I love coffee. However, I love real coffee. I am sorry to say that, even though I have railed against snobbery on this blog, I am something of a snob when it comes to coffee. This must come from having lived in Spain for so long - when you could just walk into any bar and get a decent cup of coffee: of something that actually had some taste to it.
If I go to people's houses and am offered a drink, as I don't like tea and usually can't be certain of the provenance of the coffee on offer, I normally opt for water or refuse a drink altogether. Instant coffee does not taste of anything that I can recognise as coffee. The same can be said of filter coffee, coffee from vending machines, anything that comes from a cafetiere (which, I suppose is only a filter by any other name) or anything that does not involve pressure in the making of the brew. For it is pressure that makes a really good cup of coffee. And you don't need to buy an all-singing, all-dancing, Italian machine from one of the established brands in order to get a bit of pressure into your coffee. I bought a Presso manual coffee maker over the internet a few months ago and I would not be without it. It generates, according to their information, about 14 PSI. Which seems to be ideal to generate the legendary crema - the dense brown crown of foam that tops off a good cup of espresso. It delivers a powerful caffeine belt that is very welcome in the mornings and at any other time of the day when you might need a bit of a boost. I have not succumbed to the temptation of putting a shot of brandy in my espresso yet, but then again it is a bit cold this morning.
tortilla
my attempt at the perfect tortilla
Wednesday, 24 November 2010
Friday, 12 November 2010
the right glasses
Extemporising todayNo real idea what that means but I hope it means ad libbing. Relief: I have checked in the dictionary and I am safe. I am going off piste today - nothing particularly Spanish about the theme of drinking from the right glasses, although, then again, maybe there is.
I have no idea why, but I am very keen on drinking from the right glasses. Please don't get me wrong: I don't want to try to persuade anybody else to drink from certain types of glasses.
When we went to Belgium a good few years ago now, I remember how glad I was to see that each beer had its own individual and usually very distinctive glass. No bar would ever have dreamed serving a Kwak - for example - from a Westmalle glass. It would have been heresy. Also, all the Belgian bar people - good professionals all - knew that it was an absolutely integral part of the pleasure to pour your own beer into your glass. Not once did they commit the cardinal sin of pouring your beer for you, and hence robbing you of a moment's pleasure. My little mania for this ritual looks strange in bars and restaurants in the UK and I usually have to make a little (and usually dismally unfunny) joke about my foibles.
Whilst living in Spain I spent a long time looking for Sherry glasses with what I regarded as the perfect proportions. I never found them, but ironically was given a set as a present by somebody who knew nothing of my little mania: this just a few days before we left for the UK.
Of course, I would never drink beer from a pint glass in Spain. Partly because it would rob me of the pleasure of asking for a canya (I can't do the tilde on the blog!). Some of this is probably petty snobbery, but as a good friend of mine was said "Snobs is the term people use to describe the discerning."
If I had the money, I would open a Belgian beer bar in Poulton. I know I should not have said that. It will be my punishment to watch somebody else do it and become a gazillionaire overnight.
Coffee too, at home, has to be served in my double-espresso sized cups that have pictures of all the Roman monuments of Merida. See where I have ended up once again. If you can't fight it, you may as well go with the flow.Toy Story 3
I have no idea why, but I am very keen on drinking from the right glasses. Please don't get me wrong: I don't want to try to persuade anybody else to drink from certain types of glasses.
When we went to Belgium a good few years ago now, I remember how glad I was to see that each beer had its own individual and usually very distinctive glass. No bar would ever have dreamed serving a Kwak - for example - from a Westmalle glass. It would have been heresy. Also, all the Belgian bar people - good professionals all - knew that it was an absolutely integral part of the pleasure to pour your own beer into your glass. Not once did they commit the cardinal sin of pouring your beer for you, and hence robbing you of a moment's pleasure. My little mania for this ritual looks strange in bars and restaurants in the UK and I usually have to make a little (and usually dismally unfunny) joke about my foibles.
Whilst living in Spain I spent a long time looking for Sherry glasses with what I regarded as the perfect proportions. I never found them, but ironically was given a set as a present by somebody who knew nothing of my little mania: this just a few days before we left for the UK.
Of course, I would never drink beer from a pint glass in Spain. Partly because it would rob me of the pleasure of asking for a canya (I can't do the tilde on the blog!). Some of this is probably petty snobbery, but as a good friend of mine was said "Snobs is the term people use to describe the discerning."
If I had the money, I would open a Belgian beer bar in Poulton. I know I should not have said that. It will be my punishment to watch somebody else do it and become a gazillionaire overnight.
Coffee too, at home, has to be served in my double-espresso sized cups that have pictures of all the Roman monuments of Merida. See where I have ended up once again. If you can't fight it, you may as well go with the flow.Toy Story 3
Thursday, 11 November 2010
chili a day later
Yesterday's dish of chili went quite well. Cheryl enjoyed it, but I thought I could have done better, mainly by using stewing steak or even shin beef and cooking it for 3 hours or so in some liquid before adding all the rest of the ingredients - tinned tomatoes, canned beans, stock cube, hot paprika, etc.
There are just a couple of points to note. 1. Hot paprika gives the best overall flavour. And if you thought that the hot paprika I used might have come from Extremadura: guilty as charged.
2. I don't like to use the red kidney beans that normally go with chili. I like neither their flavour nor their texture. So I use a mixture of cannellini, haricot and flageolet beans. I particularly like the flageolet beans. I am a very big fan of tinned beans. They can be a great base for a stew knocked up out of store cupboard ingredients, with a few tinned tomatoes, onions, garlic a few slices of chorizo - you get the picture.
If I am able to, I am going to add a photo of the chili I made last night, which was even tastier for lunch today, by the way. By doing this, I am in some way making a point about photography. Lots of times I have had editors refuse to use photos I had taken of various things. I can understand that they want the clearest photos to go alongside their articles. But a photo of a herring gull, for example, is a photo of a herring gull. Whilst my photos may lack the composition and use of filters that mark out a professional's shot, they still show a herring gull. Or, in this case, a bowl of chili.Decision Points
There are just a couple of points to note. 1. Hot paprika gives the best overall flavour. And if you thought that the hot paprika I used might have come from Extremadura: guilty as charged.
2. I don't like to use the red kidney beans that normally go with chili. I like neither their flavour nor their texture. So I use a mixture of cannellini, haricot and flageolet beans. I particularly like the flageolet beans. I am a very big fan of tinned beans. They can be a great base for a stew knocked up out of store cupboard ingredients, with a few tinned tomatoes, onions, garlic a few slices of chorizo - you get the picture.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
chili
I thought I would write a little bit about chilis. The first problem though, is how to refer to them. In English there seem to be a number of different ways of spelling the word - the most common one seems to be chilli. Difficult to pronounce according to Spanish rules of pronunciation! In Spanish, according to the dictionary at my side, the word chile is acceptable especially when used in the expression - chile con carne. This dish, however, is not a common one in Spain. Neither do Spanish people seem to have our affection for spicy foods. I am going to clarify that last remark a bit further. Spanish people are keen on lots of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, cumin and various peppercorns are all well established items in the Spanish culinary canon. I am referring to the spices that make your mouth burn or tingle with the perception of heat. This sensation is not confined to members of the pepper family: Japanese wasabi horseradish can have a similar - and very potent - effect, but on this occasion I am referring to members of the chili pepper family. The old macho boast about being able to handle a vindaloo, a tindaloo or even a phal, is just about unknown in Spain. The best-known dish that gives a bit of a kick is probably the one featuring the small, green chili peppers from Padron in Galicia. Approximately 1 in 10 of these fat little rascals is a hot one. Thankfully, they are usually served fried in olive oil, with a good bit of salt: salt being one of the things known, or supposed, to tone down the burning effect caused by the capsaicins in the chilis. This is the same ingredient used in police issue pepper sprays, so you can see how it might cause some discomfort. The science I have read on the subject suggests that capsaicin is soluble in casein. As milk is about 3% casein, milk would seem to be the best emolument. Yogurt too, from what I hear. But to return to chilis, the most common word for a chili in Spain is guindilla, not to be confused with guinda - a type of cherry. Anyway, whatever the right name, I am currently cooking a big dish of chile con carne. I have been extremely lazy and used a pack of minced beef from the supermarket. I am hoping though, that by letting it cook for a good long time on a low light, the flavours will come together and it will taste half way decent. I will let you know tomorrow.
The Gift
The Gift
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
fortified wine
After having cooked with Sherry I thought I might jot down a few points with regard to fortified wines in general. As a rule, I love them. I do have a sweet tooth though, so whilst I often fancy the idea of a dry sherry, most of the time, given the choice between sweet and dry, I would always go for the sweet. However, to get the dry out of the way: let's talk about Manzanilla.
If you read the food and travel sections of the broadsheets, you may be aware of the famous "salt tang" of Manzanilla. I think if I read that phrase ever again, I will vomit. During the Seville fair in 1991 I drank enough Manzanilla to last a lifetime. La Gitana, La Guita and Osborne. Frankly, they are overrated. They are only really palatable when they are absolutely ice cold. Once the drink has warmed up it is no good for anything. And as for adding lemonade or any other soft drink, forget it. I will just say that Manzanilla means little apple in Spanish and whilst my tastebuds are fresh, I can usually detect a faint hint of apple. As for true Sherries, I occasionally fancy a dry one - often Domecq's La Ina - especially if I am having a few prawns, but what really whets my appetite is a nice, cold, sweet, fortified wine. If it is served straight out of the barrel in some sort of bodega then I am happy as a sandboy. I am a real sucker for bodegas with barrels lining the walls. I remember going to a very well known and typical one in Malaga, which was great until it was time to go to the toilet. The stench lives with me still. A few years ago when Cheryl and I were on a brief holiday in Chipiona we found a couple of bodegas that served a fortified wine local to that splendid town, and I can remember those bodegas far more clearly than any of the restaurants we visited.
When we went to Cordoba a couple of years ago we made a special effort to try the local fortified wines with the Montilla Moriles D.O. and some of them were really excellent. I must say though, that when I went against my instinct and tried a dry one, I found it to be unpalatable.
All of which brings me to a question. Would I ever stand at the bar of a pub in this country and order a nice schooner of Harvey's Bristol Cream? The short answer to that question is: No. I would feel too self conscious. I would feel as people might think I was trying to make some sort of statement, as if I was trying to portray myself as some sort of sophisticate. Given that I loath the cult of sophistication, that would not be the case. Why then would I feel happy to do it in Spain? Perhaps it is because the Spanish are more grown up than we are with regard to certain things, and do not adhere to the view that what you drink is in some way tied in with questions of masculinity. There is a certain town not too far from here (Clue: it is an anagram of Woodfleet), where, if you stood at the bar and ordered a nice glass of Chardonnay, you would, if you were a bloke, probably be dead before you had finished your drink. I still sometimes get the odd look or funny comment (not from my closest friends, you understand) from old school types if I ask for a glass of red wine when it is their turn in the chair. I have often thought it might make the basis of a good freelance article - to go round to all the roughest pubs you could find, clutching a copy of The Guardian, and having the temerity to ask for a nice chilled Pinot Grigio. I have often been on the point of sending the pitch to some friendly editor. But I doubt I would live to spend the resultant cheque. Come to think of it, I doubt I would even get to see the cheque.
