A touch of Eastern Promise...

The kitchen is perfumed with garlic and coriander, the lightness of rose in the chilli spiced harissa, and the subtle creamy meatiness of chicken, the meat no longer able hold itself to the bone, and the skin on top turning golden and crisp. A tajine.

It was the ‘antique’ pickled lemons found, no discovered,  at the back of Aunt J’s fridge the week before that started me off on a Maghrebine theme, and eastern influences in the food surely means an eastern influence in the wine,  Hochar et Fils 2003 (Bekaa Valley 12.5%, Vintage House £11.75). Lebanese, surely near enough (it looked so close on the map)?

 Not wanting to have the olfactorial distractions while tasting this wine, I have moved to a quieter, scent free room and start to pour, the bottle having been opened earlier to get to a reasonable temperature from the chill outside. Holding the glass up, the wine is clear, as are the legs, and light cherry red with tinges of garnet.

Slowly swirling and turning my nose into the glass I get leather. A full pupil dilating leathery scent with a back note of walnut mustiness (a panic as I wonder whether this is cork taintage, but thankfully it is not). Prunes and damsons come to the nose, and further swirling releases the cherry, some green pepper and herbaceousness. The overarching sense is though is the leathery, almost like opening a brand new briefcase; meaty, that slightly oaty bloody smell that comes from the butcher’s shop; damp straw and hay, and all the elements of the cow shed (minus the “you-know-what”).

I am excited and curious. I want to taste. And what taste! A soft muted berry loveliness, with lots of tannic woodiness and hints of vanilla and cream. That lightly perfumed berry from the Cabernet Sauvignon and that nutty note. Citric sharpness is thrown in for good measure however, and, surprisingly there is no flintiness or minerality.  

I say surprising as this wine is grown on gravel and limestone, not, say for instance a clay soil, so I would have assumed some stoniness would be drawn into the flavour. However, because the winters are rainy and rarely suffer frost, the soil drains well reducing the chance of mildew and ensuring the new growth fruit develops well. Longer milder summers lower the risk of disease further, and the altitude (1000m above sea level) prevents heat drying the grapes out.

Low yielding old vines of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cinsault, Carignan, and Grenache (that would explain the leather) are blended, partially aged in oak for 3 months, and bottled during the final year. Each yield and therefore blend varies so no vintage is the same.

So, back to the glass. Left for a bit the aromas are the same rich leather and blood and herbs, but the taste alters somewhat as the room temperature helps the wine’s development in the glass.

Allowing it to settle means I get those fruitier darker berries in a richer, purer concentration on my nose. A contrasting sweet and sourness from the cherry and blackcurrant, and a smokiness of raspberry with the rounded more muted blackberry notes. And then, the subtlest, subtlest hint of cinnamon.

But on the mouth? Wow! Brie and cheese skin pungency to the tongue. Sour cherry and some rosehip sharpness. A perfect and palatable natural concentrated sweetness like the confectionery cherry flavour, but all natural.

Outside, the damp chills reach through even the thickest of wool jumpers, but inside the wine brings a warmth that reflects the anticipated exoticness of an English Tajine with a touch of "Eastern promise". Rich in flavour and scent but, being a second wine, not as spicy and complex as its counterpart the Chateau Musar, Hochar et Fils still represents excellent value for money.

Lasagne...Corsican style

Autumn is over in my mind the moment the November bonfires die down and the sulphurous smells of fireworks have disappeared. Bird pecked, brown and softening windfall apples, home to earwigs and maggots, sit scattered on the lawn, waiting to be raked. Hard work outside means slow cooked comfort food inside as my head fills with ideas calorific and ‘carborific’. But slowly, slowly cooked. Slow enough to give me time to attend to the apples. Slow enough to saw some branches (not a callous on these hands strangely). Slow enough to bathe, to change, to pour myself a drink. Slow! (I think you get it!)

