Rice is nice

I imagine that if the people who went to school in Britain that have never eaten rice pudding met up somewhere, there probably wouldn't be enough of them to make a water polo team (I don't actually remember how many people there are in a water polo team, but I don't think it's very many). It is surely the quintessential school children's pudding, along with tapioca (frog spawn), spotted dick (if you went to school in the Victorian age), bananas and custard (if you were lucky), and poached pears in saffron syrup (if you went to private school).

The tapioca aversion I can understand, and whoever is responsible for inventing this stomach-turning excuse for a dessert - the sort of dessert that would make even the toughest boy in school's top lip start a-quivering and claiming infirmity - should be dragged by their dangly bits around the town while local school children bombard them with cabbages, hot bovril and gravel. But rice pudding, heavenly, comforting rice pudding, why the vitriol, eh? Everything about it is an absolute joy - the skin on top that you sort of feel shouldn't really be there, and is thus a little bit naughty; the oozy, creamy depth of soft grains of rice that coat your tongue with an ever so slightly savory hug; and, most wonderfully, the way you feel the diffusion of warmth from your mouth all the way down into your belly. It's like swallowing a radiator. In a good way.

Jam versus no jam, then....entirely up to you. You could leave the lemon zest out of this version and go for something tart like damson jam, or stick to the classic raspberry or strawberry (ah, the eternal conflict - surely raspberry wins hands down), or try something really controversial and see how you get on - nutella (not recommended), peanut butter, honey, red currant jelly? Go nuts, let me know how you get on.

Rice pudding

Serves 6

15g unsalted butter
1 vanilla pod
850 ml whole milk
60g pudding rice
(this milk/rice ratio will seem barmy to you, rest assured this is not a typo...)
Zest of half a lemon
A little freshly grated nutmeg
3 tablespoons caster sugar
100 ml double cream

Preheat the oven to 150C and butter an ovenproof dish, such as the one in the slightly dark photograph.

Put the milk in a saucepan, split the vanilla pod and add. Bring to just below a boil.

Next rinse your rice quickly under cold water and pop in the dish with a few little knobs of butter, the lemon zest, a pinch of nutmeg and the sugar. Pour over the milk and stir. Place in the oven and leave for an hour, removing to stir every fifteen minutes. Stir in the cream and cook for a further 15-20 minutes until the rice is fully tender.

Serve with raspberry jam, or honey, or something a little more bizarre, depending on the extent of your Christmas breakdown.

Happy Christmas, too! x

Stir in the cream

Moroccan feast

It's amazing how quickly your desires and cravings can shift, especially at this time of year. One minute you want mulled cider, mashed potato and rich, deep stews to stave off the cold, then before you know it, you can't look at another root vegetable without feeling bloated and overfed. I reached such a point yesterday. On Wednesday night we had jugged hare which was delicious and all, but there comes a time when enough is enough, and I just couldn't face doing another 'wintry' dish with the duck breasts I defrosted last night.

So we went Moroccan (ish) - there was no cinnamon or raisins, indeed there were very few bells and whistles, just good, informal salads and dips and wine and smiles. That's all you really need. It was a bit of a renaissance for me, actually. It's so easy to get into a complete frenzy trying to keep warm, then plate and serve your guests supper before it gets cold. My flatmate Sam is especially good at taking two plates through then standing there nattering to everyone while the food slowly drops in temperature and the mash congeals. This way is so much easier. Dishes that don't rely on being piping hot, and they don't even need 'plating'. Just stick everything on the table and let them go at it.

Duck, watercress and pomegranate salad

Duck ain't cheap, but this reduces the amount you need to serve people. You could do this very well with pigeon too. Indeed, your suggestions towards this dish are welcome, though I'm not sure it needs much fiddling with. I was tempted to sling in some pear, or toasted pine nuts too, but this is lovely in its simplicity.

Serves 6

4 duck breasts, fat removed (don't throw it away! render it over a medium heat in a saucepan and keep for christmas roasties)
1 pomegranate
100g watercress
olive oil
white wine vinegar

First get stuck into the pomegranate. It's a little time consuming, but it's a job to enjoy, not endure. There are a lot of jobs like this in the kitchen. If you look upon them as a chore then you're not doing yourself any favours, but if you stick some music on and enjoy a few quiet minutes of reflection then it turns into quite a pleasant task. Aaanyway, quarter the pomegranates and separate all the pith and membrane, keeping the pink pearls and chucking the rest.
To make the dressing, take a couple of tablespoons of pomegranate seeds and liquidize or chop. Whisk in about 30 ml of vinegar then 50 ml of oil. Taste and adjust. It shouldn't need seasoning.
Pat the duck breasts dry and season with salt and pepper. Heat a little olive oil over a high heat until it's thinking about smoking, and pop in the duck. How long you cook it for both depends on the size of the breasts and how you like them cooked. These were pretty small, so I did 3 minutes a side, but the sort of breasts you see in butchers shops might need double that. I'd suggest cooking for 5 minutes and turning. Give the breast a prod with a finger after a minute or two. If it's slightly firm to the touch you're about right.
Put on the carving board and rest for a few minutes. Put the watercress on a serving plate, slice the duck and lay on top. Scatter with pomegranate seeds and then drizzle with the dressing.

Cous cous with roast squash, feta and mint

Serves 6

1 medium squash
100g cherry tomatoes
2 red chillies
250g cous cous
100g feta
A good handful of fresh mint

Preheat the oven to 200C.

Peel and deseed the squash. Chop into chunks and place on a roasting tray. Drizzle with oil, season and roast for 40 minutes. Add the cherry tomatoes and roast for a further 10 minutes. Pour 300 ml of boiling water over the cous cous, stir, cover and leave for 5 minutes. Meanwhile deseed and finely slice the chillies, crumble the feta and chop the mint. Stir into the cous cous with the squash and cherry tomatoes and season with salt and pepper.

Baba ganoush

Serves 6

2 large aubergines
Juice of a lemon
Chilli powder
100g Tahini
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 200C.

Turn on two gas hobs, prick the aubergines all over with a fork and place them directly onto the flame. Char for about 15 minutes, turning occasionally. This gives the baba ganoush a wonderful smokey flavour. Pop in the oven and cook for 40 minutes or so, until completely tender. Remove and cool.

Peel the skin off the aubergine and cut in half lengthways. Scoop out the seeds and discard. Put in a magimix with the lemon juice, a pinch of chilli powder, the tahini and salt and pepper. Blend, pouring in about 50 ml of olive oil as you go. Leave to cool and serve.

Eat the whole lot with some flatbreads from my August blog, or some warm pitta breads. A light, nourishing, warming, heavenly supper. And not a potato in sight.

Recipe index needed

After a suggestion from a friend I'm trying to work out how I can stick up a recipe index on the blog as well as the 'Blog Archive'...the label thing is about as close as I have managed but I don't think it's ideal - any thoughts, people? x

Cold nights, so long...

Blimey it's cold. I returned from a scintillating Italian oral class yesterday and practically fell upon the washing up, principally as a means of warming my ruddy hands. It's the sort of weather that calls for hot, spicy soup. Soup that warms the heart and puts a spring in your step. And there is proper stock in the fridge from last week's roast chicken, a more successful stock than that of some friends...