Anyway, I like a nice sweet Sherry, or Malaga wine, or Moscatel, or Montilla Moriles. I like them ice cold and I like them before my meal. Although I also love them after a meal. I must be a dull witted peasant with an enormous lack of sophistication. Maybe I am.
If you read the food and travel sections of the broadsheets, you may be aware of the famous "salt tang" of Manzanilla. I think if I read that phrase ever again, I will vomit. During the Seville fair in 1991 I drank enough Manzanilla to last a lifetime. La Gitana, La Guita and Osborne. Frankly, they are overrated. They are only really palatable when they are absolutely ice cold. Once the drink has warmed up it is no good for anything. And as for adding lemonade or any other soft drink, forget it. I will just say that Manzanilla means little apple in Spanish and whilst my tastebuds are fresh, I can usually detect a faint hint of apple. As for true Sherries, I occasionally fancy a dry one - often Domecq's La Ina - especially if I am having a few prawns, but what really whets my appetite is a nice, cold, sweet, fortified wine. If it is served straight out of the barrel in some sort of bodega then I am happy as a sandboy. I am a real sucker for bodegas with barrels lining the walls. I remember going to a very well known and typical one in Malaga, which was great until it was time to go to the toilet. The stench lives with me still. A few years ago when Cheryl and I were on a brief holiday in Chipiona we found a couple of bodegas that served a fortified wine local to that splendid town, and I can remember those bodegas far more clearly than any of the restaurants we visited.
When we went to Cordoba a couple of years ago we made a special effort to try the local fortified wines with the Montilla Moriles D.O. and some of them were really excellent. I must say though, that when I went against my instinct and tried a dry one, I found it to be unpalatable.
All of which brings me to a question. Would I ever stand at the bar of a pub in this country and order a nice schooner of Harvey's Bristol Cream? The short answer to that question is: No. I would feel too self conscious. I would feel as people might think I was trying to make some sort of statement, as if I was trying to portray myself as some sort of sophisticate. Given that I loath the cult of sophistication, that would not be the case. Why then would I feel happy to do it in Spain? Perhaps it is because the Spanish are more grown up than we are with regard to certain things, and do not adhere to the view that what you drink is in some way tied in with questions of masculinity. There is a certain town not too far from here (Clue: it is an anagram of Woodfleet), where, if you stood at the bar and ordered a nice glass of Chardonnay, you would, if you were a bloke, probably be dead before you had finished your drink. I still sometimes get the odd look or funny comment (not from my closest friends, you understand) from old school types if I ask for a glass of red wine when it is their turn in the chair. I have often thought it might make the basis of a good freelance article - to go round to all the roughest pubs you could find, clutching a copy of The Guardian, and having the temerity to ask for a nice chilled Pinot Grigio. I have often been on the point of sending the pitch to some friendly editor. But I doubt I would live to spend the resultant cheque. Come to think of it, I doubt I would even get to see the cheque.
Anyway, I like a nice sweet Sherry, or Malaga wine, or Moscatel, or Montilla Moriles. I like them ice cold and I like them before my meal. Although I also love them after a meal. I must be a dull witted peasant with an enormous lack of sophistication. Maybe I am.
Monday, 8 November 2010
cooking with Sherry
After Saturday's debacle I needed to put on a good display to impress the manager. Luckily a combination of Sherry - Amontillado in this case - chicken livers and a couple of packs of mushrooms were all that I needed.
I bought one pack of chicken livers from the supermarket. The pack weight was somewhere north of 400 grams or just about a pound. This provided enough for two generously sized starters. It might have fed four people if said people were supermodels. (I had invited Kate Moss, but she had a clash of commitments - again!) Three people could have had a smallish starter from the same quantity, but as we weren't going to have a main course, I don't feel too guilty about the quantity used.
Firstly, I washed and dried the livers and then removed any of the greenish bits that can sometimes be present. In Spain they often seem to include the hearts in with the livers and I have no problem with that. (Strangely enough, chicken livers seem to be a staple in every Spanish butcher's, but not on menus: nor have I ever been given them in anybody's house.) I peeled and finely chopped 3 good sized cloves of garlic and added them to some hot olive oil in a saute pan. Then I threw in a few chilli flakes and let them cook for a couple of minutes. Next the chicken livers were added to the pan, which was by now on a medium heat. I let them acquire some colour and then put the lid on the pan to speed up the process. Once they have had about 5 minutes they are done, but as I am always a bit nervous about cooking offal, and as I am a firm believer in the belt and braces approach, I gave them another 3 minutes, before adding half of glass of the Sherry to the pan, taking the lid off, and turning up the heat a fraction. Once all the alcohol had been cooked out of the Sherry, I turned the heat down to the minimum and added a good tablespoon of creme fraiche. (Today's top tip: you can tell when the alcohol has evaporated by sniffing the steam coming from the pan. When the vapour no longer stings the eyes and nose, the alcohol has gone.) When the creme fraiche had formed a creamy sauce I added half a handful of chopped, flat-leaf parsley and served with some toast.
With the mushrooms I started with a pack of chestnut mushrooms and a pack of mixed exotic mushrooms - both from the same supermarket. My first task was to wipe the mushrooms with kitchen towel to remove any of the growing medium or other stuff that you don't want. I then finely chopped them. In a separate frying pan, I heated up some olive oil and when it was hot enough added some garlic and chilli. Once that had cooked for a couple of minutes, I put the mushrooms into the pan. At that moment the mushrooms were almost spilling out of the pan, but once they had lost some of their water content, there was plenty of room in the pan. I always find with cooking mushrooms that they shrink once they lose some of their moisture, but after that, they release a second quantity of liquid into the pan. In my experience they taste better - with a more intentse flavour - once this second lot of liquid has evaporated. Once this had ocurred, I added another tablespoon of creme fraiche, let it form a sauce and, as with the chicken livers, added half a handful of chopped, flat-leaf parsley at the last moment, before serving on toast. Success. Place in the first team squad assured once more. Toy Story 3
I bought one pack of chicken livers from the supermarket. The pack weight was somewhere north of 400 grams or just about a pound. This provided enough for two generously sized starters. It might have fed four people if said people were supermodels. (I had invited Kate Moss, but she had a clash of commitments - again!) Three people could have had a smallish starter from the same quantity, but as we weren't going to have a main course, I don't feel too guilty about the quantity used.
Firstly, I washed and dried the livers and then removed any of the greenish bits that can sometimes be present. In Spain they often seem to include the hearts in with the livers and I have no problem with that. (Strangely enough, chicken livers seem to be a staple in every Spanish butcher's, but not on menus: nor have I ever been given them in anybody's house.) I peeled and finely chopped 3 good sized cloves of garlic and added them to some hot olive oil in a saute pan. Then I threw in a few chilli flakes and let them cook for a couple of minutes. Next the chicken livers were added to the pan, which was by now on a medium heat. I let them acquire some colour and then put the lid on the pan to speed up the process. Once they have had about 5 minutes they are done, but as I am always a bit nervous about cooking offal, and as I am a firm believer in the belt and braces approach, I gave them another 3 minutes, before adding half of glass of the Sherry to the pan, taking the lid off, and turning up the heat a fraction. Once all the alcohol had been cooked out of the Sherry, I turned the heat down to the minimum and added a good tablespoon of creme fraiche. (Today's top tip: you can tell when the alcohol has evaporated by sniffing the steam coming from the pan. When the vapour no longer stings the eyes and nose, the alcohol has gone.) When the creme fraiche had formed a creamy sauce I added half a handful of chopped, flat-leaf parsley and served with some toast.
With the mushrooms I started with a pack of chestnut mushrooms and a pack of mixed exotic mushrooms - both from the same supermarket. My first task was to wipe the mushrooms with kitchen towel to remove any of the growing medium or other stuff that you don't want. I then finely chopped them. In a separate frying pan, I heated up some olive oil and when it was hot enough added some garlic and chilli. Once that had cooked for a couple of minutes, I put the mushrooms into the pan. At that moment the mushrooms were almost spilling out of the pan, but once they had lost some of their water content, there was plenty of room in the pan. I always find with cooking mushrooms that they shrink once they lose some of their moisture, but after that, they release a second quantity of liquid into the pan. In my experience they taste better - with a more intentse flavour - once this second lot of liquid has evaporated. Once this had ocurred, I added another tablespoon of creme fraiche, let it form a sauce and, as with the chicken livers, added half a handful of chopped, flat-leaf parsley at the last moment, before serving on toast. Success. Place in the first team squad assured once more. Toy Story 3
Sunday, 7 November 2010
disaster
Well, last night I had one of my biggest culinary disasters for a long time. I could not even manage to fry a few squid rings successfully. I did, however, find what looked very much like the claw from a langoustine inside the whole squid that I also prepared. This reminded me of the time I found a small red mullet in a squid that I was gutting and cleaning. I am not sure, but I think I might have an unhealthy obsession with squid, octopus and cuttlefish. I know my enthusiasm for salamanders has long been the source of some condiderable consternation. I remember at primary school, we had to give a five-minute talk on a subject of our choice. Whilst most of my contemporaries picked such topics as:"My best friend" or "Our holiday to Torremolinos"; I picked "Cephalapods" as my topic. And I wasn't just trying to impress. I simply picked something that I was very interested in at the time.
Anyway, last night I learnt at least 3 things. The first one among them, was that squid are partial to a langoustine. I don't know what the proper, scientific name for that animal is. Dublin Bay prawn? scampi, or I suppose scampo in the singular. I can feel a digression coming along here. Paninis, what are you talking about? The word panini is already plural. Anyway, I seem to remember working with a chap, who knew the chap, who had invented the word - scampi - apparently a derivation of the word - scampolo -. Panini, by the way, was also an Indian grammarian. Who knew?
Anyway, the second thing I learnt last night was, that if you put seasoned flour onto your squid rings, you had better make sure the oil is plenty hot enough. Failure to do this, just leads to an unpleasant farinaceous sludge. I am not even sure that there is such a word as farinaceous, but if there isn't - there should be.