Syrupy stews with crushed potatoes, creamy casseroles with rice, and rich sauces to go with pasta are a winter must. It really is that time of year for a genuinely hearty supper to welcome winter in.

This weekend I am turning my mind to lasagne. Tomato sweetened ragù and a blanket of béchamel topped with a light flurry of parmesan. This, however, is a rich, potentially waistline busting version of a lasagne, Corsican in origin. Corsican? Well, yes. Although French, the influence and dialect is distinctly Italian (or should I say Genoese Republic). My recipe is my own version of a dish called ‘Dolari’ that I had fifteen years ago (when I was a child. Cough!) So called because of the coin shaped pasta-sausage layer. This version has more Tuscan influences thanks to the Tuscan sausages from Camisa in Soho.

Ragù:

1 carrot

2 celery sticks

1 medium onion

4 cloves garlic chopped

1lb pork mince (preferably mutton)
1lb beef mince
½ bottle Italian white wine
3 tbsp tomato puree
2 tins chopped tomato
Sprig of rosemary
Oil
Small knob of butter

Sheet of pasta (ready bought)
1lb Tuscan sausages (or any Italian course ground sausage meat)
2-3 Mozzarella or one long one.

Béchamel sauce:

2tbsp plain flour
1¼ pint milk
1½ ounces butter

Parmesan for topping

Method:

Preheat the oven to 160oC.

First the meat sauce (I have used a combination of recipe ideas including Katie Caldesi, Marcella Hazan and, of course, Elizabeth David). Peel and finely chop the carrot, onion and celery (or whizz them in a blender). Heat about 8 tablespoons of oil in a pan and slowly fry for about 10 minutes until the mix turns glassy and soft. Add the garlic and stir a couple of times. Now add the meat and cook until the rawness has gone.

Add the wine and sprig of rosemary, turn up the heat to high and let it bubble until it reduces down to below the level of the meat. Lower the heat; add the tomatoes and tomato purée and season. Once the sauce starts simmering gently put a lid on and leave for about 3 hours to cook, stirring occasionally. Add more salt at the end as well as the knob of butter. Remove the herbs once cooked. You can make the sauce the day before and let the flavours meld even more.

Now, butter a deep sided dish.

Next, the coins. (I used bought fresh pasta sheets but still dipped them in boiling water for a few seconds to prevent splitting). Skin the sausages and spread out the meat evenly over the sheet(s) of pasta until it reaches the edge. Carefully roll the sheet tightly, like a Swiss Roll and slice into coin shapes (about a centimetre wide).

Slice the mozzarella and set to one side.

Finally, the béchamel sauce (I used Elizabeth David’s recipe in Italian Food, but feel free to another recipe). Place a bay leaf in the milk and heat up (do not boil though) in a separate pan. Melt the butter in another pan, then add the flour. Stirring constantly add the milk slowly ensuring the mixture remains smooth and slowly thickens. (I thought of using eggs in the béchamel, as I would for a Moussaka, to make it fluffier and add another layer of flavour and richness but did not want to risk it this time around).

To assemble, place the coins flat, in the buttered dish. Put the mozzarella slices on top roughly. Pour the ragù over the coins, then the béchamel sauce on top of that. Finally, scatter some finely grated parmesan on the top and place in the oven for 45 minutes to an hour.

Lamb’s Lettuce or rocket salad on the side (or more traditionally, afterwards) cleans the palate well. I drank Panizzi’s 2006 Colle di Sinese to wash this down (www.panizzi.it or www.enotria.co.uk)

So how was my memory? Well, it was lighter than I thought it might be. Breaking down through the layers, the béchamel was lightly cheesy and thick enough to coat the tongue but not heavy, and gave a creaminess to the ragù. The sharper wine and tomato flavours of the sauce mellowed with the long cooking period, helped also by adding that small amount of butter.

