Rites of Spring

It has been a long wait; a long, cold and damp wait for spring. Bright colours now bring the countryside to life:  puffballs of blossom dapple the trees in pinks and whites; flurries of petals and wispy spores dance in the wind like a Diaghilev chorus; bluebells bring a cornflower haze to nearby woods and forget-me-nots sprinkle lawns and grass banks. You can smell the freshness, the change (well, in my case, with a large dose of anti-histamine).  

I am trying hard to get inspired, to cook something that matches the change of season. A hot sun tells us that winter has been banished; hearty, slow cooked stews and heavy red wines are too rich to contemplate; lighter, greener, refreshing meals come to mind and yet... ah! Vivaldi’s “Spring” plays on the radio, a perfect accompaniment to this weather, sharper notes contrasting with the melody remind us of the cold breezes that remain. Musically, I think he is saying don’t forget your jumper.

The answer to my quandary reveals itself during the April rush at the local farm shop, customers hare boxing for the new season’s asparagus (rather like the clamour for the iPad, such is country life).

Asparagus spears bring with them a craving for fresh flavoured dishes; a sharp green freshness. However, the chilling breezes and the cool night air are a sure sign that something comforting needs to be consumed. I have gone for risotto. Hearty but fresh tasting, warming but with a zing. But I can’t decide on the best method, so I have gone for three choices: classic asparagus risotto, risotto with asparagus and crisped Parma ham, and finally, my own nod to Primavera.  

Ingredients:

Arborio rice 225g

Chicken stock (I have made my own) 850ml 1 ½ pints
Asparagus 500g
1 Escallion shallot
1 Garlic clove
Sea salt
Butter
Olive oil
Vermouth (dry such as Noilly Prat or a dry white wine)
A handful of grated Parmesan

Additional ingredients for plate two:

1 pack of Parma ham (about 70g)

Additional ingredients for plate three:

1tbsp frozen peas (a similar amount in butter)

2 or 3 mint leaves
A few basil leaves
¼ tsp chilli flakes
Zest of ¼ lemon and a small squeeze of lemon juice (or a small dribble of dry white wine).

Method:

Heat the stock in a pan. Cook the asparagus for a couple of minutes in boiling water. Separate the tips of the asparagus from the stalks, keeping the heads to one side. Mince or finely chop the asparagus stems. Chop the shallot and garlic clove and mix with the asparagus stems. Grate the Parmesan. Roll the Parma ham into a cigar and slice into thin julienne strips to fry.  In a blender mix the peas, mint, basil, chilli, lemon zest and butter into a paste and leave to one side. (Not forgetting the glass of wine at hand to keep you going, everything should be ready).

Melt some butter in a pan with a splash of oil and add the shallot, garlic and asparagus stems. Fry the mixture until translucent. Add the Arborio rice and coat thoroughly before adding the first ladle of stock. Keep going until the rice is cooked and almost all the stock has been absorbed, in other words it is not completely dry.

Plate one:

Once the rice has absorbed the stock but still has a ‘bite’ to it add a knob of butter and most of the parmesan and stir. Finally add a glug of Vermouth or wine. Some people believe in adding the wine or vermouth before the stock however, I stick with the majority and add it at the end. Stir in or arrange the asparagus tips on top and serve with the remaining parmesan.

Plate two:

As the rice is absorbing the stock, in a separate frying pan, dry fry the Parma ham until it is crispy. Again, stir in the butter and most of the parmesan, a glug of Vermouth or wine and half of the ham. Again, serve by stirring in or arranging the tips of the asparagus and the ham in a decorative manner, topping with the remainder of the parmesan.

Plate three:

Not wanting to over gild a gilded lily, I have chosen small enough amounts to give enough balance in this version without drowning out the asparagus flavour altogether. So, just before serving add the pea butter mix and stir. Squeeze a hint of the lemon juice and arrange the tips accordingly. Add a small scattering of Parmesan.

Flavour wise the first risotto was good but to be honest, I put a little too much cheese in which did slightly subdue the flavour of the asparagus, thankfully, though, the heads ensured that some flavour remained. The overall result was a rich mix of stock, creaminess from the rice and cheese, cut through with the green freshness of the asparagus and a slight kick of the herbal wine, with enough bite to the rice and to the asparagus heads to give it some good textural contrasts.