On Sunday night I went to their house for roast chicken, a real treat after an academically unproductive but quite 'heavy' weekend. I discovered the next morning that they had forgotten about the stock they put on and left it overnight, waking the next morning to a flat that was practically vibrating with the stench of charred chicken carcass. The place now has a police line around it.

Anyway, the soup....you might want to add a tin of tomatoes to this just to add another layer - I almost reckon you should, I just didn't have one at the time.

Spiced pepper and lentil soup

Serves 2-3

1 small onion, peeled and roughly chopped
1/2 teaspoon hot chilli powder
2 peppers (red, yellow, orange all fine - avoid green)
100g red lentils
1 tin of tomatoes
750ml hot chicken or vegetable stock (cubed is grand)
Salt, pepper and sugar
Yoghurt to finish

Heat a little oil in a saucepan and add the onion. Season and cook, covered, over a gentle heat for 5 minutes or so. Remove the lid and increase the flame. Stir in the chilli powder for 30 seconds, then add the peppers, lentils and tomatoes. Stir for a minute or two to get them going, then add the stock. Season with a little sugar, bring to the boil and simmer for 30-40 minutes, until the lentils are fully cooked (no al dente here, please) and liquidize. Taste for seasoning and serve with a blob of yoghurt. Will keep a human body warm for 1-2 hours. Top up as needed.

Braised oxtail with polenta and gremolata

You could certainly argue that oxtail is up there with belly pork as one of the big guns in the sensation that is the slow food movement. I'd actually never cooked it before, but this seemed the right way to cook something like this, and with the polenta it becomes an unbelievably hearty supper. The gremolata really gives it a zip, cutting through the richness of the meat. Savoy cabbage with fennel would make a good accompaniment.

Serves 4

For the oxtail
8 hearty chunks of oxtail
Plain flour
1 onion, finely chopped
2 carrots, finely diced
2 sticks celery, finely diced
1 clove garlic, sliced
200ml red wine
600ml hot beef or chicken stock
A bay leaf
A handful of rosemary
For the gremolata
50 g flat leaf parsley
The zest of a lemon
1 clove garlic, peeled and finely chopped
For the polenta
200g quick cook polenta
800ml water
40g grated Parmesan

Preheat the oven to 170C.

Pat the oxtail with flour and season generously. Heat a little oil in a casserole or large saucepan. Brown the meat for a minute or two on each side, this will aid the intense richness of the sauce that is so vital. Remove the meat and set aside, then add the vegetables and stir for 5 minutes until lightly caramelised. Add the wine and stir, scraping up all the meat juices from the pan. Simmer for a minute then add the herbs and return the meat to the pan. Pour over the hot stock, cover and bring to the boil. Cook in the oven for 2-3 hours, until the meat is falling off the bone.

Remove the meat and the herbs. Liquidize the cooking liquor thoroughly and return to the pan. Reduce over a medium heat until thickened. Once again return the meat to the proceedings and keep warm.

Finely chop the parsley and add the lemon zest and garlic. To make the polenta, bring the water to the boil and pour in the polenta slowly, whisking as you go. Whisk over a low heat for 1 minute, stir in the parmesan, and serve immediately with the braised oxtail and the gremolata sprinkled on top.

Return of the larder lout

I can't believe it has been over a month since my last post. I'm embarrassed. How has this happened, you might ask, though it is more likely that you actually haven't noticed my lack of posts as you have had far better things to do - because a lot has happened in the last month. Hallowe'en, bonfire night, Remembrance Sunday, England beating Germany, and apparently there has been some sort of election in the States. Indeed, with the economic hysteria increasing evermore in intensity, it really feels like world has changed a lot since that chicken curry.

The world of a Bristol final year student has not changed a great deal. A mountain of work and the fact that I still don't have any internet at the flat is responsible for the dearth of postings. Please don't think that I ain't been cooking, though. We have been eating famously, and perhaps one day all the new discoveries will make their meandering way onto this blog. We've had cauliflower cheese with crumbled doritos on top (unbelievably good); pigeon with roast jerusalem artichokes; pumpkin risotto....the list goes on, and we are utterly beholden to Riverford Organic Veg for giving us such inspiration.

This recipe is a really surprising delight. Super simple and comforting, yet surprisingly light. A cracking Saturday lunch.

Potato cakes with brussel sprouts and bacon

Serves 2

2 medium floury potatoes
40 ml whole milk
20g butter
1 teaspoon English mustard
A good handful of Brussels sprouts, cut in half
4 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, diced
Soy sauce

Peel the potatoes and chop into chunks. Bring to the boil in salted water and boil until cooked. About 20 minutes. Drain and set aside. In the same pan heat the milk over a gentle flame. Add the spuds and mash them thoroughly. Add the butter and mustard, salt and pepper and whip furiously. Leave to cool for half an hour.

Pat the mash into two cakes. Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a frying pan and add the bacon and sprouts. Cook over a medium high heat, stirring regularly, till the bacon is crispy and sprouts cooked through. Transfer to a warm bowl and drizzle with a little soy sauce. In the same pan fry the potato cakes for 3-4 minutes on each side, till brown and crisp. Serve with the sprouts and bacon.

Heston in da house!

If you have ever watched Heston Blumenthal (of Fat Duck fame)'s programme 'In Search of Perfection' you will be aware of the frankly ridiculous lengths he goes to in order to find the perfect dish of chilli con carne, peking duck, or whatever -

To achieve the perfect roast chicken, you must first take a bath, wearing the chicken as a shower cap - this really helps to keep the bird moist, as well as giving it that faint 'Head and Shoulders' whiff that really adds so much to a roast lunch. Next season the chicken by standing at the bottom of a stairwell and getting a mate whose name is either Bruno or Malcolm (other names don't work as well) to sprinkle freshly ground black pepper and salt (that you have crystallised from the waters of the Aegean sea that morning) from at least three floors up. Next turn the oven on by getting on your knees and doing it with your teeth (no one wants suds on the oven knob), before stuffing an onion that you have peeled and played cricket with and a lemon that is exactly 8.9cm in diameter up the chicken's rear end. Now you can start preparing the chicken....

That sort of thing.

But seriously, Heston, of whom I'm a huge fan, really drills home the idea that however good a recipe is, it can always be refined. As a home cook I just think you need to draw the line at where cooking stops being enjoyable, and starts being a complete nightmare.

Take chicken curry. I probably make this, in one shape or other (though usually just the one) about once a month. Standard, peaceful procedure. Grind a random combination of cumin, coriander, cardamom, clove, cinnamon, turmeric, ginger, garlic and chilli powder. Add it to sweating onions, add some coconut milk, tin tomatoes, chopped chillies and reduce. Liquidize if you can be arsed. Add chicken, cook, serve with rice. And I love it. It's really pretty good. But it could be so much better. I usually find that, while the sauce is the right consistency at first, the liquid leaking from the chicken waters it down, so I need to fart around taking out the meat with a slotted spoon and reducing it further. Until last night, that is...

Perfect chicken, lentil and butternut squash korma

This is a little hotter than your average korma. Deseed the chillies if you want it milder, but don't then rub your eyes. Or your balls.