And the third thing I learnt was, that if you are trying to invent something, you should, at least, have a head full of good, established cooking principles before you begin. Last night I tried to stuff a whole squid with paella rice, chorizo and some lightly fried spring onions. The problem was, that once stuffed, there was not really enough room for the savoury mixture of chicken stock and white wine that I had prepared. A fourth thing I discovered,Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation was that the taste of charred squid, which has been in the oven for too long is deeply unpleasant. I have been undone by culinary hubris. Oh, the shame of it. I even went a long way towards wrecking a simple dessert of chocolate, egg yolks and cream, but some diligent and timely stirring and cooling rescued it from the brink of being binned. The bin had already given a welcome to the stuffed squid. However, in the end, the dessert worked. It was a variation on a recipe from the fragrant Miss Sophie Dahl. I shall give both the recipe and full credit to the toothsome Miss Dahl in due course. Tomorrow I intend to ramble on about cooking with Sherry. A bottle of Booth's finest Amontillado is in the fridge even as I write. If there is any difference between it, and Tio Pepe (Uncle Joe) La Concha, then my palate is not refined enough to detect that difference. I suspect collusion.
Anyway, last night I learnt at least 3 things. The first one among them, was that squid are partial to a langoustine. I don't know what the proper, scientific name for that animal is. Dublin Bay prawn? scampi, or I suppose scampo in the singular. I can feel a digression coming along here. Paninis, what are you talking about? The word panini is already plural. Anyway, I seem to remember working with a chap, who knew the chap, who had invented the word - scampi - apparently a derivation of the word - scampolo -. Panini, by the way, was also an Indian grammarian. Who knew?
Anyway, the second thing I learnt last night was, that if you put seasoned flour onto your squid rings, you had better make sure the oil is plenty hot enough. Failure to do this, just leads to an unpleasant farinaceous sludge. I am not even sure that there is such a word as farinaceous, but if there isn't - there should be.
And the third thing I learnt was, that if you are trying to invent something, you should, at least, have a head full of good, established cooking principles before you begin. Last night I tried to stuff a whole squid with paella rice, chorizo and some lightly fried spring onions. The problem was, that once stuffed, there was not really enough room for the savoury mixture of chicken stock and white wine that I had prepared. A fourth thing I discovered,Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation was that the taste of charred squid, which has been in the oven for too long is deeply unpleasant. I have been undone by culinary hubris. Oh, the shame of it. I even went a long way towards wrecking a simple dessert of chocolate, egg yolks and cream, but some diligent and timely stirring and cooling rescued it from the brink of being binned. The bin had already given a welcome to the stuffed squid. However, in the end, the dessert worked. It was a variation on a recipe from the fragrant Miss Sophie Dahl. I shall give both the recipe and full credit to the toothsome Miss Dahl in due course. Tomorrow I intend to ramble on about cooking with Sherry. A bottle of Booth's finest Amontillado is in the fridge even as I write. If there is any difference between it, and Tio Pepe (Uncle Joe) La Concha, then my palate is not refined enough to detect that difference. I suspect collusion.
Thursday, 4 November 2010
the king of the sea
I love seafood. Apart from anything else I always feel a bit more virtuous after eating it; always bearing in mind that some species like the bluefin tuna are on the brink of extinction and should be left in peace.
If asked for my favourite seafood, in the UK I might well go for scallops. However, they are expensive, and if I see another episode of Masterchef featuring scallops and black pudding, I won't be responsible for my actions.
If I were asked the same question in Spain, I would opt for cuttlefish. How to translate the name of my favourite mollusc into Spanish though, is a bit tricky. Probably the most common word is sepia, although the word jivia is probably almost as prevalent. Choco and its dimunitive form choquito are also common and I have also seen chopito even though chopo is a type of tree (poplar, I think). Anyway, whatever you call it, the firm, snow-white flesh of the cuttlefish is one of my absolute favourites. It is usually served grilled - a la plancha - with a bit of olive oil, salt and, usually, some flat-leafed parsley. Both squid and cuttlefish have a slimy membrane that covers their bodies. This is normally a purplish sort of colour with black flecks. As it looks a little bit unpleasant, most people simply scrape it off with a sharp knife: the work of a few seconds. In Greece, however, they often leave this membrane in place. When cooked intact, the squid or cuttlefish will often show traces of this purplish colour. Whilst I can't be sure that it is not wishful thinking, I have always thought that this membrane, although slimy and unpleasant in the raw state, actually improves the flavour. The best squid I have ever eaten was in the Ferryman Taverna in Elounda, Crete. This was the setting for the BBC series "Who pays the ferryman?". The last time we were there, Cheryl and I witnessed one of the corniest attempted seductions that you could imagine. But I digress. Such is the nature of the blog.
Within Europe, I have only ever seen cuttlefish on menus in Spain and Portugal. In Albufeira, on the last afternoon of a week-long holiday, we stumbled across a bar that featured a Brazilian style feijoada made with cuttlefish. It was absolutely amazing. Why we don't eat this particular relative of the squid and octopus in this country, I do not know. It is not for the lack of them in our seas. On the beach at Portsmouth one day, I saw the remains of thousands - maybe even hundreds of thousands - of them. Although so many years later, I can't recall if I saw the bodies or just the internal shell; the same shell that budgies favour for the sharpening of their beaks. They like to keep their beaks sharp so that they can tear apart the flesh of their natural enemy, the aardvark. Never let your aardvark anywhere near a budgie if you can help it.
Actually, I have just remembered that in Lucca last year, I had a dish of cuttlefish with peas that was beyond sublime.
But to return to more serious matters. One of my points for today was the number of different ways of referring to cuttlefish in Spanish. Translating the names of fish and seafood that are eaten in any significant commercial quantities can be a nightmare. The best way to do it is to find out the scientific (Latin) name of the animal concerned and then cross reference. This is particularly the case with crustacea. Then there are always regional variations to deal with. Calamares are sometimes referred to (perhaps more in speech than in writing) as caramales. Meatballs - albondigas - are sometimes referred to as almondigas (try looking that one up in a dictionary) and in Seville the ubiquitous croquetas sometimes morph into cocretas (That famous sevillano sense of humour again).Anyway, to cut a long story short, if you haven't yet tried cuttlefish, I can heartily recommend this splendid mollusc.
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation
If asked for my favourite seafood, in the UK I might well go for scallops. However, they are expensive, and if I see another episode of Masterchef featuring scallops and black pudding, I won't be responsible for my actions.
If I were asked the same question in Spain, I would opt for cuttlefish. How to translate the name of my favourite mollusc into Spanish though, is a bit tricky. Probably the most common word is sepia, although the word jivia is probably almost as prevalent. Choco and its dimunitive form choquito are also common and I have also seen chopito even though chopo is a type of tree (poplar, I think). Anyway, whatever you call it, the firm, snow-white flesh of the cuttlefish is one of my absolute favourites. It is usually served grilled - a la plancha - with a bit of olive oil, salt and, usually, some flat-leafed parsley. Both squid and cuttlefish have a slimy membrane that covers their bodies. This is normally a purplish sort of colour with black flecks. As it looks a little bit unpleasant, most people simply scrape it off with a sharp knife: the work of a few seconds. In Greece, however, they often leave this membrane in place. When cooked intact, the squid or cuttlefish will often show traces of this purplish colour. Whilst I can't be sure that it is not wishful thinking, I have always thought that this membrane, although slimy and unpleasant in the raw state, actually improves the flavour. The best squid I have ever eaten was in the Ferryman Taverna in Elounda, Crete. This was the setting for the BBC series "Who pays the ferryman?". The last time we were there, Cheryl and I witnessed one of the corniest attempted seductions that you could imagine. But I digress. Such is the nature of the blog.
Within Europe, I have only ever seen cuttlefish on menus in Spain and Portugal. In Albufeira, on the last afternoon of a week-long holiday, we stumbled across a bar that featured a Brazilian style feijoada made with cuttlefish. It was absolutely amazing. Why we don't eat this particular relative of the squid and octopus in this country, I do not know. It is not for the lack of them in our seas. On the beach at Portsmouth one day, I saw the remains of thousands - maybe even hundreds of thousands - of them. Although so many years later, I can't recall if I saw the bodies or just the internal shell; the same shell that budgies favour for the sharpening of their beaks. They like to keep their beaks sharp so that they can tear apart the flesh of their natural enemy, the aardvark. Never let your aardvark anywhere near a budgie if you can help it.
Actually, I have just remembered that in Lucca last year, I had a dish of cuttlefish with peas that was beyond sublime.
But to return to more serious matters. One of my points for today was the number of different ways of referring to cuttlefish in Spanish. Translating the names of fish and seafood that are eaten in any significant commercial quantities can be a nightmare. The best way to do it is to find out the scientific (Latin) name of the animal concerned and then cross reference. This is particularly the case with crustacea. Then there are always regional variations to deal with. Calamares are sometimes referred to (perhaps more in speech than in writing) as caramales. Meatballs - albondigas - are sometimes referred to as almondigas (try looking that one up in a dictionary) and in Seville the ubiquitous croquetas sometimes morph into cocretas (That famous sevillano sense of humour again).Anyway, to cut a long story short, if you haven't yet tried cuttlefish, I can heartily recommend this splendid mollusc.
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
tapas and other stuff
Some of yesterday's post vanished into the ether, the victim of my lack of ability in cyberland. I had intended to write about coffee among other things.
Spain has a great coffee culture. Coffee does not have such a central place in daily life as it does in Italy, but there can be no doubting its importance. When in Spain, I normally like a strong coffee with a small shot of hot milk. I usually ask for un cortado doble. On a cold winter's morning, when, with my shotgun over my shoulder and my gamebag hanging from my waist, I am about to stroll across some finca in search of partridge or hare, then I favour a carajillo - a black coffeee with a shot of hard liquor. I like brandy, but you can add whatever takes your fancy. Of course, I was only kidding about going hunting. I would barely know which end of the shotgun to point at my prey. I have only ever been hunting once and that was with a couple of Bulgarians, when Cheryl and I were living in Bulgaria. I seem to recall that two shots were fired, resulting in two animals being killed - a hare and a pheasant - and that was it for the day. As these were people who needed a cheap way to add protein to a somewhat impoverished diet, I had no problem with the episode.
To go back to coffee, a carajillo can often benefit from a sliver of lemon peel thrown into the cup. The opposite end of the coffee spectrum is the iced coffee. If on a hot day, you are struggling to come round after your siesta, then a Spanish style iced coffee is just the thing. If you take it with sugar, remember to add the sugar to the hot coffee, as, once you have cooled it down by tipping the hot liquid over a glass of ice cubes, then you will have a job dissolving the sugar. If you don't have to go back to work after your siesta, you could always opt for a cold beer, which in my experience, has a similar reviving effect.