The second was more my kind of dish; rich stock and creamy, nutty rice, vegetable freshness contrasting with slightly crispy, smoky, saline and sweet meat; hints of parmesan giving more cream to this plate and a sharp, headier, herbaceous wine rush adding to the stock flavour but reducing the chance of a cloying mouthful.

Finally, my version; the ‘experiment’ (should I have named it?) Given that a true Primavera would have broad beans as well as asparagus and peas this had a real mix of contrasts that balanced well.

There was just enough of the pea, basil and mint freshness to still get the softer more muted asparagus flavour, the taste was definitely cleaner and lifted it from the creamy stock, the lemon zest and small squeeze of juice also breaking down the richness. Gentle, warming chilli lingered in the mouth to give it a longer finish. Rich, yes, but also more-ish because of the ‘cooling’ herb and sharper lemony flavours.

I happily washed this down with Panizzi 2009 Vernaccia di San Gimignano. I am a huge fan of this man and his wines which are probably the best in San Gimignano. Subtle vegetal and pithier citrus flavours merge to complement the asparagus.

The ‘insulating’ warmth of the risotto, helped in part by the gentle heat of the chilli, is as comforting as any blanket for the cool night air, and my smile has spread almost as much as my waistline. Asparagus may be the food that signals spring has arrived, I think to myself in my armchair as I try hard to stay awake after my feast, but for now, I am ready to hibernate.

Little satisfaction in Little Venice

It is a cold, very cold night. Wisps of mist on the canal gain an ethereal quality from the reflection of the street lights. With foggy breath we hurriedly make our way over bridges and through the quiet streets of Little Venice towards The Warrington, a gastro pub belonging to the Gordon Ramsey group. No “pea souper” to add to the atmosphere but even so, it could almost have been romantic were we not shivering.

Buses, taxis, maybe a Boris Bike, the Bakerloo had closed, so arriving on time meant a twenty first century version of “Monte Carlo or Bust”. With all the chaos, two of the party were unable to make it without some Herculean attempt to cross London and, smile on my face, I was left to entertain the girlfriends.

I have to admit to being wary of gastro pubs. They leave me very confused. Is it a pub? Is it a restaurant? Is it a bird, a plane, etc?! I have experienced the joys of places like, for instance, the Canton Arms in Vauxhall, which served really excellent food, but that enjoyment was countered by the shock of the wine list prices which seem to take the pub into the realm of restaurants… or have I missed the point?

However, I overcome this inner turmoil as ‘F’ and I reach the door. Stepping through tile and terracotta, it is a veritable stage set of Edwardiana, oak framed mirrors, and some stained glass panes add to the cultured soft tones of gloominess. Hints of its history as a former brothel, art nouveau-esque swirls of reclining naked ladies on an ochre wall. As we pass upstairs into the warmth of the restaurant, it is almost possible to picture acrid fog of cigar smoke, to imagine the pianoforte hammering a popular tune in the background, to see bowler hatted gentlemen keenly lapping up the attention of louchely dressed young girls, while downing port or ale … no, you could. Really! I look around for Dick van Dyke.

We went for the Winter set menu. A nice basket of various home made breads were presented and consumed quickly. Wonderfully warm with the butter served on a small slate coaster. The waitress offered us more bread but we declined.

I tried a spoonful of the soup that one of us had ordered. White onion, Westcome cheddar and roasted almond soup. Wonderfully rich. Not too cheesy, a great stock flavour, nothing overwhelming the palate. A deliciously gentle combination of flavours.

However, I chose the Smoked ham hock, truffle potatoes, poached hens egg and mustard vinaigrette, in other words a Frisée aux lardons but in this case, with mixed baby leaves and potatoes.

I love this salad. It is one of my favourites. Simple and light, the smoky sweet and saline mix of pork, the prickly pepperiness of the salad leaves, and the cloying warmth of yolk from the poached egg broken down by that sharp wine vinegar acidity. Mopped up by fluffy bread, naturally.