Serves 6

5 large chicken breasts
20g fresh coriander
2 fresh red chillies
1 plump clove of garlic, peeled
Half a teaspoon ground cumin
Juice of half a lemon
A good slug of olive oil
A large onion, peeled and sliced
10 cardamom pods
2 cloves
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 teaspoon cumin seed
2 teaspoons ground turmeric
1 teaspoon hot chilli powder
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tin coconut milk
2 tablespoons tomato puree
300 ml chicken stock
100g lentils
A small butternut squash, peeled, deseeded and chopped into chunks

Chop the chicken into large chunks and place in a bowl. Put the coriander, chillies, garlic, lemon juice, cumin, olive oil and a little salt in a food processor. Blend thoroughly. Add to the chicken, stir well to coat the meat, cover and leave in a fridge for a couple of hours, or preferably overnight.

Preheat the oven to 210C.

In olive oil, sweat the onion in a large pan. Meanwhile remove the seeds from the cardamom and discard the pods, or save to boil with the rice. Grind with the cloves, coriander and cumin seeds, and add the turmeric, chilli powder, ginger and cinnamon. Increase the heat in the saucepan, stir the onions for 2 minutes then add the spices. Stir for a further minute then add the coconut milk, tomato puree and stock. Bring to the boil and stir in the lentils and squash. Season with salt and pepper, cover and simmer over a low heat for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

After 20 minutes, tip the chicken and marinade into an oven proof dish and bake for 25 minutes. Check the consitency of the squash and lentil component and simmer uncovered until reduced, if necessary. Add the chicken, stir through and serve with basmati rice and a glass of cold beer or a punchy red wine (Shiraz would be good).

Sam's Marquess Chicken

I have never been a massive fan of sweet chilli sauce, finding it too much 'sweet' and not enough 'chilli'. It seemed to be the sort of sauce that people used to pretend they could make things taste good when in fact they were just shaking a bottle full of E numbers over a piece of meat and calling it 'authentic Thai cookery'. Until my flatmate Sam produced a bottle of Lingham's Sweet Chilli Sauce and cooked this delicious recipe of his Dad's last week, and my opinion was changed forever. Stirred into some homemade mayonnaise to go with chips or chicken wings, added to a curry paste or used in a marinade, Linghams is a far superior sauce to its Blue Dragon counterpart.

Serves 2

Two chicken breasts, boneless and skinless
Olive oil
Linghams sweet chilli sauce
Garlic, crushed
Soy sauce
Fresh coriander, chopped
Lemon juice
Salt and pepper

Slice the chicken breasts into diagonal strips and place in a bowl. Pour over a generous slug of olive oil and add the remaining ingredients to taste. Stir well together, cover and marinade in the fridge for a couple of hours. Get a non stick frying pan nice and hot and add the chicken and a hefty measure of the marinade. Fry until the chicken is cooked (5-7 minutes) and the marinade has reduced and is lovely and sticky. Serve with buttered broccoli and some boiled rice (or rice with sweetcorn, as pictured).

Beetroot and horseradish gratin

My apologies for the lack of posts lately. This is not due to any laziness or culinary inertia on my part, only down to the fact that we are yet to get internet in the flat yet, and so any 'blogging' is done in the library when I should really be doing more important things (like now). But Rabelais can wait. Last night we treated ourselves to roast beef (TIP - do your shopping on Sunday afternoon, when supermarkets need to get rid of things like meat and you get some seriously good deals), with which we had what I can only describe as the best vegetable accompaniment to beef I have ever eaten. If you think you have one better, send me the recipe and I'll add it to this.

Serves 4

750 g raw beetroot, washed and trimmed
150 ml cream
150 ml whole milk
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon of fresh thyme leaves
2 tablespoons horseradish sauce
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 200C.

Whisk together the cream, milk, garlic, thyme and horseradish, and season with salt and pepper.

Slice the beetroot 1/2 cm thick and lay a layer in the bottom of an ovenproof dish. Pour over a little horseradish mixture, then add another layer of beetroot. Continue just so until you have used all the ingredients, and bake in the oven for 1 hour until pink juices are bubbling at the sides and the kitchen is filled with a heavenly aroma of earthy beetroot, peppy horseradish and heady garlic. Serve with thin slices of roast beef.

Organic vegetables and a punchy soup

You are probably aware by now that something is afoot in the atmosphere, and there are rumblings from Toyota Pious drivers everywhere that it might even be our fault, and that we should be doing our best to make a change. It's a bit of a moral nightmare for most of us. For every cause that we support, for every time we walk instead of drive, or for every shower we take instead of bath, there is always someone rolling their eyes and telling us that we could be doing more. While finding eco-piety utterly nauseating there is no escaping the fact that these people are unequivocally right (perhaps part of the reason for the nausea). It can be quite daunting.

I would gingerly suggest that the current economic climate might go some way to aiding the ecological one. The implications of driving everywhere or leaving the lights on are no longer focused on the effect your wastage is having on the environment, but also on your wallet. We now have two reasons for being careful with our energy. And this can only be a good thing.

So what can we do to stay green in the kitchen? Well, the possibilities are endless - use the oven as little as possible, keep your fridge at the right temperature, avoid the dishwasher, buy a pressure cooker. But my big beef is with supermarket vegetables, so I have started getting an organic vegetable box delivered weekly to the flat. In my box were, amongst other things, sweet potatoes and broccoli. Local, organic, in season. In the supermarket these had come from Israel and Kenya. Alarm bells are ringing. Can you sit down with a clear conscience and eat greens that are so clearly not green at all? The ecological effect of imported produce is terrifying, not to mention the fact that it cripples our own farmers (oh, I just did).

The quality of my local veg is, needless to say, remarkably better than its supermarket counterparts, but, as I have pointed out, we're now more wary of our wallets than ever, so I think it's only fair to compare prices. I can't start harping on about buying local organic ingredients when you can get them for half the price in the shops. So I dismount from my high horse and get out my calculator. Long story short, the equivalent (in weight and size, not quality) vegetables came to just under a pound cheaper in total than the organic box. Now, if this is the difference between you sleeping on the street and having a roof over your head, then fine. If not, have a think about what you're doing next time you reach for Brazilian beans.



Perhaps the most majestic of the Gourd family, the butternut squash, is sitting proudly in my box. Unwilling to go through the rigmarole of peeling the thing, I cleaver it in half down the middle, pull out the seeds and roast it with some garlic. The result is a rich, intense and velvety soup. Just try not to feel too guilty about using the oven - it's a cooking blog for Pete's sake, it's going to come into play at some point.

Roast butternut squash soup

Serves 6

1 large butternut squash
1 head of garlic
1 onion, peeled and chopped
1 1/2 litres chicken stock

Preheat the oven to 200C.

With a large knife (with a small one you will find this nigh on impossible) cut the squash straight down the middle and pull out the seeds. Cut the garlic in half horizontally and put half in each scoop of the squash. Season generously with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Roast for an hour and a half until it is as soft as an over-ripe peach and deliciously brown at the edges.

Leave to cool a little while you soften the onion in a little oil in a large saucepan. Scoop out the amber flesh from the squash, discarding the skin and half the garlic. Add the squash to the pan and squidge out the roast garlic into it also. Add the stock and simmer for 5 minutes. Blend thoroughly (make sure the soup is really hot at this point, which helps to ensure a smooth soup) and serve with a swirl of cream and some crusty bread.

Sausage ragu with penne

The combination of sausage and pasta is one I deal with probably once a month. This might be because I am a greedy fatty who doesn't consider it a meal if an animal hasn't perished in the process, or it might just be because there is something utterly sublime about the way pork mince hugs a pasta noodle like an over-affectionate aunt, or nestles inside a tube of penne, generously offering itself as a little self-made pig in blanket (or perhaps just hiding from my hungry gaze). There is just something so perfect, so comforting about sausage pasta, in any shape or form.