Anyway, I was going to add a further piece about tapas today, inspired by watching Gordon Ramsay last night. One of the restaurants featured was a Spanish restaurant in London. The food seemed to be excellent, but it was the spirit of the place that seemed to be at odds with the real tapas bar experience. Surely tapas are best enjoyed standing at the bar of some little place you have stumbled across, but which might not look too promising from the outside, but which upon ordering, becomes some kind of gastronomic temple. I am talking about places with paper strewn floors and harassed waiters, where the number of people standing at the bar is a better indicator of quality than any review in a guidebook. The original tapas experience was one that came at no cost, other than that of the drinks. This mutated gradually and now most places charge for them. There are still places where the tapas are free, but they sometimes feature an over-reliance on the cheaper cuts of meat from the pig. Having said that, I know a couple of places in Avila where even the free tapas are a work of art, although, the price of a glass of wine may well make you cough. My point here is that a posh restaurant that produces elaborately wrought tapas in surroundings featuring immaculate white table cloths, pristine glasses and waiters decked out in what amounts to full evening dress, is a somewhat less than authentic take on the real thing.
Toy Story 3
Spain has a great coffee culture. Coffee does not have such a central place in daily life as it does in Italy, but there can be no doubting its importance. When in Spain, I normally like a strong coffee with a small shot of hot milk. I usually ask for un cortado doble. On a cold winter's morning, when, with my shotgun over my shoulder and my gamebag hanging from my waist, I am about to stroll across some finca in search of partridge or hare, then I favour a carajillo - a black coffeee with a shot of hard liquor. I like brandy, but you can add whatever takes your fancy. Of course, I was only kidding about going hunting. I would barely know which end of the shotgun to point at my prey. I have only ever been hunting once and that was with a couple of Bulgarians, when Cheryl and I were living in Bulgaria. I seem to recall that two shots were fired, resulting in two animals being killed - a hare and a pheasant - and that was it for the day. As these were people who needed a cheap way to add protein to a somewhat impoverished diet, I had no problem with the episode.
To go back to coffee, a carajillo can often benefit from a sliver of lemon peel thrown into the cup. The opposite end of the coffee spectrum is the iced coffee. If on a hot day, you are struggling to come round after your siesta, then a Spanish style iced coffee is just the thing. If you take it with sugar, remember to add the sugar to the hot coffee, as, once you have cooled it down by tipping the hot liquid over a glass of ice cubes, then you will have a job dissolving the sugar. If you don't have to go back to work after your siesta, you could always opt for a cold beer, which in my experience, has a similar reviving effect.
Anyway, I was going to add a further piece about tapas today, inspired by watching Gordon Ramsay last night. One of the restaurants featured was a Spanish restaurant in London. The food seemed to be excellent, but it was the spirit of the place that seemed to be at odds with the real tapas bar experience. Surely tapas are best enjoyed standing at the bar of some little place you have stumbled across, but which might not look too promising from the outside, but which upon ordering, becomes some kind of gastronomic temple. I am talking about places with paper strewn floors and harassed waiters, where the number of people standing at the bar is a better indicator of quality than any review in a guidebook. The original tapas experience was one that came at no cost, other than that of the drinks. This mutated gradually and now most places charge for them. There are still places where the tapas are free, but they sometimes feature an over-reliance on the cheaper cuts of meat from the pig. Having said that, I know a couple of places in Avila where even the free tapas are a work of art, although, the price of a glass of wine may well make you cough. My point here is that a posh restaurant that produces elaborately wrought tapas in surroundings featuring immaculate white table cloths, pristine glasses and waiters decked out in what amounts to full evening dress, is a somewhat less than authentic take on the real thing.
Toy Story 3
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
kitchen equipment
Although I love to cook my stock of kitchen utensils is quite minimal. Our kitchen is too small to keep up with every little chisme and doodad that is advertised on television - especially at this time of the year.
We have quite a variety of Spanish ceramic bits and pieces, from tall, semi-glazed "glasses" which can go in the freezer and really add to the pleasure of a gin and tonic or a cold beer and on to all manner of jugs, soup bowls and those things that the Spanish call a "cazuela de barro". This is a heavy ceramic frying pan cum serving dish. The good thing about it is that you can cook in it and then bring the dish, still sizzling, to the table, which looks quite good.
we have a couple of good quality non-stick frying pans of the normal variety. These are very handy for making tortilla. I do have quite a collection of knives, but always end up using the same one - a Japanese style santoro knife, which keeps a great edge and makes short work of most things.
We have quite a variety of Spanish ceramic bits and pieces, from tall, semi-glazed "glasses" which can go in the freezer and really add to the pleasure of a gin and tonic or a cold beer and on to all manner of jugs, soup bowls and those things that the Spanish call a "cazuela de barro". This is a heavy ceramic frying pan cum serving dish. The good thing about it is that you can cook in it and then bring the dish, still sizzling, to the table, which looks quite good.
we have a couple of good quality non-stick frying pans of the normal variety. These are very handy for making tortilla. I do have quite a collection of knives, but always end up using the same one - a Japanese style santoro knife, which keeps a great edge and makes short work of most things.
Monday, 1 November 2010
mackerel with chorizo
Today really does represent one of those tangents I have been threatening to go off on. I have been meaning to cook some fish and/or seafood for a while. This has now combined with a suspicion that I really should manage my cholesterol levels a little bit more diligently: I have eaten far too much cheese recently.
So I bought some mackerel fillets and some shell-on king prawns. I normally go to a fish shop on the dockside in Fleetwood, but the continuing improvement of the fish counter at Morrisons means that I can usually get all my shopping for the week in the supermarket.
I asked the chap on the fish counter to fillet 3 small mackerel. Once filleted there really was not much weight of fish, so I didn't feel too guilty. For some reason I thought the mackerel might go quite well with some links of the chorizo usually used for cooking that had been hanging around in the bottom of the fridge for a while.
so I sliced the chorizo in half lengthways and put them into a dry frying pan on a low heat. Chorizo doesn't normally need any extra oil for frying as the melting fat it exudes quickly produces a frying medium. Once I had gently fried the chorizo on both sides, I removed it from the pan and set it to one side. My hope was that the paprika infused oil left behind by the chorizo would add both flavour and colour to the mackerel. I fried the mackerel - skin side down first, in true Masterchef style - and then flipped them over. They were done in about 3 minutes: I told you they were small fillets!
I served them with the chorizo, which by that time had cooled quite a bit. I have a much more Mediterranean attitude to the right temperature at which to serve food: this slightly British thing where everything has to be served "piping hot" is sheer folly. If the food is too hot to eat when it is served up, surely it was served too hot in the first place. (If you want to read a funny anecdote on the subject, I recommend "Greece on my wheels" by Edward Enfield - one of the best travel books I have ever read.)
To go with the mackerel and chorizo I knocked up a quick salad of chopped tomatoes, some of those jarred peppadew peppers, a bit of onion, some sliced pitted black olives, a bit of olive oil and a bit of balsamic vineagar.
As a starter I cooked the prawns with chilli and garlic. I decided to shell the prawns, but that was only because, once cooked, I wanted to enjoy them immediately. With regard to the garlic, I sliced it as finely as possible and then gently poached it in some olive oil along with the chilli flakes that are such a common accompaniment to large prawns. I think that slowly poaching the olive oil along with the chilli makes sure that the oil is well infused with both those flavours. Once I have done that for 5 minutes or so, I put the prawns in the pan, turn up the heat a notch or two, and in 3 or 4 minutes the prawns are done. Prawns are, I believe, high in dietary cholesterol. However it is the way that saturated fats (ie, those that are solid at room temperature) react during digestion, that creates the elevated levels of cholesterol in the bloodstream. The dietary cholesterol present in prawns breaks down into something else during digestion, so within reason, prawns are OK. (Disclaimer: please check this advice with your physician or health care provider - failing that write to Dr Ozzy Osbourne at the Sunday Times, whose advice is always both timely and appropriate.)
I know that self praise is no recommendation, but I thought the chorizo went really well with the mackerel.
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
So I bought some mackerel fillets and some shell-on king prawns. I normally go to a fish shop on the dockside in Fleetwood, but the continuing improvement of the fish counter at Morrisons means that I can usually get all my shopping for the week in the supermarket.
I asked the chap on the fish counter to fillet 3 small mackerel. Once filleted there really was not much weight of fish, so I didn't feel too guilty. For some reason I thought the mackerel might go quite well with some links of the chorizo usually used for cooking that had been hanging around in the bottom of the fridge for a while.
so I sliced the chorizo in half lengthways and put them into a dry frying pan on a low heat. Chorizo doesn't normally need any extra oil for frying as the melting fat it exudes quickly produces a frying medium. Once I had gently fried the chorizo on both sides, I removed it from the pan and set it to one side. My hope was that the paprika infused oil left behind by the chorizo would add both flavour and colour to the mackerel. I fried the mackerel - skin side down first, in true Masterchef style - and then flipped them over. They were done in about 3 minutes: I told you they were small fillets!
I served them with the chorizo, which by that time had cooled quite a bit. I have a much more Mediterranean attitude to the right temperature at which to serve food: this slightly British thing where everything has to be served "piping hot" is sheer folly. If the food is too hot to eat when it is served up, surely it was served too hot in the first place. (If you want to read a funny anecdote on the subject, I recommend "Greece on my wheels" by Edward Enfield - one of the best travel books I have ever read.)
To go with the mackerel and chorizo I knocked up a quick salad of chopped tomatoes, some of those jarred peppadew peppers, a bit of onion, some sliced pitted black olives, a bit of olive oil and a bit of balsamic vineagar.
As a starter I cooked the prawns with chilli and garlic. I decided to shell the prawns, but that was only because, once cooked, I wanted to enjoy them immediately. With regard to the garlic, I sliced it as finely as possible and then gently poached it in some olive oil along with the chilli flakes that are such a common accompaniment to large prawns. I think that slowly poaching the olive oil along with the chilli makes sure that the oil is well infused with both those flavours. Once I have done that for 5 minutes or so, I put the prawns in the pan, turn up the heat a notch or two, and in 3 or 4 minutes the prawns are done. Prawns are, I believe, high in dietary cholesterol. However it is the way that saturated fats (ie, those that are solid at room temperature) react during digestion, that creates the elevated levels of cholesterol in the bloodstream. The dietary cholesterol present in prawns breaks down into something else during digestion, so within reason, prawns are OK. (Disclaimer: please check this advice with your physician or health care provider - failing that write to Dr Ozzy Osbourne at the Sunday Times, whose advice is always both timely and appropriate.)
I know that self praise is no recommendation, but I thought the chorizo went really well with the mackerel.
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Friday, 29 October 2010
cheese
I notice that Nigella Lawson did a Spanish style dish last night. The finished product didn't look too Spanish to me in its presentation, but I do agree that chicken and chorizo go together very well. And she nearly pronounced chorizo correctly - opting not to go for the Italian style pronunciation favoured by most TV chefs.
But today's topic is cheese and I will try and stick to the subject. With regard to Spanish cheeses available in the UK, there can be little doubt that manchego is pre-eminent. Manchego ranges from mild to quite fierce. The herringbone pattern on the rind is a memory of the days when the maturing cheeses were wrapped in esparto grass.