My ham hock was really tender and flavoursome, just perfectly moist and moreish, hints of honey with the saltiness. The egg’s yolk was perfectly runny and hot. What is not to get wrong with this salad? Well, for me, there wasn’t enough sharpness of vinaigrette for my liking. I need that instant fix and cutting tang of a wine vinegar to break through the cloying yolk. Evidence of it was there with the small mustard grains but not enough to create an even balance. The truffle potato was indeed dark and nutty, strong in iron and floury, emphasising the greenness of the leaves.

I would have loved more, but had already eaten enough bread to become the face of Pilbury and was saving myself for the main course. Braised Dedham Vale feather blade with carrot purée, roasted field mushrooms. Chunks of slow cooked dark almost black beef in its jus, served with a shock of orange carrot and an earth coloured mushroom topped by vibrant green spinach.

The beef, apart from one rather tough and slightly dry chunk, was tender enough to break with the lightest touch of the fork. Perfectly rich in flavour. The carrot was sweet and earthy, and vibrantly appealing to the eyes. Spinach perfectly cooked, just wilted but slightly over salted. The flat mushroom, well it’s a mushroom isn’t it?

I was hungry and the ‘sensible’ portions now seemed to be rather light. I ended up feeling slightly, well, disappointed and wondering whether the à la Carte would have made any difference. Luckily, I had ordered some potatoes on the side which were nice and buttery though not nutty enough for me. However, they performed their remit and made up for the meat.

To go with this, we decided on a Côtes du Ventoux 2008 which although a bit cold at first, warmed up quickly to give tannic and berry flavours.

To finish, I was tempted by the Berry Panna Cotta with shortbread and berry compote but it was very hot in the restaurant and I was tired. We decided to move on to the coffee and short bread (an additional £3.50) instead. The coffee arrived but there was no short bread (although this omission was correctly reflected in the bill).

Shortbread aside, the attention to detail by the staff was really missing throughout the evening. And here is the rant: passing the card machine in front of my face to my friend instead of going behind me; spraying cleaner (a rather foul smelling one) and setting up of the next table while we were still drinking coffee (this at nearly half past ten); my coat lying on top of the drinks trolley at the top of the stairs rather than being put in a safe place (laid on top of glasses and next to a naked flame I should add, my bag on the floor beside it).

All these leave an impression that isn’t good. Friendly though it may be, and it was very amiable, there is no excuse for casual service, even if it is a pub, gastro pub, gastro pub restaurant, or whatever you wish to classify it as.

For value it was fine, really, fine. The bill was very reasonable, the food I ate was on the whole, good, well sourced and flavoursome, even if I was greedy for more. Stepping back into the freezing wind my coat, scarf and gloves were barely warm enough to combat the weather. So it was ironic then that The Warrington also left me feeling a bit cold, a feeling that it was just “fine, really fine”.

www.gordonramsay.com/thewarrington

Green Gold...

It is cold. No, it is really cold. A sub-zero cold with flurries blowing around in such a way that no matter the direction snow gets in the eyes and mouth. On top of which there is a tube strike. I should be gloomy. I should be heading home for an early night with warming cocoa (laced with rum, naturally) in a toasty warm environment. In fact, I should question my sanity in going out at all, but I have been invited to a tasting of the new harvest olive oil by Andre Dang and I am childishly excited.

Why? Well the venue, Valentina’s, is a glistening glass building that, with the Christmas lights and gleaming decorations, looks like a veritable box of delights. Added to that, the quirkiness of a Vespa in one window, and the two snow white Fiat 500s (one, an original and coveted by me) sitting outside. I am, in my superficial way, already in love.

As I walk in dressed like a knitted yeti, my eyes are (naturally) drawn beyond the food based gifts towards the wines sitting temptingly along a wall. The wine selection has been carefully chosen by Fabio (a member of the family that owns and runs Valentina’s) and having recognised a few labels I am almost tempted to go on a mad spending spree. They have an excellent selection of wine hampers to take the buyer on an individual oeno-tour of Italy, central, north and south, as well as the individual bottles on sale on line as well (I checked earlier online).

The delicatessen, with its selection of imported cheeses, meats and trattoria delicacies that is the heart of the business. Bags of pasta, Barilla and Di Cecco (Matthew Fort of the Guardian in his book, Eating Up Italy says that these are not only the biggest producers but most Italians consider them better than other rivals such as Bertorelli), Alessi designs and Olive wood gifts.