A traditional beef ragu often contains minced pork anyway, a real treat in itself and adding a lot of interest to a standard Bolognese sauce (try it next time you knock up a spag bol) but it is often lean and therefore tends to dry out a little when cooked on its own. The beauty of sausage is that it is a mixture of both meat and fat (hence the bingo wings on many a full English-noshing lorry driver) and so doesn't have the same inclination to dry out.

One of my favourite versions of the sausage pasta is a Nigel Slater concoction, whereby you sweat a chopped onion, add your sausage meat, some white wine, grainy mustard and cream and simmer for 10 minutes or so before stirring in lots of fresh chopped parsley. It's almost unbeatable, and very quick.

This recipe requires little more of your own time, just some more cooking time.

Sausage ragu with penne

Serves 4

1 onion, peeled and finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
2 carrots, peeled and diced
1 stick of celery, diced
a handful finely chopped parsley
a sprig of rosemary, leaves pulled off and finely chopped
6-8 plump sausages
150 ml red wine
1 tin chopped tomatoes
1 bay leaf
Some freshly grated Parmesan

Heat a little oil over a low heat and add the onion, garlic, carrots and celery. Season and cover. Cook for 30 minutes over the lowest heat you can muster, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, slit the skin of the sausages and remove the meat, discarding the suspicious looking membrane. When the vegetables (the soffritto it is known as in Italy - that's one to impress the ladies, ahem) are completely softened increase the heat and stir in the herbs. Stir for a couple of minutes before adding the sausage meat. Crush with a fork and stir for a further 5 minutes until the meat is completely broken up. Add the wine and simmer for a couple more minutes, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat and add the tomatoes and bay leaf. Simmer for 30 minutes. Stir in 400g penne that you have cooked according to pack instructions, and serve in warmed bowls with a sprinkle of parmesan and a little more chopped parsley.

Chicken noodle soup

Yes yes, I know - more bloody chicken (and 'where's a pudding recipe?' I hear you scream), but come on, roast chicken is something we all encounter a couple of times a month, so it's good to have some top notch leftover recipes up your sleeve. I am still down in Sussex at a friend's house (hence the lack of recent entries) endeavouring to write some music, where we have been fed incredibly well by his Mum. Her roast chicken is sensational, with slippery and caramelised roast onions. We are left to our own devices the following day however, and seeing as there is a lot of roast chicken left and the weather has turned cold a zingy soup is clamoured for. We reckon we're the most gourmet band in the world.

If you don't have any leftover roast chicken (and why should you?) do this with 4 sliced chicken breasts simmered in the broth for 7-8 minutes. I do actually think roast chicken is much better for this, though, with a better texture and flavour. This is also excellent with prawns. Simmer in the broth until pink and firm.

Serves 4-6 easily

For the stock

Leftover chicken carcasses, with plenty of meat on them if possible
2 litres water
a splash of white wine
an onion, peeled and sliced
a stick of celery, sliced
a carrot, chopped into chunks
a few peppercorns

For the rest

2 red onions, peeled and sliced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced
4 birds eye chillies, sliced (seeds left in)
a thumb of ginger peeled and thinly sliced
a stick of lemongrass, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons soy sauce
a big handful of beansprouts
a packet of udon noodles
a good handful roughly chopped coriander

To make the stock, strip all the meat from the carcass and keep for the soup. With your hands, break up the bones into smaller bits. Put your roasting tray on a high heat and add the onion, celery and carrot. Stir for a couple of minutes, adding oil if necessary (the fat from the roasting should perform this task, however). Add the bones and continue to colour over a high heat for five minutes, stirring occasionally. Add a good splash of white wine and scrape up the juices. Transfer the contents to a saucepan, cover with water and add the peppercorns. Bring to a boil and simmer, with the lid off, for 2-3 hours. Pass through a fine sieve and set the stock aside.

Heat a little oil over a low heat in a large saucepan. Add the onions and garlic and stir for a couple of minutes until softened. Add the chillies, ginger and lemon grass, increase the heat and stir for a further two minutes. Pour in the stock and bring to a simmer. Add the soy, beansprouts, noodles and your leftover chicken and simmer for 3 minutes or so. Add the chopped coriander and taste for seasoning. Serve in warm bowls.

A glut of tomatoes

It's getting to the time of year when you might, if you're very lucky, have a bundle of tomatoes leftover and, if you're unlucky, slowly edging towards a state of inedibility in the larder. I'm not going to pretend you're having a headache about what to do with them, as there are a million freezable things to do with a tomato. Pasta sauce bases are the obvious ones - in Italy they might set three or four days aside for the annual tomato prulping, dragging dusty machines from the cupboards that will skin and seed the fruits quicker than you can say 'penne alla arabbiata' (not that quick, then) and making enough passata to last till the following autumn.

But I can't be doing with the faffing about of skinning and seeding the things. It's certainly worth it in some circumstances. A tomato salad, for example, is improved immeasurably by being skinless. To peel a tomato, by the way, you want to cut a cross in the skin at the base of the fruit, pour boiling water over it and leave to sit for a minute or two - a riper tomato shouldn't need more than a minute. Drain the water, allow to cool and pull off the skin. But I'm not doing that now, because it's a weekday evening and I can't be arsed. I just want something quick and delicious to go with the sea bass I am eating for supper. This recipe can be made in the quantities you are dealing with - it's really a case of approximation, feeling your way through quantities. This is for 500g tomatoes or so, but if you have 5 kg, go for it. As long as you are careful with the vinegar and chilli you will be fine. The jam is absolutely delicious with fish, sausages, cold meat, or added to a pasta sauce.

Oh, another note on tomatoes. They are best kept as far away from the fridge as possible. Picture biting into a cold tomato - not very nice eh? Hard and insipid, not exactly an enjoyable mouthful. Stored at room temperature, or even above (as, of course, it would be on the vine) a tomato will ripen, redden, and be a completely different eating experience.

Tomato chilli jam

2 tablespoons olive oil
4 sprigs rosemary
2 cloves garlic (unpeeled)
500g tomatoes, cut into chunks
50 ml red wine vinegar
200 ml red wine
1 teaspoon chilli flakes
1 tablespoon sugar
salt and pepper

In a non stick pan, heat the oil over a medium heat and add the rosemary and garlic. Stir for a minute or two and add the tomatoes, vinegar, wine, sugar and chilli flakes. Season well with salt and pepper and bring to a strong simmer. Leave to bubble away for 20-30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the liquid has reduced completely and you have a thick, dark, unctuous consistency. Taste for seasoning, and add a little more sugar if necessary. Serve hot or cold.

Hot chicken curry for a mild(ish) evening

Once again there is a chicken from the farm defrosting for supper. Large (almost a small turkey), and organically raised, the skin is a light yellowish hue, and the legs are big enough to knock someone out, or at least chew on and pretend that you are a hobbit eating a partridge leg. And the flavour is phenomenal. I don't have to tell you that a bird that has been raised scratching around in the outdoors, eating grass, grain and vegetable scraps and living for 3 months before being killed and hung for 2 weeks is going to taste a hell of a lot better than birds that are intensively reared, given growth promoters and killed after 6 weeks before being stuffed in polythene and shipped off to a shelf. It really is worth spending an extra few quid on a decent chicken, both in terms of promoting animal welfare and eating meat that isn't full of antibiotics (and actually tastes of something).