On a trip to Asturias a few years ago, Cheryl and I tried a cheese called Afuega'l Pitu - fire in the throat in the Asturian dialect. If ever a cheese was aptly named it was this one. It was served up as part of a cheeseboard of hugely varied tastes, strengths and textures. Galicia has the famous tetilla cheese and Menorca has some pretty good artesan cheeses. Milder cheeses made from goats' milk are pretty ubiquitous throughout Spain. My favourite cheese though, is the torta de La Serena, a ewes' milk cheese from the steppe country of La Serena in Badajoz province. I brought two of these home from a trip to Spain last year. I kept them in the freezer for three months until my 50th birthday in June. A couple of days before the party I took them out of the freezer to allow them to come up to room temperature. Once at room temperature this cheese can be poured like honey - although the best way to serve it is to cut the top off and dig in with bread or crackers. It wasn't my intention to focus on the produce of Extremadura, but the time I spent living there has obviously had a big effect on me. Tomorrow I will have a look at the food of Andalucia and some of the islands.
But today's topic is cheese and I will try and stick to the subject. With regard to Spanish cheeses available in the UK, there can be little doubt that manchego is pre-eminent. Manchego ranges from mild to quite fierce. The herringbone pattern on the rind is a memory of the days when the maturing cheeses were wrapped in esparto grass.
On a trip to Asturias a few years ago, Cheryl and I tried a cheese called Afuega'l Pitu - fire in the throat in the Asturian dialect. If ever a cheese was aptly named it was this one. It was served up as part of a cheeseboard of hugely varied tastes, strengths and textures. Galicia has the famous tetilla cheese and Menorca has some pretty good artesan cheeses. Milder cheeses made from goats' milk are pretty ubiquitous throughout Spain. My favourite cheese though, is the torta de La Serena, a ewes' milk cheese from the steppe country of La Serena in Badajoz province. I brought two of these home from a trip to Spain last year. I kept them in the freezer for three months until my 50th birthday in June. A couple of days before the party I took them out of the freezer to allow them to come up to room temperature. Once at room temperature this cheese can be poured like honey - although the best way to serve it is to cut the top off and dig in with bread or crackers. It wasn't my intention to focus on the produce of Extremadura, but the time I spent living there has obviously had a big effect on me. Tomorrow I will have a look at the food of Andalucia and some of the islands.
Thursday, 28 October 2010
meat
Meat is the theme for today's blog. Whilst not wishing to deny the existence of good meat in the UK; it still remains the case that the meat commonly available in Spain is a bit better than its counterpart in this country. This is particularly true when it comes to pork. Supermarket pork in this country is virtually tasteless, unless you go for the high end stuff with all its provenance, the name of the farmer's wife and the exact climatological details of the microclimate in which the meat was reared.
I suspect that part of the problem is our attitude to fat. The movement towards a healthier diet has, in effect, only served to demonise fats and sugars. In Spain, however, and without trying to attribute the status of a dietary Shangri-La to my former stamping ground, the picture is totally different. People recognise that fat both lubricates the meat as it is cooking, and also makes the meat generally tastier. I would never order a pork steak in a restaurant in the UK, because you can pretty much guarantee in advance, that the meat will be both dry and tough. This is because lean meat is the undisputed king. People like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall might advocate the benefits of a sensible proportion of fat on your meat and in your wider diet as a whole, but I fear that one man is unlikely to change the opinion of all but the most committed foodies.
The Spanish even have a type of fat that lowers both blood pressure and cholesterol. Granted this fat is only present in one very specific product - jamon iberico de bellota. And this is not speculation. This counter-intuitive fact comes from a properly conducted scientific trial. The lucky guinea pigs were a group of nuns in a closed order, in a convent in Badajoz in the 90's. The documentary evidence is on the internet for those who care to chase it up, but what it boils down to, is that the old aphorism "You are what you eat." applies to pigs too. This is because acorns are made up of a very high percentage of oleic acid - the same substance that makes olive oil a healthy substance. The oleic acid ends up in the fat of the pigs and hence the health benefits. The Spanish term jamon iberico de bellota, by the way, refers to ham from the slate-grey Iberian pigs, which have been fed (almost) exclusively on acorns for the last 3 - 4 months of their lives. The same pigs were once reputed to derive some of their flavour from the fact that vipers were an important constituent part of their diet. It makes a nice story, but I doubt there was ever that much in it.
With regard to beef, there can be no doubt that the meat from an Aberdeen Angus, which has been properly hung for the requisite period of time, is a real treat. But walk into an average restaurant, order an average steak and your experience will generally be better in Spain.
This is not just an attack on the current state of affairs in the UK - we have a great butcher near us, and the northern supermarket, Booth's has a great attitude towards provenance and supporting local producers.
There is a meat however that we don't tend to make use of in this country, and that is goat. Goat, or kid more usually, (cabrito in Spanish) is an absolute revelation - like the best lamb you ever had, only more so. One of my most cherished memories of our time in Extremadura was the day we were invited to a goat roast put on by a gastronomic society. The beast in question was slowly roasted over a pit of glowing charcoals. A home made rotissary grill had been knocked up out of cannibalised bicycle parts hooked up to a power supply. The meat was absolutely wonderful and the pinnacle of the occasion was when I was offered a roasted goat's testicle - perhaps in the hope that it might be too much for a squeamish Englishman - the taste of which lives on in my memory to this day.
I suspect that part of the problem is our attitude to fat. The movement towards a healthier diet has, in effect, only served to demonise fats and sugars. In Spain, however, and without trying to attribute the status of a dietary Shangri-La to my former stamping ground, the picture is totally different. People recognise that fat both lubricates the meat as it is cooking, and also makes the meat generally tastier. I would never order a pork steak in a restaurant in the UK, because you can pretty much guarantee in advance, that the meat will be both dry and tough. This is because lean meat is the undisputed king. People like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall might advocate the benefits of a sensible proportion of fat on your meat and in your wider diet as a whole, but I fear that one man is unlikely to change the opinion of all but the most committed foodies.
The Spanish even have a type of fat that lowers both blood pressure and cholesterol. Granted this fat is only present in one very specific product - jamon iberico de bellota. And this is not speculation. This counter-intuitive fact comes from a properly conducted scientific trial. The lucky guinea pigs were a group of nuns in a closed order, in a convent in Badajoz in the 90's. The documentary evidence is on the internet for those who care to chase it up, but what it boils down to, is that the old aphorism "You are what you eat." applies to pigs too. This is because acorns are made up of a very high percentage of oleic acid - the same substance that makes olive oil a healthy substance. The oleic acid ends up in the fat of the pigs and hence the health benefits. The Spanish term jamon iberico de bellota, by the way, refers to ham from the slate-grey Iberian pigs, which have been fed (almost) exclusively on acorns for the last 3 - 4 months of their lives. The same pigs were once reputed to derive some of their flavour from the fact that vipers were an important constituent part of their diet. It makes a nice story, but I doubt there was ever that much in it.
With regard to beef, there can be no doubt that the meat from an Aberdeen Angus, which has been properly hung for the requisite period of time, is a real treat. But walk into an average restaurant, order an average steak and your experience will generally be better in Spain.
This is not just an attack on the current state of affairs in the UK - we have a great butcher near us, and the northern supermarket, Booth's has a great attitude towards provenance and supporting local producers.
There is a meat however that we don't tend to make use of in this country, and that is goat. Goat, or kid more usually, (cabrito in Spanish) is an absolute revelation - like the best lamb you ever had, only more so. One of my most cherished memories of our time in Extremadura was the day we were invited to a goat roast put on by a gastronomic society. The beast in question was slowly roasted over a pit of glowing charcoals. A home made rotissary grill had been knocked up out of cannibalised bicycle parts hooked up to a power supply. The meat was absolutely wonderful and the pinnacle of the occasion was when I was offered a roasted goat's testicle - perhaps in the hope that it might be too much for a squeamish Englishman - the taste of which lives on in my memory to this day.
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
fish
Today's blog is all about fish - not so much any particular recipe - but rather an attitude towards cooking fish. Here in the UK we seem to be very wary about cooking fish. As an island race we once lived surrounded by seas rich in fish. Today those fish stocks are much reduced, but our attitude towards cooking fish must surely have been forged at a time when haddock and herring were plentiful.
Fish is really easy to cook, once the flesh has reached a uniform temperature of 60 odd degrees (look it up for yourselves - I am too lazy) then the fish is cooked. So poaching or steaming most fish for 5 minutes or so should be enough. Deep frying can be achieved in a short time - a couple of minutes or so for smallish chunks of fish. Shallow frying can take a little longer, but not much. Grilling is all about using your eyes or a timer if not confident about the evidence of your eyes. Disaster is difficult to achieve (although I have managed it) when lots of things can be remedied by a bit more time on the grillpan or in the oven.
For the meatier fish like tuna or swordfish, which often come in the form of steaks, the truth is that I like them to have spent a bit more time on the grill than is usually recommended. I prefer them when they have dried out a bit. If you prefer your fish less well done then simply give it a bit less time.
Most fish have a very mild flavour. If you poach cod in plain water the resultant dish will not have much taste. So you are going to need to acquire more flavour from somewhere. A good way is to dust the fish in heavily seasoned flour (salt, pepper and sometimes paprika) and then shallow fry in chunks. Monkfish responds very well to this treatment. And if you can get it, gurnard - once cooked - is virtually indistinguishable from this magnificently ugly member of the shark family. Gurnard, by the way, is usually less than half the price of monkfish.
I have not cooked shellfish that much, but the little I do know comes from my own trial and error. In Spain I once cooked the little clams that are called simply almejas without further linguistic adornment. I mixed good quality olive oil with a cheapish white wine, added a huge amount of very finely chopped garlic and let the whole lot poach gently until all the flavours had amalgamated. Then I dropped in the clams, put the lid on the pan and let the whole thing simmer away for about 5 minutes or so. I seem to recall it worked.
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation
Fish is really easy to cook, once the flesh has reached a uniform temperature of 60 odd degrees (look it up for yourselves - I am too lazy) then the fish is cooked. So poaching or steaming most fish for 5 minutes or so should be enough. Deep frying can be achieved in a short time - a couple of minutes or so for smallish chunks of fish. Shallow frying can take a little longer, but not much. Grilling is all about using your eyes or a timer if not confident about the evidence of your eyes. Disaster is difficult to achieve (although I have managed it) when lots of things can be remedied by a bit more time on the grillpan or in the oven.
For the meatier fish like tuna or swordfish, which often come in the form of steaks, the truth is that I like them to have spent a bit more time on the grill than is usually recommended. I prefer them when they have dried out a bit. If you prefer your fish less well done then simply give it a bit less time.
Most fish have a very mild flavour. If you poach cod in plain water the resultant dish will not have much taste. So you are going to need to acquire more flavour from somewhere. A good way is to dust the fish in heavily seasoned flour (salt, pepper and sometimes paprika) and then shallow fry in chunks. Monkfish responds very well to this treatment. And if you can get it, gurnard - once cooked - is virtually indistinguishable from this magnificently ugly member of the shark family. Gurnard, by the way, is usually less than half the price of monkfish.