But we are here for the olive oil, the theme of the evening. To be exact, new harvest, first pressed olive oil from the farms around the foothills of Montecassino where the owners’ family are from and to be used in each savoury course. Unfiltered, luminescent green, cloudy oil. Herbaceous in flavour, with an instant grassy hit, lightly bitter and strongly peppery. It would have been enough just to lap it up with plain bread.

So, we sit to plates of Parmesan and olives. Big, juicy and fruity, olives that bring out the cheese’s creaminess. And indeed the cheese is creamy and moreish. 24 month matured Parmesan cheese broken onto the plate in small chunks with a slightly grainy, good saline and acid balance, mild in flavour.

The meal itself started with bruschetta and mozzarella appetisers. The bruschetta, simple and elegant: chopped tomatoes, and basil, topping a garlic rubbed crunchy crusted fresh bread with subtle hints of garlic, light, zingy and pleasurable. The mozzarella were in a bowl on the side. Small brilliant white balls sitting in a small pool of forest green oil; ping-pong sized and milky rich with a slight and very mild almost cottage cheese sourness; tangy and just elastically resistant to the bite.

A plate of shellfish arrives, scallops to be exact. Visually looking so good it was a shame to eat it. Seared scallops with golden tinged edges and translucent centre, covered in a crispy straw nest of shredded leeks, and sat on a bed of reduced cream and wine, peas and carrots in a Russian Salad array of colour, all drizzled with the new harvest olive oil. The scallops gave easily under the knife. Light hints of fish, wine and some citrus cut through the cream, breaking down the richness and flipping the tongue from peppery oil to sweeter cream to light seafood flavours making the diner feel addictively greedy for more. No surprise therefore that this is one of the top selling dishes.

Next a Sausage Risotto. An ocular feast of colour, tutti frutti colours of red pepper, parsley and the pinky fleshy sausage colour mixed with the whiteness of the Arborio rice and yellow sauce. Topped on this was a spoon filled with the olive oil to drizzle over the dish. Lemon acidity and tongue coating eggy creaminess of the stock (was egg used to help thicken and enrich it?), the fennel aromas of the sausage, hung for at least a day and soft and spongy to the bite, perfectly done. The nutty resistance of the Arborio rice, sweetened by the contrast and the peppery herbaceous edge of the oil helped in part by the pepper of the parsley. I am deliciously stuffed.

But wait! There is pudding. Pear poached in red wine with ice cream and a snow flurry of icing covering the plate, highly appropriate given the drop in temperature and the impending bad weather. The odd physallis and raspberry for garnish add to the continued theme of mixed colours. The pear’s grainy texture smoothed by a syrupy berry wine sauce and a swirl of the melting vanilla. Served hot, (not cold as I am used to) which, to me, helps bring out the sauce’s full flavours. Syrupy berry wine sauce, mixed with a creamy vanilla and the subtlest of subtle hints of chocolate that is melted into the sauce, giving it a smoky, richer and slightly cinnamon tinge.

With the meal I had a glass of the Verdicchio, Castel di Jesi 2009 (Yes, I had just the one!) Light on the nose with floral notes, vanilla creaminess contrasts with the crisp, lemon juice and lemon pith and flinty minerality, for balance.

At Valentina’s, detail is the key, subtle points that hint to real care, no, real love about what is being served and how it is served. I thoroughly enjoyed the invitation to Valentina’s and would recommend a visit, not only for the culinary experience but to feast your eyes on the wines, gifts and delicatessen foods that greet the visitor at the entrance.

As an aside: in the spirit of using this olive oil for my own ends and following the example given to me by Valentina’s, I made a salmon and scallop risotto (sadly all the herbs were frozen in the garden so I ended up using, ironically, frozen peas for a bit of green colour) finally drizzling a spoonful of Valentina’s ‘green gold’ for flourish to give pepper to the sweetness.

Photo's with grateful thanks to May of  the blog Slowfoodkitchen because I am a technophobe with my own phone!

Valentina's, 75 Upper Richmond Road, London SW15 2SR. http://www.valentinafinefood.com/ 020 8877 9906.

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.