I am tempted to roast the chicken, but as eagle-eyed readers will know I roasted a chicken a couple of weeks ago. So I joint the bird, keeping the carcass and wings for stock, and the legs for lunch, and cut the breasts and thigh meat into chunks. The likelihood is that you will, as I usually do, just buy the meat ready-jointed so we'll work on that premise...

Chicken madras

Serves 4

1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
10 cardamom pods
2 cloves
1 teaspoon turmeric
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 medium red onions, sliced
2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 green chillies, sliced (seeds removed if you prefer it less spicy!)
1 tin chopped tomatoes
1 tin coconut milk
8 boneless and skinless chicken thighs, cut into chunks

To remove the seeds from the cardamom, crush the green pods under the back of a spoon and pull out the little black seeds. Save the pods to simmer with your rice, and crush the coriander and cumin seeds with the cardamom and cloves. Sweat the onion and garlic over a low heat in a little olive oil or butter, increase the heat and add the crushed spices plus the turmeric, cinnamon and chillies. Stir for a couple of minutes and add the tomatoes. Season with salt and a little sugar. Reduce the heat and simmer for 5-7 minutes. Pour the sauce into a magimix and blend thoroughly, then return to the pan (via a sieve if you can be arsed). Stir in the coconut milk, bring to a gentle simmer and add the chicken. Simmer for 8-10 minutes till the chicken is cooked*. Garnish with chopped coriander and serve with basmati rice.

*You may well find at this point that the sauce is thinner than you prefer. If so, remove the chicken with a slotted spoon, increase the heat, and simmer till reduced to desired consistency.

The best cheese on toast I have ever eaten...

It's about time the onion was appreciated more. It's not just a base to a soup or stew. It's not just something French people drape over their shoulders and cycle around with all day long. And it's not just the thing your weird neighbour's house smells of, even though you have never actually seen them with an onion. It is one of the most gloriously versatile vegetables around. Baked slowly in the oven it is slippery and gently aromatic; finely sliced into a tomato salad it is crunchy and clean; or chopped and simmered for hours with red wine, sugar and vinegar it makes a fantastic accompaniment to cheese or cold meat. Huzzah for the onion!

On Saturday I made an onion tart, the making of which I won't go into right now. Right now I'm all about the onion, of which I sliced four large ones (not too thinly - you want some bite to the onion in an onion tart) and melted a large knob of butter in a heavy bottomed saute pan. I stirred in the onion, seasoned generously with salt and pepper, covered and cooked over a very low heat for about an hour, stirring occasionally. When completely soft, gooey and golden the lid was removed and I added a tablespoon or so of thyme leaves (dried would be fine if that's all you have), increased the heat and cooked uncovered for a further 15 minutes, stirring regularly.

Having made the tart there was still a little onion left. The lunch that followed was a modest, yet utterly self-indulgent feast.

You will need:

A couple of slices of good bread
Grainy mustard
A couple of tablespoons of slow-cooked onion
A good handful of mature cheddar, grated
Worcestershire sauce

Preheat the grill to high.

Toast the bread in the toaster. Spread some mustard over each slice, followed by a good dollop of onion, which you will spread to the edges. Add a handful of cheese and pop under the grill until lightly brown on top. Remove to a plate, add a couple of shakes of Worcestershire sauce and scoff.

The Royal Well Tavern

I think I have found the best restaurant in the country. Honestly. I'm quite fussy at times, and I do think it is important to be objective about restaurants - to analyse why you did or didn't like a place, what was good, what was bad, and so on. But I can not think of a single bad thing to say about this place. Everything about it was complete perfection.

I went for lunch with my Mum, sister and brother yesterday, and in a small way my life changed forever. After ordering a pint of Tribute at the bar we were shown to our table where we found, to my complete wonderment, a jug of iced water already waiting. I have never, ever seen that before. To boot, there was proper sea salt in a little bowl, and a pepper grinder - items that you seldom see in any restaurant. The real spank-my-arse-and-call-me-Charlie touch was the pot of cornichons (mini gherkins) on the table. Unbelievable! I bloody love cornichons - undoubtedly the best thing to nibble at with a drink. As we mulled over the menu (I am awful with menus - super indecisive) we were brought bread - not just plonked on the table, but offered to us from a basket that they were handing round to everyone - a lovely touch that showed you got well looked after without the service being invasive, which was how things went throughout lunch.

Sam, the Maitre d', was informative, funny (without trying to be a cruise-ship entertainer) and generally very helpful. Our crippling indecision over a menu that was making me froth at the mouth led to us asking for a surprise from the kitchen. Turned out to be the best bit of ordering I've ever done. The first surprise came before the starters in the shape of four bits of grilled chorizo (possibly my favourite sausage) on chickpea puree, which we yomped down. The surprise starters arrived soon afterwards - the Terrine de campagne with celeriac remoulade and (absolutely delicious) toast was what it said on the tin, and what else would you ask of it? Classics don't need faffing, it was cracking. We played musical plates with our starters, the next one coming to me being baked cherry tomatoes with goat's cheese and mint, the tomatoes popping in your mouth and oozing with the creaminess of the cheese, and then the cleansing minty finish; then a delightfully smoky taramasalata on toast followed by a simple, toothsome and very French green bean salad.

After the mayhem of the musical plates our mains arrived. My lamb cutlets were crisp and salty and a deep medium rare, and served with a smashing ratatouille and anchoide (an anchovy paste of sorts, anchovy and lamb being quite magnificent bed partners). Mum had a really lovely chicken dish that came with a sweetcorn pancake - an inspired idea and absolutely scrumptious. My sister's poached sea trout with brown shrimps, samphire and beurre noisette was so good that, having convinced herself that there was no more room at the inn, she picked the last bit of trout out of the waiter's hand as he walked away. And I don't think I have seen a better looking steak than the one my brother greedily devoured, that came with an enormous bowl of golden frites, the lucky bugger.

Everything possible has been thought of in this place - there is a smoking exit signed out the back, so that you don't arrive at the place and have to walk through a plume of cigarette smoke, and apparently there were lillies and proper towels in the ladies' loo. And who said French food was fussy? Humphrey Fletcher's cooking is simple, infinitely tasty and very, very clever. I can't wait to go back.

The Royal Well Tavern is, by the way, in Cheltenham, on Royal Well Place. The phone number is 01242221212, I suggest you give 'em a bell.

Leftover chicken

Yes indeed, leftovers are quite the hip thing nowadays. Our Prime Minister has given us a ruddy good wrist-slapping (and rightly so) about the appalling amount of food wasted each year by us Brits, and so it's about time we thought twice before a) buying something or b) throwing it away.

There are 101 things you can do with a leftover chicken - stick it in a sandwich with some baby gem lettuce, tomatoes and mayonnaise; toss it through some pasta with broccoli, lemon juice and olive oil; add it to a risotto with mushrooms, or have it in a salad with some croutons, caesar dressing and shaved parmesan - yum!