I have not cooked shellfish that much, but the little I do know comes from my own trial and error. In Spain I once cooked the little clams that are called simply almejas without further linguistic adornment. I mixed good quality olive oil with a cheapish white wine, added a huge amount of very finely chopped garlic and let the whole lot poach gently until all the flavours had amalgamated. Then I dropped in the clams, put the lid on the pan and let the whole thing simmer away for about 5 minutes or so. I seem to recall it worked.
Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, 6" Display, Graphite - Latest Generation
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
easy gazpacho
Even though the weather has taken a turn for the worst, I am going to write about a dish better suited to the summer. That dish is another one associated with Cordoba: salmorejo. This is like a thicker version of the better-known gazpacho. The good news is, that it is simpler and less time-consuming to prepare - no peeling cucumber or straining liquids. You will need:
6 good sized ripe tomatoes, enough garlic cloves to suit your own taste, a cup of olive oil, three slices of stale bread or toast (provided, of course, that the bread was decent quality in the first place - ciabatta is excellent here), a little white wine vinegar and a few bits and bobs to garnish - finely chopped hard boiled egg, etc.
This dish could not be simpler and as most of the ingredients are associated with health benefits, it is probably the healthiest dish I commonly make. All you need to do is to blend all the ingredients in a food processor or use a hand held blender and a suitable receptacle. The finished dish should be thick and barely liquid at all. As such, it can be eaten as quite a filling starter, or can be served as an addition - almost a dressing - to other courses of either meat or fish. As there is no cooking involved, you will need to remember that the garlic will be full on, as not only is it raw, but after having been more or less liquidised by the blending process, it will be in the form that gives the strongest garlic flavour. Even one big clove can give quite a hit of garlic flavour.
This is a classic dish for the trial and error method. Taste as you go, to see if you have got enough olive oil, if you need a little more vinegar or stale bread to give the dish body, or a little salt. Serve in bowls with some decent bread, something to garnish, such as a swirl (sorry!) of olive oil, the aforementioned hard boiled eggs or a few slices of serrano ham.
Writing about garlic has made me think about another dish/sauce that has a bold approach to garlic: aioli. The authentic version of this requires two or three cloves of garlic to be pounded in a pestle and mortar with some coarse sea salt (to give better grip) and once it has been rendered into a smooth paste, you then need to add olive oil, a few drops at a time. Work each lot of olive oil into the garlic paste, leaving it a little less strong with each addition of oil. We make it so that when we have finished, there are about 5 or 6 good tablespoons of aioli in the pestle (or is it the mortar?). The resultant paste is usually an attractive greenish yellow colour and makes a fantastic sauce for fish, especially the meatier varieties such as tuna or swordfish steaks. More tomorrowThe Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
6 good sized ripe tomatoes, enough garlic cloves to suit your own taste, a cup of olive oil, three slices of stale bread or toast (provided, of course, that the bread was decent quality in the first place - ciabatta is excellent here), a little white wine vinegar and a few bits and bobs to garnish - finely chopped hard boiled egg, etc.
This dish could not be simpler and as most of the ingredients are associated with health benefits, it is probably the healthiest dish I commonly make. All you need to do is to blend all the ingredients in a food processor or use a hand held blender and a suitable receptacle. The finished dish should be thick and barely liquid at all. As such, it can be eaten as quite a filling starter, or can be served as an addition - almost a dressing - to other courses of either meat or fish. As there is no cooking involved, you will need to remember that the garlic will be full on, as not only is it raw, but after having been more or less liquidised by the blending process, it will be in the form that gives the strongest garlic flavour. Even one big clove can give quite a hit of garlic flavour.
This is a classic dish for the trial and error method. Taste as you go, to see if you have got enough olive oil, if you need a little more vinegar or stale bread to give the dish body, or a little salt. Serve in bowls with some decent bread, something to garnish, such as a swirl (sorry!) of olive oil, the aforementioned hard boiled eggs or a few slices of serrano ham.
Writing about garlic has made me think about another dish/sauce that has a bold approach to garlic: aioli. The authentic version of this requires two or three cloves of garlic to be pounded in a pestle and mortar with some coarse sea salt (to give better grip) and once it has been rendered into a smooth paste, you then need to add olive oil, a few drops at a time. Work each lot of olive oil into the garlic paste, leaving it a little less strong with each addition of oil. We make it so that when we have finished, there are about 5 or 6 good tablespoons of aioli in the pestle (or is it the mortar?). The resultant paste is usually an attractive greenish yellow colour and makes a fantastic sauce for fish, especially the meatier varieties such as tuna or swordfish steaks. More tomorrowThe Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Monday, 25 October 2010
great places to eat in Spain
I have been somewhat remiss, insofar as I have forgotten the two most important ingredients in any recipe: a glass of wine and some music. The wine I will leave to you: I am sure you know your own taste. For the music, I like a bit of Shakira, Gloria Estefan (especially when she sings in Spanish), Los Lobos (my favourite band of all time) and the incomparable Joaquin Sabina - especially the album 19 Dias y 500 Noches. I fell in love with this album in around 2001 and love it still.
But today, rather than recipes or particular foodstuffs, I would rather talk about some of the great places in which I have eaten when in Spain.
As I mentioned yesterday, the little eating houses within walking distance of Cordoba's Mezquita are all worth a look. I can't remember the name of any particular place just now, but I promise to search my memory banks and my notes and photos and see if I can come up with some specific names.
Seville is one of my favourite cities. We went there with friends at this time of year 2 years ago, and I was a bit worried in case they didn't like it. But all was well and they both enjoyed themselves. The Bodega Santa Cruz in the heart of the Barrio de Santa Cruz is one of the city's iconic spots. The noise is incredible, the speed of the service scarcely credible and the menu is a genuine one, featuring such dishes as sangre encebollada (onioned blood?) and little brown shrimp pancakes known as tortillitas de camarones. This bodega, known by the locals as Las Columnas, is a typical city bar cum eatery, of a type which is sadly slowly disappearing. Even if you don't like it, I am sure that if you have a heart, a soul and an appreciation of the culture of others, you will be able to see why I have recommended it.
On the Alameda de Hercules (Really must get these accents sorted out. I don't want to look like somebody with a falta de ortografia), we ate at a place called the Bodega Norte Andaluza - if memory serves - and I am sure it does. The raciones were simply amazing, especially the battered cod. A real down home, authentic Spanish bodega, with the emphasis on good food and great hospitality.
In the picture postcard village of Frigiliana that sits on the mountainside above the resort of Nerja (long since ruined in my opinion) we have enjoyed fabulous food and hospitality at a little bar/ restaurante called El Ingenio (the sugar cane mill). The last time we went there was a good few years ago but, I am sure that a little bit of diligent Googling will ascertain if it is still there or not. If it is: go - lovely people, fabulous food, a good walk from Nerja if you choose to access the village that way, incredible view down a little valley to the Mediterranean and lots of wildlife - such as mountain goats and various birds of prey. I hope it is still there.
In the city of Segovia you can hardly go wrong, but don't go for the suckling pig: try the lamb, which is less famous, but a much better bet generally. In the village of La Granja it is also difficult to go too far wrong, but I must declare an interest here: most of the licensees are friends of mine.
In Extremadura and Merida in particular it is harder to find a bad place than it is to find a good one. So many memories! I will have to find the time to let you in on all my secrets on another day. Buen provecho!
But today, rather than recipes or particular foodstuffs, I would rather talk about some of the great places in which I have eaten when in Spain.
As I mentioned yesterday, the little eating houses within walking distance of Cordoba's Mezquita are all worth a look. I can't remember the name of any particular place just now, but I promise to search my memory banks and my notes and photos and see if I can come up with some specific names.
Seville is one of my favourite cities. We went there with friends at this time of year 2 years ago, and I was a bit worried in case they didn't like it. But all was well and they both enjoyed themselves. The Bodega Santa Cruz in the heart of the Barrio de Santa Cruz is one of the city's iconic spots. The noise is incredible, the speed of the service scarcely credible and the menu is a genuine one, featuring such dishes as sangre encebollada (onioned blood?) and little brown shrimp pancakes known as tortillitas de camarones. This bodega, known by the locals as Las Columnas, is a typical city bar cum eatery, of a type which is sadly slowly disappearing. Even if you don't like it, I am sure that if you have a heart, a soul and an appreciation of the culture of others, you will be able to see why I have recommended it.
On the Alameda de Hercules (Really must get these accents sorted out. I don't want to look like somebody with a falta de ortografia), we ate at a place called the Bodega Norte Andaluza - if memory serves - and I am sure it does. The raciones were simply amazing, especially the battered cod. A real down home, authentic Spanish bodega, with the emphasis on good food and great hospitality.
In the picture postcard village of Frigiliana that sits on the mountainside above the resort of Nerja (long since ruined in my opinion) we have enjoyed fabulous food and hospitality at a little bar/ restaurante called El Ingenio (the sugar cane mill). The last time we went there was a good few years ago but, I am sure that a little bit of diligent Googling will ascertain if it is still there or not. If it is: go - lovely people, fabulous food, a good walk from Nerja if you choose to access the village that way, incredible view down a little valley to the Mediterranean and lots of wildlife - such as mountain goats and various birds of prey. I hope it is still there.
In the city of Segovia you can hardly go wrong, but don't go for the suckling pig: try the lamb, which is less famous, but a much better bet generally. In the village of La Granja it is also difficult to go too far wrong, but I must declare an interest here: most of the licensees are friends of mine.
In Extremadura and Merida in particular it is harder to find a bad place than it is to find a good one. So many memories! I will have to find the time to let you in on all my secrets on another day. Buen provecho!
Sunday, 24 October 2010
oxtail stew Cordoba style
Today the weather just outside Blackpool is absolutely amazing: clear skies, very little wind and plenty of sunshine. Why then am I cooking an oxtail stew better suited to the lightless days of January and February? Because I felt like it, plus I liked the look of the meat when I was in the butcher's. (I am relatively sure that the apostrophe back there is correct - the word shop being taken as understood.)
Anyway if you want presentation, Masterchef style, with towers and swirls and extra prepostions that bring nothing to the party, you are in the wrong place. Simplicity and taste are the watchwords here.
Although only cooking for Cheryl and me, I seem to have acquired 1 kilo of oxtail. This means we will be eating this stew for days. So, in time-honoured fashion, here are the ingredients for 4 people:
1 kilo of oxtail, 1 large onion, enough garlic cloves to suit your palate, 2 tins of tomatoes,2 tins of haricot beans (in truth just about any good quality tinned beans will do, with the possible exception of the red kidney beans usually used for chilli con carne) a bit of tomato puree, a pinch of dried oregano (entirely optional) a pinch of chilli flakes, a little salt and little sugar to taste, some olive oil, a tin of anchovies, a little plain flour and 2 good sized glasses of a full bodied red wine.