What made it different was, of course, the sausage meat. Subtle to the palate and made more so thanks to the tempering melted mozzarella, it complimented the pork and beef mince well, the higher noted, sharper seasoned meat giving extra layers to the slightly more muted flavours of the pork and earthier beef. (I could only get the pork with lower fat content and wondered about using a small amount of lard in the oil. I don’t believe in size zero meats though my cardiologist would disagree, naturally). The small amount of pasta was enough although the coins could be made bigger for those who have toiled more vigorously in the garden. Overall, only a small portion was needed. The rest I froze for another time, and although I say so myself, I can’t wait.

Re-inventing the Dharmachakra

Catching up with some one you haven’t seen in years can be terrifying (if not aging!) Will there be awkward silences and painted smiles as I stare into my drink wondering what to say next? Will I find new and interestingly subtle ways of looking at my watch to see what time it is? Will someone please call so I can pretend it is an emergency for goodness sakes?!

This was not the case when I bumped into a former work colleague from a previous life quite by chance outside the tube in Chiswick and agreed to meet him for a drink. Catching up on old times and discussing future ambitions, the years were condensed into minutes and the ‘quick’ drink turned into a couple of hours. So relaxed was the evening that when I got home, I realised I had completely forgotten about food.

I fancied something spicy (steady on!) I had just had a couple of drinks and was in that spice and carbohydrates I-have-now-had-two-glasses-of-wine-and-don’t-care-anymore mood, so why not? A Thai or Indian curry to take away. Dial a number, make a choice, wait for a delivery. But for one person they can be too expensive and wasteful (something I really hate). Pizza also came to mind. Again, I could order one for delivery. A flabby, bog standard one where the flavour of the cardboard has seeped into the pizza base. But why waste the money?

And there in the corner of the kitchen was the Eureka moment. That sign. That message. That mug. The one with “Make do and mend” on the side. Someone somewhere was telling me something. And so, taken with the idea of some culinary austerity, I opened the fridge: chicken breast, an individual naan bread and some herbs. My face fell flat. Not really very much is it?

However, with other ingredients lying around, a bottle of Pinot Noir and a swig of Dutch Courage, I decided on a course of action. Ok, it is not original. And ok, someone has invariably done it before. But yes, even though it was my own variation, I had reinvented the wheel.

Makes 1:
1 naan bread
1 chicken breast
Curry paste
Onion
Tomato
Yoghurt (Garlic, Lemon, Coriander)
Passata
Mustard seeds
Fennel seeds
Chilli flakes
Oil

First, take the chicken, slice it and ‘marinade’ it in the curry paste, if you have more time then you can mix the yoghurt and curry paste together and let it sit for a few hours. My time was limited, so I mixed the garlic (purée for cheats) and lemon juice with some chopped coriander in a separate bowl.

Next, throw the seeds into a pan and heat until they start to turn. Remove and fry a sliced onion. Add the chilli flakes and the tomato, and reduce until thickened.

Fry the chicken in a separate pan. Spoon the tomato onion mix on the naan, and place in a heated oven about 5 minutes. Spoon on top of that the yoghurt (if separate) and then the chicken slices. Return for a couple of minutes and then scatter some coriander on top to garnish before serving.

Did it work?

I think so, in a I-have-now-had-three-glasses-of-wine-and-don’t-care-anymore way. There was flavour (woof! Thank God for liquid refreshment as I had rather overdone the spicy heat). Yes, there was flavour! The yoghurt thankfully, tempered the fire of the curry paste and the chilli heat in the tomatoes enough that you could taste the fennel, lemon, mustard seed and coriander. The naan could have been more crisp to stop it going a little soggy and the chicken would probably have been better mixed with the yoghurt so that it tenderised the meat, but that is for next time. Did it look ok? I forgot to take a picture but I can assure you that it was presentable (yes, in a I-have-now-had-four-glasses-of-wine-and-don’t-care-anymore way). The point was that it hit my cravings and kept me smiling from my catch up with H through the evening to my bed, or maybe that was the wine.