But it's still raining, and all I want for lunch is hot soup. It's worth having proper stock for soup - there's nothing wrong with cubed, but a homemade stock is pretty irreplaceable. Making a stock is easy and an excellent way to use every last bit of the bird. Strip the remaining meat from the carcass (this will go in your soup) and put the carcass in a medium saucepan. Cover with water. Add half an onion, a carrot, a stick of celery, a couple of bay leaves, a few peppercorns and, if you have any left, gravy (a lot of people use a clove or two as well - I find their flavour a little bossy). Bring to a boil and simmer for 2 hours. Drain through a sieve and either freeze or use for a risotto or soup, like this one.

If smooth, rich chicken soup is your thing then this ain't it - but it might convert you. This is very simple, rustic broth. Pearl barley is a really lovely grain, and also makes an excellent risotto-style dish. You can find it in most supermarkets these days, and certainly in health food shops.

Chicken and pearl barley broth

Serves 6

1 large onion, peeled and finely chopped
1 stick celery, trimmed and finely chopped
200g pearl barley
2 litres hot chicken stock
As much leftover chicken as you have, shredded


Heat a little oil over a low heat in a large saucepan and stir in the onion and celery. Season, cover and soften for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally. Increase the heat and stir in the pearl barley, then add the stock. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer gently for an hour or so, until the barley is soft. Add the chicken and simmer for a further 5 minutes before serving. This soup is excellent done in advance and reheated.

Chickening out

I'm surprised more songs haven't been written about roast chicken. Plenty of good songs about whiskey (Doors 'Alabama Song', Van Morrison 'Moonshine Whiskey'); good songs about bakery (Rolling Stones 'Brown Sugar', The Beatles 'Honey Pie' (not one of their best)) and, of course, Kings of Leon stunning ode to the dairy cow, 'Milk'; but dammit, I can't find a single song about roast chicken. What the hell is going on? Arguably the most perfect, beautiful, and, dare I say, sexy thing to put in front of someone and no one has bothered to strum two notes about it.

Because is there anything more perfect than a well roasted chicken? A juicy steak, charred on the edges, bloody in the middle, might be challenging for a bronze, and sure, a leg of lamb roasted medium rare, on the right day will take the silver no problem (I really hope you're enjoying my Olympic metaphor here), but nothing can put a smile on my face quite as consistently as a chicken fresh from the oven - the earthy undertones of herbs, the pungency of the lemon you have stuffed up its bottom, and the pop and crackle of the skin make it the ultimate crowd pleaser - the 'Brown Sugar' of the meat world?

In terms of bells and whistles I think a chicken responds extremely well to most seasoning, within reason - by this I mean a variety of herbs, garlic, shallots or onions etc etc...I do not mean pineapple or apricots. What I happen to do on this occasion is largely due to what I have at hand - although the unpeeled shallots are a Nigella Lawson touch, and an excellent one.

Roast chicken

Serves 4

A medium sized free range organic chicken
15 shallots
2 heads garlic
a handful of rosemary, thyme and tarragon
half a lemon
Olive oil
100ml vermouth or white wine
100ml water

Preheat the oven to 200C (fan 190C).

Make sure you take the bird out of the fridge an hour before cooking. Putting a cold bit of meat in a hot oven only lengthens the cooking time (quite considerably if it is a large bird). Season the bird inside and out with salt and pepper and stuff the herbs and lemon up its backside. Place it in a roasting dish and throw the (unpeeled) shallots around it. Cut the garlic heads in half horizontally and add to the tin. Drizzle liberally with olive oil, both the shallots, garlic and the chicken, and place in the oven for an hour.

Pierce the thigh, if the juices run clear you have a cooked chicken. Remove it, the shallots and the garlic to a warm plate to rest, and place the roasting tin over a medium heat. Add the vermouth and scrape up all the lovely juices from the chicken. Add the water and simmer for 5 minutes till desired consistency. (If you like a thicker gravy, whisk in a tablespoon flour).

Carve the bird and serve with the gravy and a couple of shallots, and whatever vegetables you are having.

Spiced flatbreads

Just about every time I bake I ask myself the question 'why don't I do this every day?', before vowing that, from this day forth, I shall. And, inevitably, after the two days of enthusiastic bakery I forget about it for a month before doing it all over again. I don't know why, it's just the way it is. Baking is such a peaceful pleasure - tactile, composed and unhurried, the perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon. These flatbreads are extremely easy (as is most baking) and are such an impressive thing to produce for lunch, or as an accompaniment to a curry or even Moroccan feast.

Don't be put off by the 10 minutes kneading (I'm not quite sure why you would be), or by the fact that, at first the dough will seem wet and unmanageable. As you knead you develop the gluten in the flour and the dough becomes springy and elastic. I will not claim to be an expert in baking, however, being very much an amateur every-now-and-again type of guy. A great baking blog is www.scandilicious.blogspot.com - check it out if you are a keen baker.

Makes 8 slipper sized breads

500g strong white flour
7g sachet dry yeast
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/4 teaspoon crushed chillis
350 ml warm water

Lightly crush the coriander, fennel, cumin and chilli in a pestle and mortar and, in a large bowl, mix with the flour, yeast and salt. Make a well in the centre and pour in the water, stirring as you go. When it has come together tip it out onto a lightly floured surface and start working with it with your hands (I find that it actually sticks less if you have wet hands, though is slippery!). Hold the dough with one hand and push it away with the other, fold it back, turn and repeat for 10 minutes until the dough is smooth and springy. Return to your bowl, cover with a tea towel and leave in a warm place for an hour or so, till it has risen in volume considerably. Heat a non-stick frying pan over a medium heat. Pull off a small handful of dough, one at a time, and roll thinly into small slippers. Place in the dry pan and cook for 2-3 minutes on each side. Allow to cool before eating, as the bread will continue to cook during this period. They can then be reheated as and when.

Linguine with prawns, rocket and chilli

I really want to pretend it's summer - that the sun is shining, and that I am sitting outside drinking rose with friends. The reality is too depressing to fathom. If you are of the same thinking then this dish is for you. Linguine are like spaghetti that someone has sat on - long, narrow, flat noodles ('linguine' means 'little tongues'). This combination is about as fresh and summery as it gets, and will, I hope, make you forget that the rain is lashing at the window and you haven't been outside for about a week.

Linguine with prawns, rocket and chilli

Serves 4

400g dried linguine
2 tablespoons finely chopped onion
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
1 chilli, deseeded and finely chopped
200g cherry tomatoes, halved
100 ml dry white wine
250g raw king prawns, sliced in half lengthways
75g fresh rocket, washed and roughly chopped
Half a lemon
Salt and pepper

The Italian rule of thumb for a pasta sauce is that one should be able to cook it in the same time it takes the pasta to cook (at least with dried pasta - fresh cooks in minutes). This is one such dish - that is if you have all the prep work done.

So, bring a large pan of salted water to the boil and add the linguine. Heat some olive oil in another large pan and add the onion. Stir for a couple of minutes over a medium high heat. Season with salt and pepper and add the parsley, chilli, tomatoes and wine. Cover and simmer for 2-3 minutes until the tomatoes have softened (If you don't have faith in your speed you can do this bit of the sauce in advance). Uncover and add the prawns, stirring for a couple of minutes over a high heat until they are pink and firm to the touch. Stir in the rocket and a squeeze of lemon juice. Taste for seasoning.

Drain the pasta and add to the sauce. Toss thoroughly and serve with a green salad. Another Italian rule of thumb is no Parmesan with fishy pasta, but who am I to tell you not to add it if you want?