Firstly dust the oxtail in seasoned flour and brown the meat in batches, using some of the oil from the anchovies and a little olive oil from your store cupboard, in a heavy based saucepan. Whilst the meat is browning, finely chop the onions, garlic and the anchovies. To make this easier you should drain the anchovies of their oil. This makes the anchovies easier to handle and, of course, you can use some or all of the oil from the anchovy can to cook with. When you have browned all the meat, remove it from the pan and set to one side. Then add the chopped onions and garlic along with the oregano and the chilli flakes. Gently fry these until the onions and the garlic have softened up and acquired some colour. Next add the finely chopped anchovies and fry for a further ten minutes or so until no trace of their original form can be seen. By this time, hopefully, you will have drained the tinned beans and opened the canned tomatoes.All the remaining ingredients can now be added to the saucepan.(that include a pinch of salt and a pinch of sugar). Don't forget the wine! Turn the heat up and bring to a simmer. Once the contents of the pan have reached a gentle rolling simmer, what I normally do is to put a heat diffuser under the pan (you might have to turn the heat up again briefly) and let it simmer with the lid on for 4 hours. You might get away with 3 hours depending on the quality of the meat you have used, but I once had a batch that barely responded to 6 hours at a low simmer. If the sauce is still too liquid, you can always take the lid off and let it simmer that way for a further 45 minutes to an hour.
During preparation I recommend the Gloria Estefan album, "Mi Tierra" and a glass of something suitably hale and hearty.
Why it is that this dish is so associated with Cordoba, I don't know - given that it is one of the hottest cities in the whole of Europe.(Actually, although I don't know, I suspect it dates back to the days of the Caliphate, when Muslim, Christian and Jew could all have tucked into a dish of oxtail without ever breaking any religious commandments.) All I can say is that October is a perfect time to visit, especially if you are leaving behind the drizzle of the UK. A sunny day with 22 degree temperatures and no particular agenda, except to wander round the narrow maze of alleyways that forms the Juderia barrio, hard by the famous Mezquita, is one of life's great pleasures. If you can find a typical local bar/restaurante/taverna in which to have a leisurely lunch, then that should make a pretty good end to a morning's sightseeing. Don't forget to have a look at the bronze statue of Maimonides, which happens to be the work of the father of my good friend Rafael.
Anyway if you want presentation, Masterchef style, with towers and swirls and extra prepostions that bring nothing to the party, you are in the wrong place. Simplicity and taste are the watchwords here.
Although only cooking for Cheryl and me, I seem to have acquired 1 kilo of oxtail. This means we will be eating this stew for days. So, in time-honoured fashion, here are the ingredients for 4 people:
1 kilo of oxtail, 1 large onion, enough garlic cloves to suit your palate, 2 tins of tomatoes,2 tins of haricot beans (in truth just about any good quality tinned beans will do, with the possible exception of the red kidney beans usually used for chilli con carne) a bit of tomato puree, a pinch of dried oregano (entirely optional) a pinch of chilli flakes, a little salt and little sugar to taste, some olive oil, a tin of anchovies, a little plain flour and 2 good sized glasses of a full bodied red wine.
Firstly dust the oxtail in seasoned flour and brown the meat in batches, using some of the oil from the anchovies and a little olive oil from your store cupboard, in a heavy based saucepan. Whilst the meat is browning, finely chop the onions, garlic and the anchovies. To make this easier you should drain the anchovies of their oil. This makes the anchovies easier to handle and, of course, you can use some or all of the oil from the anchovy can to cook with. When you have browned all the meat, remove it from the pan and set to one side. Then add the chopped onions and garlic along with the oregano and the chilli flakes. Gently fry these until the onions and the garlic have softened up and acquired some colour. Next add the finely chopped anchovies and fry for a further ten minutes or so until no trace of their original form can be seen. By this time, hopefully, you will have drained the tinned beans and opened the canned tomatoes.All the remaining ingredients can now be added to the saucepan.(that include a pinch of salt and a pinch of sugar). Don't forget the wine! Turn the heat up and bring to a simmer. Once the contents of the pan have reached a gentle rolling simmer, what I normally do is to put a heat diffuser under the pan (you might have to turn the heat up again briefly) and let it simmer with the lid on for 4 hours. You might get away with 3 hours depending on the quality of the meat you have used, but I once had a batch that barely responded to 6 hours at a low simmer. If the sauce is still too liquid, you can always take the lid off and let it simmer that way for a further 45 minutes to an hour.
During preparation I recommend the Gloria Estefan album, "Mi Tierra" and a glass of something suitably hale and hearty.
Why it is that this dish is so associated with Cordoba, I don't know - given that it is one of the hottest cities in the whole of Europe.(Actually, although I don't know, I suspect it dates back to the days of the Caliphate, when Muslim, Christian and Jew could all have tucked into a dish of oxtail without ever breaking any religious commandments.) All I can say is that October is a perfect time to visit, especially if you are leaving behind the drizzle of the UK. A sunny day with 22 degree temperatures and no particular agenda, except to wander round the narrow maze of alleyways that forms the Juderia barrio, hard by the famous Mezquita, is one of life's great pleasures. If you can find a typical local bar/restaurante/taverna in which to have a leisurely lunch, then that should make a pretty good end to a morning's sightseeing. Don't forget to have a look at the bronze statue of Maimonides, which happens to be the work of the father of my good friend Rafael.
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Spanish wine
There is more to Spanish wine than Rioja. I always find Rioja to be a little bit of a disappointment. This is perhaps because they were the first wine producing area in Spain to attract global attention in the modern era. Rioja wines were always well marketed and promoted. That is, perhaps, the reason behind my occasional let downs with the produce of Spain's most celebrated wine region. However, as I intend to write mainly positive things in this blog, I will just say that my wife, Cheryl and I once had a stunning red from Rioja called - if memory serves - Luberri. This was a few years ago now when we were on a trip to Bilbao.
If I was in an unfamiliar part of Spain in a restaurant I didn't know, I would almost certainly choose a red wine from the Ribera del Duero. I have had some really memorable wines from this region and I am not alone in my enthusiasm: Winston Churchill had an appetite for Vega Sicilia - famous for being the most expensive wines in Spain.
On a trip to Zamora I enjoyed the wines of Toro. If you want a description of the town I recommend "As I walked out one midsummer morning" by the incomparable Laurie Lee. I remember being surprised by the fact that wines labelled joven (young) were extremely full bodied and often had an alcohol content of around 14%. Some of them were really exceptional.
I normally prefer red wine to white wine, but I do not wish to ignore vino blanco. Albarino (I can't get the tilde over the n when I am blogging - sorry.) from Galicia is the perfect accompaniment to fish and seafood in general. It can be difficult to get here in the UK, but it is well worth the effort if you can find it.
I do not generally believe in the shibboleths about what wine goes with which food. And I am going to resist dropping into a rant here, suffice it to say that I think most adults are perfectly capable of choosing food and wine combinations to suit their own palates.
Certain things are sacred though, like the combination of barbecues and rose wine. I have had some great pinks from the Somontano DO. The summers in this part of Aragon are incredibly hot: the Spanish special forces do their desert training there. Argentina (to broaden the theme out a little) also has some great roses.
Next up, the wines from my beloved Extremadura. When Cheryl and I lived in the region, we used to enjoy a meaty red called Valdequemao or possibly Valdequemado. This was only 3 years ago and the price per bottle was under 2 Euros. Corte Real Platinum from Vinexsa has won so many awards that it hardly needs me to publicise it. Great people at this winery and loyal friends when I lived in the regionn.
However, if I cast my mind back to the best bottle of wine I have ever had, I would have to go back to our honeymoon in Mallorca. We found that restaurants that offered Cuina Mallorquina (Mallorcan cuisine in the mallorquin language) had the best foods and usually had wines from the island to accompany them. The two main wine producing areas on Mallorca are around the town of Binissalem and also around village of Andratx. It is a dangerous thing to recommend wines, but if you like full bodied reds, you can't go wrong on Mallorca. Salud!
If I was in an unfamiliar part of Spain in a restaurant I didn't know, I would almost certainly choose a red wine from the Ribera del Duero. I have had some really memorable wines from this region and I am not alone in my enthusiasm: Winston Churchill had an appetite for Vega Sicilia - famous for being the most expensive wines in Spain.
On a trip to Zamora I enjoyed the wines of Toro. If you want a description of the town I recommend "As I walked out one midsummer morning" by the incomparable Laurie Lee. I remember being surprised by the fact that wines labelled joven (young) were extremely full bodied and often had an alcohol content of around 14%. Some of them were really exceptional.
I normally prefer red wine to white wine, but I do not wish to ignore vino blanco. Albarino (I can't get the tilde over the n when I am blogging - sorry.) from Galicia is the perfect accompaniment to fish and seafood in general. It can be difficult to get here in the UK, but it is well worth the effort if you can find it.
I do not generally believe in the shibboleths about what wine goes with which food. And I am going to resist dropping into a rant here, suffice it to say that I think most adults are perfectly capable of choosing food and wine combinations to suit their own palates.
Certain things are sacred though, like the combination of barbecues and rose wine. I have had some great pinks from the Somontano DO. The summers in this part of Aragon are incredibly hot: the Spanish special forces do their desert training there. Argentina (to broaden the theme out a little) also has some great roses.
Next up, the wines from my beloved Extremadura. When Cheryl and I lived in the region, we used to enjoy a meaty red called Valdequemao or possibly Valdequemado. This was only 3 years ago and the price per bottle was under 2 Euros. Corte Real Platinum from Vinexsa has won so many awards that it hardly needs me to publicise it. Great people at this winery and loyal friends when I lived in the regionn.
However, if I cast my mind back to the best bottle of wine I have ever had, I would have to go back to our honeymoon in Mallorca. We found that restaurants that offered Cuina Mallorquina (Mallorcan cuisine in the mallorquin language) had the best foods and usually had wines from the island to accompany them. The two main wine producing areas on Mallorca are around the town of Binissalem and also around village of Andratx. It is a dangerous thing to recommend wines, but if you like full bodied reds, you can't go wrong on Mallorca. Salud!
Friday, 22 October 2010
Spanish pork and tomato stew
If you want to eat well in Spain, allow me to make a suggestion: forget about fancy restaurants and look for a decent bar. You know how you can judge a good Chinese restaurant by the quality of its ribs. Well I have a similar theory about carne con tomate. If a bar can't get a simple stew of pork and tomatoes right, then really, how good can that bar be?
But when this simple dish is good, it can be sublime. I had to make a few times before I got it right. That said, if somebody else is going to make it for me, then my favourite place on earth to eat this dish would be the Bar Bocanegra in the city of Merida - Extremadura. I have eaten their carne con tomate in the company of the manager of a 5-star hotel; a man well used to the finer things in life. He declared it to be excellent - further proof of the lack of pretension that dominates in (most of) Spain's eating establishments.