The Piece of cod…

There is change in the air. Summer is moving to autumn and cooler winds mean jumpers and even jackets. Bows on the trees groan with the weight of apples that should have been picked. Morning mists hang static and damper nights draw in sooner.

Depressing? Not really. I love that time of year. The subtlest smell of smoke from bonfires burning the end-of-Summer pruning drifts in the air. Trees perhaps looking sad and naked, but their roots will be cloaked with piles of dry brittle leaves just ready for the kicking. But I am not ready for that just yet. In my defiantly Summery mood I am still wearing shorts (Ok, only indoors and with a jumper), eating salads, draining the last reserves of the rosé wine, and reading books that bring summer thoughts to the coolest and darkest corners of the house.

Even so, I want to cook something that reflects my contrary mood. I am leaning towards heartier ingredients to keep me warm, and, as I am recovering from the heaviest of ‘man flu’ colds, has a healthy element to it as well.

No matter how hard I try to avoid it though, thoughts of the Mediterranean tug me this way and that. Who can resist the idea of dishes of honeyed roasted quail with hints of cinnamon; courgettes with mint; saffroned rice or chillied couscous; brined Kalamata olives or soapy aromatic green Lucques; chicken or lamb perfumed by sweet herbs; grilled octopus flambéed in ouzo? So how do I satisfy this while being in the heart of the seasonally changing English countryside?

My answer lies in Aunt J’s larder and with a local business that specialises in mail order fish; The Fish Society (www.thefishsociety.co.uk). In a very English way but with a nod to the Middle Sea I have chosen to do Cod with tapenade crust (served with roasted tomatoes, new potatoes and spinach for the health and heartiness).

Salted cod has a wonderfully concentrated flavour, making it richer, creamier than the ordinary supermarket catch. Admittedly, it has to be soaked for ages (in a bowl under a dripping tap was a method suggested by my landlady in Seville) and I have made some mouth desiccating gaffes with it.

Tapenade has a naturally bitter and saline element coming from the capers, olives and anchovies. Usually used on crostini, bruschetti, or French equivalent, it is a versatile paste and should draw out the sweetness of the cod, seasoning it naturally. Richard Ehrlich from the Guardian says the word Tapenade comes from the Provençal word ‘tapeno’ meaning caper, and that traditionally it is only olive, caper and olive oil. I prefer the ‘full fat’ version using anchovy, garlic and lemon juice as well for added ‘beef’.

Cod with Tapenade crust

Large piece of cod (salt cod rinsed thoroughly, or plain cod)

Jar of Tapenade (I had a jar of olive paste and added a teaspoon of rinsed capers, a good squeeze of anchovy purée, garlic, tossed into the blender then added oil to loosen and a squeeze of lemon juice)

Plum tomatoes on the vine

New potatoes

Baby leaf spinach

Flat leaf parley for garnish

Massage the cod with olive oil, smear the top with the tapenade and place in a roasting dish. I parboiled some large new potatoes, sliced them into thick discs and placing them under the fish first. Oil the tomatoes keeping them on the vine, put them around the cod. Place in a heated oven for 20 minutes at 180C (this could vary depending on the size of the fish). Remove the fish and tomatoes to a warm plate, throw the spinach into the roasting dish and wilt in the oils.

Not one to pat myself on the back (Oh go on Lou), this works for me. The contrast between the green and red vegetables and the dramatic black on white of the fish and paste (similar in contrast to the Cristianos y Moros recipe of beans and rice) is pleasing to the eye. To the taste, the sourness of the tapenade contrasted well with the rich, meaty fish emphasising its natural sweetness. The pepper and citrus zing were well tempered by the potatoes (thank goodness I was feeling greedy!) and further helped by a bottle of chilled and summer and citrus fruit flavoured Torres rosé (congratulations to Miguel Torres on his wine award for life time achievement) to keep in the spirit of things.

In the end, summer is still in my soul for the short term and my thirst for sun will be thankfully sated by my holiday to Spain. Then, and only then, will I be ready for the autumn lull and the run up to Christmas (did I say that?!), coats, boots, fires and stews.

