012

I survey the 8 metre long stretch of alliums and wonder if I got a bit carried away this year.  My over-wintering garlic and onion sets were practically wiped out by the cold and wet so I planted like crazy to compensate this Spring.  Garlic, shallots and Sturon onion sets all bear little green tufts.  As yet, who knows how the Long Red Florence seeds I planted are doing - a little temperamental but well worth the effort.

Chantenay Carrot 2012

Carrots and parsnips seeds are planted, though it's to be hoped we won't be digging up carrots quite as convoluted as this one from last year.  Clearly we did a very poor job of removing stones in the root vegetable bed.  Two sowings of broad beans and peas are growing away nicely.  I'm determined not to sow any more. Succession sowing is all well and good but, for taste, early is best for both of these crops.  Two types of spinach are growing well - red-stemmed Bordeaux and reliable Dominant.  Nothing beats those first few pickings.  Too much heat and the Bordeaux in particular will bolt as soon as I turn my back.  The first of the beetroot and the Rainbow chard are just beginning to germinate.

Borlotti Beans 2012

This year we've planted our climbing beans early.  String beans are probably the only vegetable which aren't popular in our household so they definitely don't earn their keep on this allotment.  Borlotti beans, on the other hand, are a favourite.  Pale green pods turn a thrilling speckled red before they're ready to be picked. Discarding their coats reveals pale green, pink or red/ivory speckled beans.  They need plenty of heat and this year I'm determined not to run out of summer before every last one is ready to harvest.

Courgette Flower 2012

Soon we'll be planting a seed bed with leeks, Kale and Purple Sprouting broccoli to overwinter.  That leaves the courgettes, pumpkins and squash.  We'll plant seeds straight into the ground in late May then go into battle with the slugs and snails.

So, the really hard work is done.  That is, if you exclude the watering and weeding right through summer and a couple of biodynamic stirrings and sprays. We now have the pleasurable part to look forward to - birdsong, sun on our backs and, weather and bugs permitting, lots of home-grown fruit and vegetables to harvest right through to next Spring.  If we're lucky we may see some hollyhocks too.   from seeds gathered by the Friends of Arnold Circus.   Happy gardening.

Paris in May and La Table des Anges

Pear tree at
La Jardin du Luxembourg

Diaries were clear and May had arrived so what better than a day trip to Paris.  A wander around the Left Bank, an hour soaking up the sun in the Jardin du Luxembourg and a good lunch is a pretty good way to recharge the batteries.  Arriving the day after the May Day holiday meant the streets were less busy than normal.  The amazing mix of apiary boxes in the Luxembourg Gardens were abuzz as the honey bees made the most of the fleeting apple and pear blossom.

But where to go for lunch?  Meeting up with a friend in Paris confirmed what has been talked about for  sometime now - in France you can no longer take it for granted that the ingredients going into restaurant kitchens are the best, or that there is much actual cooking going on at all.  Which is why it's important to treasure those who are doing it right.  A visit to Les Fines Gueules in the 1st was tempting.  Then again Le Cristal de Sel in the 15th is always a good bet, but maybe it was time to try somewhere new.

It has long been my experience that if you take up a recommendation from the knowledgable Nick Lander you can't go far wrong, and this one was hot off the press.  I've included a link to his review which, as usual, is spot on.  La Table des Anges is located on my favourite food shopping street in Paris.  Rue des Martyrs in the 9th arrondisement is bordered by the Gares du Nord, de l'Est and St-Lazare.  Snaking uphill  from Boulevard Haussmann, rue Lafitte becomes rue des Martyrs, and continues right up to the Basilique du Sacre Coeur in Montmartre.  The street is lined with with good fromageries, traiteurs, boulangeries, patisseries, restaurants and cafes, including Rose Bakery.  It's an easy 15 minute walk from Gare du Nord. Perfect for picking up a bit of shopping before hopping back on the Eurostar.

Brandade at
La Table des Anges

I'm so used to walking up rue des Martyrs and turning off on Avenue Trudaine to head for the Gare du Nord that we could easily have missed La Table des Anges. Head uphill towards Montmartre and look for a very understated restaurant frontage. The owner Jacques-Henri Strauss and his small team, including Chef Yan Duranceau are genuinely welcoming.  Duranceau left behind the far grander surroundings of Taillevent and Le Grand Vefour to cook at La Table des Anges. 

As soon as we sat down a small plate of charcuterie arrived to back up the smiles. We ate a frothy, creamy yet light Bisque de langoustine and an equally so Velouté d'asperges blanc.  A cast-iron pot of Joue de boeuf topped with a julienne of vegetables was flavoured with oriental spices.  The meat was meltingly tender and the rich broth demanded a spoon. A glass of Cahors went well, given that the wine was used in the dish.  A large portion of Brandade was perfectly balanced and topped with deliciously gritty polenta before being lightly grilled.  It was, without doubt, the star dish and a Sancerre Abbaye 2011 suited it well.  Two courses were filling enough - the owner assured us he did not like people to go away hungry - but we forced ourselves to share a dish of Fraise des Anges.  The glass of strawberry puree topped with a lurid green cream was, I have to say, a bit alarming.  The taste was nothing of the sort.  Sweet and fragrant fruit and, what turned out to be, a mint-infused cream was delicious as was a  little dish of, rather too cold, strawberry sorbet.  

We could have eaten two courses for 16 Euros each plus wine and been quite satisfied.  With one of us choosing from the à la carte and having shared a pudding, the bill came to 72 Euros including 4 glass of wine.  Go to La Table des Anges expecting a good, welcoming, neighbourhood restaurant, cooking carefully sourced ingredients really well and you won't be disappointed.

La Table des Anges
66 rue des Martyrs
75009 Paris

Métro Pigalle

Réservations: 01 55 32 24 89

reservation@latabledesanges.fr

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.