Steak and chips

I'm criminally hung over after a big night in Leeds with a friend and his Argentian ex-colleague. I don't really have the mental ability to write anything coherent or funny, but I promised Hernan I would put this up asap. Slightly thoughtless, you might say, serving steak to an Argentinian. Sort of like giving a Geordie some coal, except less weird. But I feel like steak. I get like that sometimes - the only thing that I could possibly want to eat is a bloody piece of cow with lots of chips and salad. Done.

If you would like to do the chips healthier then preheat the oven to 210 C, and after par-boiling them toss them in olive oil, salt and pepper and cook in the oven for 45 minutes or so. I had actually bought my Mum some truffle butter for her birthday but we ended up having it on the steaks - I'm a bad son, I know, and it sort of ruined the meat. Better beaten into mash potato.

Steak and chips

Serves 4

4 steaks (I like rib-eye best, but whatever you prefer)

6 large Maris Piper potatoes - these are best for chipping and easily found in most supermarkets
2 litres of vegetable oil

Pat the steaks dry and leave uncovered in the fridge for a couple of hours.

Peel the spuds and chop into chips of required size - I am a chunky chip man, you perhaps are not. Put in a pan of salted water, bring to the boil and simmer for 5-10 minutes, depending on their size. Drain and spread on a roasting tray. Put in the fridge for an hour - this dries the potatoes out and means that your chips will be fluffy and crispy, not crap and soggy. Pour the oil into a large saucepan and put over a medium high heat. The oil wants to be about 190C - it is hot enough when a bit of bread sizzles immediately - too hot if it leaps out of the pan. Carefully put your chips into the oil and fry for 10 minutes or so till nicely brown. Remove with a slotted spoon and pop on kitchen paper. Keep warm while you cook the steak.

Season the meat on both sides and rub with a little oil. Heat a heavy cast iron griddle pan over a high heat till smoking. Cook the steaks for two minutes on each side. Rest for 4 minutes in a warm place and serve. Ooh la la.

There's more to life than potatoes

I love a potato, me. In pretty much any way, shape or form - a mound of mash with sausages and a blob of fiery mustard, a bowl of chips with some aioli in front of the telly on a quiet evening, or a soothing plate of creamy, nutmeggy dauphinoise with roast beef, it is the ultimate accompaniment to a meal, and one I don't reckon I could do without for more than a week. But it is not the only accompaniment.

My friend Pete was literally horrified - wouldn't stop going on about it - at the weekend when I didn't serve potatoes with supper - I mean, really, is this Ireland? Is it still 1912? Darina Allen at Ballymaloe Cookery School once said that the Irish, God bless them, do not consider it a meal without the presence of potatoes in one form or another. But cookery has come such a long way, there are so many equally delicious foods that provide the starch and carb hit we like with our protein. We ate roast lamb (protein) with flageolet bean salad (starch), grilled aubergines and courgettes (vitamins and that) and watercress, rocket and pomegranate salad (er...salad I guess) - were spuds necessary? Am I a culinary dunderhead who does not produce what the average man wants of a Saturday night supper - enough potato to soak up the wine he is glugging? I'll leave that to you to decide, but in the context of the evening menu - a lot of crostini (see below), the main course described above, cheese, and then for pudding basil ice cream with shortbread and raspberries - I thought that the beans would be less heavy than a mountain of spuds. Neither were as heavy, it turns out, as this friend (a 16 stone Hungarian) sitting on me on the kitchen floor at two in the morning.

This was in fact a punishment for the basil ice cream - 'why can't we just have something normal, like vanilla?' (dear oh dear) - which had got him really riled. In his defence, (and I really shouldn't be defending such a narrow-minded philistine), he did taste it three times before becoming absolutely convinced he didn't like it, and I think that's fine. If you say you don't like something and refuse to try it you are a moron. If you try it and don't like it, then you are absolutely entitled to that opinion. There is no right or wrong in cookery. The ice cream went down extremely well with everyone else - it's a corker, and you can find it in Sarah Raven's Garden Book which is my book of the month.

Here are the recipes for two of the crostini we had to start. To make the crostini, preheat the oven to 200C, slice up a country-style baguette, rub with a little garlic, drizzle with oil and pop in the oven for a couple of minutes.

Broad bean, mint and pecorino

Makes enough for 20 small crostini I reckon

250g broad beans, podded
6 large mint leaves, roughly chopped
30g grated pecorino or parmesan
1 clove garlic, crushed
Juice of a lemon, plus extra if needed
A good slug of extra virgin olive oil

Bring a pan of salted water to the boil, add the beans and simmer for four minutes. Drain and run under cold water for a couple of seconds. Put in a food processor with the mint, cheese, garlic, lemon juice and salt and pepper and blend, pouring in the oil as you go till required consistency. Taste and adjust for seasoning, perhaps adding a little more lemon juice if you fancy. Spread on the crostini.

Chicken liver and caramelized shallot

Enough for 20

25g butter
5 shallots, peeled and sliced
100 ml marsala or sherry
250g chicken livers, washed and roughly chopped
2 teaspoons capers, roughly chopped
1 tablespoon chopped gherkin
1 tablespoon chopped parsley

Melt half the butter in a saute pan over a low heat and add the shallots. Season and gently cook for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, till soft and slippery. Whack up the heat and add the marsala. Boil for 10 seconds scraping the onion juices from the bottom of the pan and add the liver, breaking it up a little more as you stir. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the capers, gherkin, parsley and the rest of the butter. Stir and simmer for a further minute. Serve hot or cold on crostini.

Load of old rubbish

There is a Bialetti coffee pot growing mould in the larder. I'm not sure how long it has been there for, but I am fairly sure it was mouldy when it moved with us to this house 3 years ago, and had probably been mouldy for some time before that. Why hasn't it been thrown away? Rather like the partridges (yes, they're still in the fridge - yesterday Dad was on the verge of chucking them, before deciding to have a leg for lunch, before wimping out when I told him I had bought some ox tongue at the butcher), the coffee pot's loitering is a result of a fear of wasting anything. Quite why a furry percolator or rancid birds will be wasted or missed I can't fathom, but one thing is for sure - this is a habit which is showing no signs of slowing down, what with Mr. Brown's encouragement for us NOT TO WASTE FOOD. But we're missing the point. He's not saying 'don't throw food away' thus creating a sub-culture (culture, get it?) of grime in the fridge, he's saying don't let it get to the point where things go off and need chucking - only buy what you're going to eat. So if you only need 200g beans, don't buy 400g just because it is two for one. It's backwards economics and leads to you having a fridge full of crap you don't want or need. 

Dad's a real culprit, in the best possible way. His post-war Yorkshire upbringing led to a frugality often beyond comprehension. One day we had about 40 pheasants to gut. 4 or 5 bin liners were laid out, on which we drew the birds, making an incision in the bird's bottom with a sharp knife and cutting diagonally along towards the thigh for two or three inches, before bravely plunging a hand inside and pulling out the innards. All in all it took us a very messy couple of hours to do this and put the birds in freezer bags. As we were washing our hands, Dad starting washing the bin bags. When asked what the hell he was doing, he explained that he wasn't about to throw away 'perfectly good' bin liners. It beggars belief. Last night I returned from the market with a 3 pound rainbow trout I had bought for our supper. He was horrified - there is a 'perfectly good' river nearby where he could have caught a fish and saved us £4. I apologised, more to appease him than because I was sorry - there weren't many fish in the river, and what there were were tiny - and cooked the thing - 

Gut and clean a 1.5 kg trout, and slash the flesh deeply, four times on each side. Into each incision push a sprig of thyme. Season the fish inside and push in a few slices of lemon and a handful of parsley. Place on foil and half wrap. Pour over a slug of olive oil and vermouth or white wine, wrap up completely and cook for 25 minutes at 190C. 