Some Flocky wocky doo dah

Sunday blues retreat into night, and Monday’s journey is always the longest of the week. I am not trying to state the obvious, though I am pretty close to it by saying, Monday’s are grim. This one, with its humid and overcast weather, more so. By five, there is a real need for comfort food and a tall glass of something strong.

The desire for meat accompanied by another for a rough red wine has tickled me all afternoon. I have had enough chicken over the past few days to sprout feathers and am not really minded to do a fish recipe, so I spent several minutes wandering around the supermarket trying to get inspiration before making my decision.

And then it comes, setting off my tastebuds on a white water saliva ride. Lamb! The pervasive perfume that comes from its cooking. The sweetness of flavour, so much kinder to the palate than the earthy grassiness of beef (although a good rib-eye on a bed of sautéed potatoes fried in beef dripping comes a close second). To go with this, a bed of velvety soft cannellini beans.

Shopping complete, I get changed, pour a glass of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, and put on mellow Monday blues from Sarah Vaughan, for mood music. I am ready for a night of ovinophilia (too clever by far Mr W!).

Lamb chops (or any cut)
Butter
Olive oil
Cannellini beans (tin)
Banana shallot finely chopped
Tomatoes (2 – skinned, deseeded and chopped)
Garlic (how much is enough?)
White wine (enough to deglaze)
Stock (just a spoon or two of light stock)
Oregano

In a frying pan, heat the butter and oil and fry the shallot in oil until translucent, and the tomato. Throw in the chopped garlic, stir a couple of times before adding the stock, then mix in the cannellini and a small knob of butter. Heat through ensuring the mix isn’t too sloppy.

In a separate pan at the same, heat some oil (and a knob of butter too if you wish). When it is hot enough, put in the lamb, frying until done depending on thickness and how pink you like it. Remove to a warm plate to sit for a bit while deglazing the pan with the wine. Loosen the cannellini mix with the deglazed meat juices, because it is unhealthy and you will enjoy it, and sprinkle with the chopped oregano.

To serve, make a bed of the cannellini on your warmed plate, place the pieces of lamb on top with a garnish of left over oregano.

Louis' Lemony Snackette

I had returned from a saucy weekend in Oxfordshire and had not done any shopping. ‘C’ left me suitably smirking all the way back home with her flirtatious antics in the way that you know you had fun, and in my dreamy gormless state I just ambled to the flat and to an empty cupboard without thinking about food.

So picture this: the cupboard is bare, the flat is bare, there is practically an echo as I carry my bags inside and there is little to eat other than random leftovers. So I am left with the question: what do you do with a wilting breast? I am, of course, talking about the plaintive chicken breast sitting on a plate staring back at me from under the condensation covered sheet of cling film, looking like the Janet Leigh in Psycho before the chop, and just begging to be used.

Delving deeper, in other words closing my eyes and fumbling around the back of a cupboard that is clearly designed for taller people, I discover a few ingredients that mean I can embark on a variation to a theme: lemon chicken with an Italian twist (well I say Italian but others are bound to disagree).

The practicalities of arriving (unpacking, changing, laundry, etc) completed, I decide to set the mood. Stan Getz is humming his Bossa Nova beat and the wine is chilled and open (a Pugliese Giardini Falanghina from Sainsbury’s with citrus notes and some creamy elements from sitting on its lees, which should match the lemon zestiness that I am aiming for in the food) as I ready myself for chopping and frying. Everything is laid out in anticipation of a peppery, spicy chicken with a sharp, bittersweet taste tempered by a butter creaminess. So what did I find?

Chicken breast (sliced or cubed)
Onion
Celery stick
Garlic
Unwaxed lemon (zested and juiced)
Chilli flakes
Wine
Oil
Butter
Salt and pepper
Rocket or baby leaf spinach
Spaghetti or similar pasta.

