I had decided that I was only going to eat happy animals. That was my resolution after cooking a fantastic ham from the Ginger Pig.
But today I failed when trying to eat pulped pork pie from the supermarket. Try one of the pies from the Hartland brothers and you will be honouring the cooks and the animal. The one I tried from the supermarket was only sadness baked in a metaphor.
The day was promising with a planned ride along the Thames up to Teddington. So there we went on the bikes.
I had some leftover bacon, a good piece from The Ginger Pig, boiled with onion, cloves, peppers and a bay leave. Embraced by the yolks from a couple of boiled eggs it filled a soulful sandwich. Good break.
After pedalling for some more miles with our half-filled stomachs we decided to stop and fill the other half with pints of bitter and more food. The ploughman’s lunch was simple and seemed a good choice, but we felt like finding out a bit more about the cheese and asked what Cheddar they where using. The girl phoned the chef and shouted back “It’s English, from the cash’n'carry”. Assessing the risks of ordering more laborious food to this knowledgeable cooker, we ordered two.
I had to meet Matt in Camden Market and the sun was shining -which is not happening that often this summer- so I decided to take a long walk along the Regent’s Canal.
One my way to Camden Town I saw a van with a big ad displaying a blond girl with enlarged breasts in a small bikini, the usual sexual hook used to advertise so many things. What made me laugh this time was the product on the ad: cheddar cheese.
What comes to your mind when you see a pair of silicon-inflated breasts? rubber, putty, sealant, chewy, artificial… not the kind of things I’d like to associate with cheddar.
Does really sex sell anything?
Last week I spent some days in Nantwich attending a great cheesemaking course.
Being in the countryside I was expecting good, rustic food. I couldn’t be more disappointed as I had spreadable fake butter *made with real butter* in my B&B everyday for breakfast. And the B&B was a dairy farm with real cows.
Walking around town it seemed hard to get a decent meal. Why? I was in a rural area surrounded by farms where local quality produce was supposed to be readily available… well, that’s what I thought.
Adrian Fowler, from the Fowlers Forest Dairy, explained why this contradiction: over time higher land prices and taxes have made impossible to run small farms and everything must be big, aimed at efficient distribution chains, making virtually impossible for consumers getting any produce directly from local producers.
After Adrian’s explanation I understood a bit more and just gave up looking for my steak. What I thought to be farms were mere milk and meat mass production factories.
Today we had some friends over for an afternoon tea with home-made bread and scones.
While making the scones I saw some rice flour which had been around for while. The rest of the flours I had where of the strong kind and I was looking for a crumbly texture.
“Ummm…. what if I use some of this rice flour instead of wheat” I thought.
Using it had a great side-effect : I would get rid of the flour and its annoying packaging and make some room in our crowded shelves. I chose to try something new. The result was excellent. This is the recipe:
Preheat the oven to 220°C. Sieve the flour and baking powder. Rub the butter until it looks like breadcrumbs. Add salt and sugar and slowly add milk to form a stiff dough.
Cut circles 2cm think, place on a baking tray, brush with egg and bake for 10-15 minutes until lightly brown on top.
This is based on the recipe for scones you can find in the book British Regional Food.
Agriculture is said to be one of the great achievements of humankind. It lead to a surplus of energy triggering population growth, technology innovation and what most people understand by ‘civilisation’.
But this would be unthinkable if we were not able to transform a tough grass into something edible, like beer or bread. That might be the reason why the scent of a freshly baked bread is so comforting: it has been with us for thousand of years.
Unfortunately, we are losing it unless you bake your own bread. And this is what I am now into thanks to the book María gave me a couple of months ago.
One of the important things about bread-making is kneading: it has to be vigourous to develop elasticity. Putting so much energy into it makes you feel closer to your food. It is worth trying it and your place will have a lovely aroma.
(If you are afraid of the complex techniques required, just try a simple soda bread. It takes 1 minutes to mix and it tastes great with butter and marmalade. This is the best recipe I’ve found so far -scroll down the page)
Marrow, soul, spirit, substance: marrow has something mystical about it, an atavistic food which is eaten after all the flesh is gone.
My mother would kill for the bone marrow on our Sunday lunch and my best friend’s father taught his son family hierarchies making him understand that he would get the marrow once being a grown up and having his own children.
Last Saturday we got together to say good-bye but we didn’t. Marrow and wine instead. I only wish all of us had enjoyed it together.
I entered the bookstore looking for Archestratus’s “Life of Luxury”, a 4th century B.C. poem about gastronomy in the Mediterranean.
I only knew him by his Portuguese/Spanish name, so there was no way of finding him in the catalogue. Browsing for references I found a book about History and food written by Felipe Fernández-Armesto, one of my favourite authors. I didn’t get Archestratu’s poem, but I went home with an essay about two of my favourites subjects (and 10 times cheaper!).
There is no microwave in our kitchen. Why? the book has the best explanation I’ve found so far:
The loneliness of the fast-food eater is uncivilizing. Food is being desocialized. In the microwaves household, home-cooking looks doomed. Family life must fragment if people stop having shared meals, for as Carlyle once said, ‘if the soul is a kind of a stomach, what is spiritual communion but eating together?’
I must get going, have a latte on my way to the office and hours later eat my lunch in front of the screen. Isn’t it pure contradiction? well, at least I am not cooking my porridge in the microwave to save 2 minutes…
It’s been a beautiful day, a gorgeous morning to spend at Borough Market. I got there much later than usual, enough time to grab a latte and have a quick look around before heading to Brindisa to meet Matt and Liz.
Matt, Liz and I fancied some Spanish red wine and we ordered two bottles of the same Ribera del Duero we had tried there before. Catching up after two months while drinking wine was a real pleasure, the world moving at a slower pace as we approached that point where you just love everybody; and a pinkish hue on our cheeks and a good feeling that still lasts.
Tannins, cherries and charcoal… buzzwords that will never hide the pleasure of drinking red wine with friends and family.
As many times I couldn’t connect a word with a concept. Sourdough bread? yeah, I knew what is was but I could not relate it to any familiar flavour.
The first time I tried it (as I thought at the time) was a lousy loaf from Tesco. Sour, very sour… and unpleasantly chewy.
Today I went to St. John to get some nice bread for lunch (a great Spanish wine, serrano ham, cured pork loin and Galician smoked cheese). As soon as I tried it I realised what it was: the same bread I had been having all my life in Galiza.
Long live the bakers at St. John!