We ate it with rosemary roast new potatoes and a green salad. As Dad is mopping up the salad juices he confesses that the last fish he caught and ate, a couple of weeks ago, was white-fleshed and muddy tasting. Sometimes it's worth spending a few pounds for something edible.

A summer risotto

My no-alcohol endeavours came to a fairly untimely end after 2 long and sweaty sets of tennis when my friend Anthony suggested a pint in our local. The newly refurbished Bull Inn in West Tanfield sits at the bottom of the Yorkshire Dales and perched along the River Ure which becomes the Ouse later in its south-easterly meanderings. It has one of the prettiest beer gardens I have ever been in, beside a stunning old stone bridge. In short, the idea of supping a lime and soda there seems ludicrous. In spitting distance are the Black Sheep and Theaston breweries, with Timothy Taylors not far either, and a great swathe of smaller breweries all producing sublime bitter and ale. 

But a man must eat, and our foray into the Bull's menu had to be postponed as Anthony's mother had already cooked for him. Me, I had Dad breathing down my neck to eat whatever was in the fridge (he and Mum were going out for supper) - two barbecued partridges which had been in there for God knows how long, and a huge bag of fresh peas from the garden. The partridges, I decided, could wait for the dogs. I set about shelling the peas, a job made less tiresome by the fact that you could pop them in your mouth as you went, but more so because you had to shell double as a result of this practice. The peas are slung in a risotto with some bacon and fresh mint, and although I burn my tongue in my over-zealousness to gobble it down (it would be soothed by Theakstons later) it is comforting yet inherently summery. These quantities serve 1 but can all be multiplied within reason.

I took a photo but it was crap - you know what a risotto looks like.

Pea, bacon and mint risotto

3 rashers streaky bacon

2 tablespoons finely chopped shallot or onion

75g Arborio risotto rice

A splash of white wine or vermouth

650ml hot chicken stock (cubed is fine)

a handful of freshly shelled peas - frozen are perfectly good too though

25g Parmesan cheese

A few mint leaves, sliced

In a saute pan (like a large saucepan that never grew tall) fry the bacon over a medium heat till lightly crispy and pop on kitchen paper to drain a little. Reduce the heat and add the shallot to the pan with a little olive oil and a crunch of pepper (don't add salt at this point - the bacon, Parmesan and, I find, stock cubes all have a fair amount of salt so only add salt at the end if you feel it is necessary). Soften the shallot, increase the heat and add the rice, stirring for a minute or two. Add the white wine and stir till the rice has absorbed it. Then add a ladle of stock. Once this has been absorbed, add another. Continue in this fashion for 15 minutes, stirring regularly but not constantly - there's really no need. Chop the bacon into bits. When the rice is almost cooked but still has a little bite to it, add the bacon, peas, cheese and mint, and a final ladle of stock and stir for another 2 minutes. Taste for seasoning and add a little salt and/or pepper if necessary. Eat. Don't burn your tongue.

The Detox Begins

The last seven weeks have consisted largely of uninterrupted over-eating and over-drinking - my internship with a food magazine has taken its toll on my jowls, while seemingly endless parties and, this past weekend, a festival, are proudly making themselves known in both my liver and belly. I feel utterly deranged. Tired, unhealthy and morose. But I'm back home in Yorkshire now and it's time to sharpen up. A couple of booze-free, healthy-eating days and I'll be right as rain...probably. I mean it's all very well having good intentions, but in the middle of August (I won't say summer - I'm not entirely sure summer is actually a season anymore; more the odd day here and there - like bank holidays) when there are pubs to go to, parties to attend and homemade cider to drink, it's going to be hard staying sober and avoiding naughty food.

What makes it easier is the fact that the garden is producing some of the most wonderful vegetables imaginable. Tomatoes so sweet and juicy that you can eat them like an apple; courgettes and chillies, and anya potatoes that are earthy and delightfully savoury. A light sprinkling of sea salt and a drizzle of olive oil and I'll eat an entire saucepan before you can say spicy zinger burger. Oh! and the salads, so fresh and crunchy they hardly need dressing. This one does however, the punch of the mustard and the fizz of the vinegar going so well with the rich mackerel and poached egg.

Smoked mackerel and poached egg salad

Serves 2

25 ml white wine vinegar (plus a little extra)

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

40 ml extra virgin olive oil

2 fillets smoked mackerel

2 free range eggs (preferably organic)

A few small tomatoes, quartered

1/2 a small red onion, finely sliced

100g salad leaves

Salt and pepper

Put a small pan of water on the boil with a little salt and a dash of white wine vinegar.

Make the dressing by whisking the vinegar into the mustard in a large bowl, then whisking in the olive oil. Season with a little salt and plenty of pepper.

When the water is boiling furiously, pour your eggs into separate espresso cups, or something similar. Whisk the water round so you have yourself a little tempestuous whirlpool, and drop the eggs, one by one, into the middle. Simmer for 3 minutes.

Meanwhile, remove the skins from the mackerel and pull the flesh into pieces. Toss through the leaves with the onion, tomatoes and dressing. Transfer to a plate or shallow bowl, pop the egg on top, season with a pinch of sea salt and scrunch of pepper and serve. 

If you don't like: Mackerel - try it with some crispy smoked bacon.

Ladies and jellyspoons, I give you...The Larder Lout

Oh how I abhor the stereotyping of students - slobbish ne'er-do-wells with government loans, unwashed clothes, several days' stubble and an alcohol problem. Fie on you nay sayers, you! The vast majority of my fellow students are civilised, cultured and diligent. But my God do they eat some absolute slurry. Before I continue, and hopefully before you close this blog, I will say this, however - there will absolutely not be any food snobbery in this blog whatsoever. When I say 'slurry' I mean only that I don't consider a take-away pizza or microwave chicken kiev a suitable supper for a student (you know who you are), the first being uneconomical and greasy, the second quite a health risk. No, there will be no snobbery here. All there will be is delicious recipes made with good ingredients. 

In our house in Bristol last year the five of us ate together pretty much every night - certainly whoever was around would eat together, and it meant that by the end of that year we felt like a family. Food is such an intimate thing, that feeding someone and watching them enjoy it is a real pleasure. I am also convinced that we spent less money than others who didn't cook every night. Good food isn't expensive. Take-aways are.

In an ideal world you should buy organic produce wherever possible. However, I think that much more important than organic produce is that it is local produce. There are environmental implications to eating basil that has been flown over from Israel, or beans from Brazil, but there are gastronomic implications also. A vegetable that comes from soil near to where you're eating it will have grown in the same environment in which you live, breathed the same air you breath, been quenched by the same water you drink. It will taste infinitely better than one that has grown in foreign soils, been sprayed to keep it fresh, packed onto a ship and crossed oceans and time zones. The day you eat a potato that you have dug out of the soil an hour before is the day you eat perfection.

So, here I am, taking a hammer to the public perception of students as kebab-munching, beer-swilling lager louts...I am the Larder Lout.