Finely chop the onion and celery and fry slowly in oil until translucent. Next put the chicken pieces into the pan and fry them until they have just lost their rawness. Season as appropriate. Next add a glass of wine (keep a second glass for yourself) and bring the heat up until it starts bubbling. Reduce this down so that most of it has evaporated. As this is happening throw in the lemon zest, garlic and chilli. Finally, turn down the heat, throw in the lemon juice and a knob of butter and let the sauce thicken to a more syrupy texture. Before serving, add the rocket (or in my case a half dead pack of baby leaf spinach) and stir in to wilt it slightly.

I think I would have preferred rocket as it doesn’t wilt so dramatically and has a better peppery flavour. I also wondered if polenta, the second handful from my blind attempt to reach into the cupboard, would have worked, but discarded that idea. In the end, the question is: Did I like it? I was hungry and there was nothing in, I had no choice... of course I liked it! Could I make a few tweaks? In my smirking, trance like state? I doubt it.

A surprise or two on the South Bank...

I really enjoy food fairs and end up spending hours like an observer at an art gallery, just staring and taking it all in; sights, smells and bustle, hence my interest in attending The Real Food Festival last weekend at the Southbank Centre. Even so, I have to admit to being a shade disappointed. Not that it is not a good idea (it is a great idea). Nor that I was expecting an Earls Court sized event or anything like it, rather that it was not that remarkable; a bit samey and a bit formulaic. Should I have expected a WOW factor?

Having said that, two stalls more than the others did grab my attention. Small treats sticking out like a treasure chest in the sand: Merry Widows wines and Tea Together.

What do I know about Austrian wines? Well very little honestly, apart from the obvious Grüner veltliner variety, and it has been a long time since I did my exams. However, Linn Rothstein, owner of Merry Widows Wines persuaded me to give her selection of wines a try and revive my much battered memory.

As her website suggests, she specialises in Austrian wines (one particular size, the 250ml bottles is cannily aimed at accompanying the Delia Smith ‘one is fun’ or light bite type meals and comes with crown caps. Why open a full bottle when you only need a glass or two?) As I was travelling what better way to sample than with the twin pack of rosé and white 250mls at £7? Sadly for Linn, my tasting ability on a hot crowded train with plastic cups couldn’t give the wines justice. But here goes:

The first wine I tried was the Neusiedlersee Qualitätswein Cuvee 11, Austria (12.5%). The colour was pale golden yellow. This being poured into an off grey-blue plastic cup in my confined space as the train waited for its signal. No obvious greenness, just an initial impression of fresh light colour.

Swilling it around (not that I needed to much since the jostling of the commuters and the jolting of the train beginning to move - Oh stop complaining Lou!), the rich honeyed citrus fruits aromas are evident. Hints of liquorice woodiness, mustiness and the lightest of rubber also give the fruitiness a mellow more fuzzy edge.

This is a combination of Grüner veltliner, sauvignon blanc, welschriesling (neither Welsh nor Riesling) and chardonnay; sharper citrus and floral elements melded with honey and butteryness. Given the nature of the soils in the area: loess, black earth, sediment and sand, this is wine really reflects its surroundings.

On the palate, there is an off-dry rich vanilla and honey on citrus. Imagine candied lemon with honey drizzled on it and you are not far off. Honeydew melon (and melon rind or papaya giving it that slightly muted edge) and prickly petillance give this white a really summer drink quality. Flint and mineral finishes take any potential for cloyingness away. A long acid finish brings the tasting of this one to a mouth watering close.

The next wine was the Neusiedlersee Spätlese Pinot Noir Rosé, Austria (12%), rich and ruby red in colour and dark as a stained glass window. Pouring it into the previously described cup, shaking everywhere as the train rocked south from Waterloo, my initial comment was ‘liquid strawberry jam’.

Swirling it around to get a sense of what to expect on the palate, I carefully sniffed. Scents of damsons and strawberries with notes of honey and vanilla give it a rich, jammy quality, as well as a slightly woody bottom note. This wine is so ‘thick’ in scent that I imagine if this were not wine, I would look like a kid from a children’s party before a parent had wiped my jam covered mouth.

Tasting it; the initial hit on the tongue is a naturally rich off-dry sensation. As with the aroma, there is a jam quality. Strawberries and cream, honey infusions and a slight element of plum. There is more jam than cream and my wine did need to be cooler to balance that. Hints of wood and pip and a flintiness balance and round off this wine. A long satisfying finish. The concentration of flavour is not reflected in the strength of the wine at 12% which is a bonus.

On a personal level, this wine lends itself to Autumn more than high summer being fuller and richer; images of warm days and cooler nights, fires starting to be lit and jumpers on standby, an excellent stepping stone to the full hearty winter reds to come. Then again, the hundred or so commuters listening to me and Aunt J discussing this in the carriage may have disagreed!

A jam is just a jam isn’t it? Not quite. (Until I tried Raspberry and Ouzo jam by Nikos Papayiannides of Lesbos, when in Greece, jams were just a function of breakfast). The flavour combinations of Tea Together show that this really isn’t the case, and after the rather shaky evening on the train, the tranquillity of the countryside, the brilliant morning sunshine and the wafts of bread turning to toast made it the perfect moment to try my presentation box of jams from Tea Together (£6).

What made Tea Together stand out at the Real Food Festival was not only their sheer variety of 40 or more jams, marmalades and pickles, but also their attention to detail in the presentation of them; the turning of something simple into something desirable. Neat cardboard gift boxes in Provençal blue with burgundy stripes (the headquarters of this boutique business is in the Côte Opale, near Le Touquet, so I should really say opal blue) in which sit four small jars, numbered to denote the recipes and flavours: two marmalades and two jams, all seasonal and from organic produce.

Toast popping out, the first jar I selected was, No.15, a summer pudding jam infused with a vanilla pod: the colour was a vibrant purple-red rich cassis jelly, tasting as good as it looked. Rich berry with a slightly mellow velvet vanilla finish coming from the vanilla mostly blackberry and blackcurrant in flavour.

Next I chose No.33. This does sound more like the blending lab at Chanel but given their already stellar clientele list (Dorchester, Claridges, The Berkeley, to name a few) it is slightly forgivable. Tinged with garnet and slightly more runny than the previous jam due to not using pectin, so I was told, this was plain strawberry. Really? Actually, no. This was full rich strawberry compote flavour with a creamy almost cream cheese aftertaste; so wonderfully smooth.

Of the next jars, both marmalades, No.10, was less satisfying, however that was my fault. Toast out, I put a teaspoon on the yeasty warm bread (organic white if you need to know), a small dollop of No.10 and in I dived. A pale orange pink jelly made me anticipate a sweet and sour sensation. Not at all. Whooshes of sharp lemons and an almost similar quality to those of Moroccan preserved lemons, the sweetness of the sugar contrasts with the sourness of the lemon and hints of blackcurrants and there is an almost gingery zing to this (they do a lemon and ginger variety No.31). My mistake was not introducing some butter which would have brought out more sweetness and tempered the lemon zing. However, it really brought my taste buds to life and woke me up!

Finally, their classic marmalade, the No.1; classic in every way and one of the best I have tasted. Golden orangey yellow and set to perfection. Wonderfully gentle orange flavour with thin cut slices of peel. A soft pithy element gave it the mellow aftertaste, light and cleansing, so very cleansing on the palate. (Honestly, I could burst into a rendition of ‘Morning has broken’. Best not though)

Such pleasant surprises such as Merry Widows Wines and Tea Together make the experience of the Real Food Festival worth attending and I really look forward to seeing them again as well as discovering similar producers at the next fair.

http://www.merrywidowswine.com/
http://www.teatogether.com/

(For further information about the festival, and for those curious about Greek jams and sauces, go to: http://www.realfoodfestival.co.uk/ and http://www.papayiannides.gr/ ).