Most of my cooking is done by eye, by touch, by feel and by taste. Only rarely do I measure out the ingredients with mathematical precision. Nevertheless the ingredients for a decent sized portion for four people are:
1 large onion, 5 cloves of garlic, about a kilo of cubed stewing pork, a glass of white wine, two tins of tomatoes (usually around the 400 gram mark), a little salt, a little sugar, some olive oil and a pinch of dried oregano.
Firstly you need to empty the tinned tomatoes into a suitable container and liquidise them with whatever tool you normally use. From experience I know that it is this first step that makes all the difference to the finished dish. Next, peel and chop the onion and garlic quite finely. Heat the olive oil in decent sized saucepan and brown the meat until it has taken on plenty of colour. It is usually best to do this in 3 or 4 batches, so as not to overcrowd the pan. When you have browned the last of the meat, remove it from the pan and add the onions and garlic. By frying these gently you should notice that the bottom of the pan that was sticky with the residue of the browned meat becomes cleaner. I can only suppose that it is the acid in the alliums that is the beneficial element in this process. Once the onions and garlic are nicely softened you can return the meat to the pan along with the liquidised tomatoes, a pinch of dried oregano, a good pinch of salt, a little sugar to taste and a glass of white wine. For some reason, the cheaper the wine, the better the result with this dish. It breaks the old adage about a wine not being good enough to drink on its own not being good enough to cook with. Why this is, I don't know. I only know that it works. Now all that needs to be done is to let the whole thing simmer gently with the lid on for two hours. If after two hours, the sauce does not look quite dark enough, give it a further half hour with the lid off and that should thicken the sauce to the right consistency.
But when this simple dish is good, it can be sublime. I had to make a few times before I got it right. That said, if somebody else is going to make it for me, then my favourite place on earth to eat this dish would be the Bar Bocanegra in the city of Merida - Extremadura. I have eaten their carne con tomate in the company of the manager of a 5-star hotel; a man well used to the finer things in life. He declared it to be excellent - further proof of the lack of pretension that dominates in (most of) Spain's eating establishments.
Most of my cooking is done by eye, by touch, by feel and by taste. Only rarely do I measure out the ingredients with mathematical precision. Nevertheless the ingredients for a decent sized portion for four people are:
1 large onion, 5 cloves of garlic, about a kilo of cubed stewing pork, a glass of white wine, two tins of tomatoes (usually around the 400 gram mark), a little salt, a little sugar, some olive oil and a pinch of dried oregano.
Firstly you need to empty the tinned tomatoes into a suitable container and liquidise them with whatever tool you normally use. From experience I know that it is this first step that makes all the difference to the finished dish. Next, peel and chop the onion and garlic quite finely. Heat the olive oil in decent sized saucepan and brown the meat until it has taken on plenty of colour. It is usually best to do this in 3 or 4 batches, so as not to overcrowd the pan. When you have browned the last of the meat, remove it from the pan and add the onions and garlic. By frying these gently you should notice that the bottom of the pan that was sticky with the residue of the browned meat becomes cleaner. I can only suppose that it is the acid in the alliums that is the beneficial element in this process. Once the onions and garlic are nicely softened you can return the meat to the pan along with the liquidised tomatoes, a pinch of dried oregano, a good pinch of salt, a little sugar to taste and a glass of white wine. For some reason, the cheaper the wine, the better the result with this dish. It breaks the old adage about a wine not being good enough to drink on its own not being good enough to cook with. Why this is, I don't know. I only know that it works. Now all that needs to be done is to let the whole thing simmer gently with the lid on for two hours. If after two hours, the sauce does not look quite dark enough, give it a further half hour with the lid off and that should thicken the sauce to the right consistency.
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Spanish and Latin American Philosophy
My philosophy when cooking has been informed by an approach that is largely Mediterranean in its influence. Apart from over 10 years spent living in Spain (and numerous holidays spent there) I have travelled fairly widely throughout the Mediterranean region - Italy, France, Greece, Turkey and, althought it looks across the Atlantic towards the New World, I am going to allow myself the indulgence of including Portugal in the mix.
I have enjoyed some wonderful meals in all of these places. This brings me to the issue of presentation. Certain television programmes would have us believe that food is rendered inedible if it is not presented in stacks and towers with artfully applied swirls of jus surrounding it. My experience, however, is that all the great meals I have ever had, have been in places where the presentation aspect has been limited to simply putting the food onto a dish or a plate: indeed the best meal I ever had was served not on a plate but on a sheet of greased proof paper. If you look at the art of presentation in the light of what the food will surely become in 24 hours or so, then you can see that this is time best spent doing something more profitable.
With presentation dealt with, I can now go on to explain my feelings on certain ingredients. So many of the things we associate so readily with the Mediterranean countries have their origins in South and Central America. Peppers (including chilli peppers), tomatoes and potatoes all come from the New World. These days though, they have been adopted by the good people of Spain and all the other countries I mentioned earlier. When I cook with these things I feel as if what I am cooking will turn out with a Mediterranean look or taste to it. I recognise, however, that home for many of these ingredients was, originally, the chilly altiplano or the steaming rain forests.
With regard to the equipment I use in the kitchen, I use simple things: wooden spoons, good quality non-stick frying pans and one or two Spanish oddities. The peas and ham from yesterday's blog I cook in an enamel pan with a diameter of about 30cm and a depth of about 10cm. These black and white speckled pans are ubitquitous in Spain. The good points are that they are cheap and you can use just about anything to clean them with. The bad points include the fact that they heat up and cool down very quickly indeed, tend to burn things left unattended and will break if dropped (the enamel will chip off and the metal underneath will then rust.) I also like to fry things, especially prawns in garlic (gambas pil-pil) in a heavy earthenware cazuela. To British eyes it seems an unlikely thing to fry anything in a vessel made of glazed clay. The Spanish really got it right with this one though, as unlike its speckled friend, it keeps the heat for a long time. They also look good when you bring them to the table and serve the sizzling prawns directly from them.
So with that in mind, I will give you a recipe for a surefire dessert that has always been a winner for me. My simple fruit salad with pineapple, mango, golden rum and brown sugar. As you can see none of the ingredients in authentically Spanish, yet they are all easily available in Spain, the UK and the USA. The golden colour of the finished desert is both refreshing and summery and it could not be simpler.
You will need 1 large ripe pineapple, 1 large ripe mango, a shot of golden rum and a bit of brown sugar to suit your own tastes. Peel the pineapple and cut into cubes - about the same sort of size you would get in a tin of pineapple chunks. Peel and slice the mango into generous slices. Add a good shot of rum and a sprinkle of soft brown sugar and allow the juices to seep out of the fruit and meld with the booze and the sugar. Serve any way that takes your fancy. Just one word of caution, you need to be careful with your non knife-holding hand as the semi-peeled mango will be slippery and difficult to hold.
I have enjoyed some wonderful meals in all of these places. This brings me to the issue of presentation. Certain television programmes would have us believe that food is rendered inedible if it is not presented in stacks and towers with artfully applied swirls of jus surrounding it. My experience, however, is that all the great meals I have ever had, have been in places where the presentation aspect has been limited to simply putting the food onto a dish or a plate: indeed the best meal I ever had was served not on a plate but on a sheet of greased proof paper. If you look at the art of presentation in the light of what the food will surely become in 24 hours or so, then you can see that this is time best spent doing something more profitable.
With presentation dealt with, I can now go on to explain my feelings on certain ingredients. So many of the things we associate so readily with the Mediterranean countries have their origins in South and Central America. Peppers (including chilli peppers), tomatoes and potatoes all come from the New World. These days though, they have been adopted by the good people of Spain and all the other countries I mentioned earlier. When I cook with these things I feel as if what I am cooking will turn out with a Mediterranean look or taste to it. I recognise, however, that home for many of these ingredients was, originally, the chilly altiplano or the steaming rain forests.
With regard to the equipment I use in the kitchen, I use simple things: wooden spoons, good quality non-stick frying pans and one or two Spanish oddities. The peas and ham from yesterday's blog I cook in an enamel pan with a diameter of about 30cm and a depth of about 10cm. These black and white speckled pans are ubitquitous in Spain. The good points are that they are cheap and you can use just about anything to clean them with. The bad points include the fact that they heat up and cool down very quickly indeed, tend to burn things left unattended and will break if dropped (the enamel will chip off and the metal underneath will then rust.) I also like to fry things, especially prawns in garlic (gambas pil-pil) in a heavy earthenware cazuela. To British eyes it seems an unlikely thing to fry anything in a vessel made of glazed clay. The Spanish really got it right with this one though, as unlike its speckled friend, it keeps the heat for a long time. They also look good when you bring them to the table and serve the sizzling prawns directly from them.
So with that in mind, I will give you a recipe for a surefire dessert that has always been a winner for me. My simple fruit salad with pineapple, mango, golden rum and brown sugar. As you can see none of the ingredients in authentically Spanish, yet they are all easily available in Spain, the UK and the USA. The golden colour of the finished desert is both refreshing and summery and it could not be simpler.
You will need 1 large ripe pineapple, 1 large ripe mango, a shot of golden rum and a bit of brown sugar to suit your own tastes. Peel the pineapple and cut into cubes - about the same sort of size you would get in a tin of pineapple chunks. Peel and slice the mango into generous slices. Add a good shot of rum and a sprinkle of soft brown sugar and allow the juices to seep out of the fruit and meld with the booze and the sugar. Serve any way that takes your fancy. Just one word of caution, you need to be careful with your non knife-holding hand as the semi-peeled mango will be slippery and difficult to hold.
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
Spanish peas and ham
Today is the day of my first blog on the subject of Spanish food. I hope to blog on a regular basis. I hope to resist the temptation to rant and with a bit of luck I should not have to mention the word passion incessantly: it should come through in the writing.
I will start by saying that I love Spain, Spanish food and above all else the Spanish people, at whose hands I have been the recipient of truly astonishing levels of hospitality. If any criticisms come to the surface later on, I hope my Spanish friends will understand that, in the event of any doubt, I would refer readers to my opening comment.
I will post recipes and tips, but I hope that what comes through is an attitude towards food and perhaps even towards life. To a certain extent, I am self taught in cooking. There have been many trials and quite a few errors. The thing about errors is not to repeat them
There are a few things without which the aspiring Spanish-style cook cannot hope to function. These fundamental ingredients are, in no particular order:
Olive oil (I will leave the quality up to you, but you only get what you pay for.) onions, garlic, canned or jarred anchovies, paprika both the sweet and the hot, chorizo - especially the softer type which is ideal to add to dishes to give extra flavour, eggs, flour, olives, tinned tomatoes and good quality tinned tuna. As the blog progresses it will become apparent that certain foods need to be added to the list.
So, in the relaxed spirit in which I hope to continue, I will list the ingredients, which are:
1 large onion or 2 smaller ones, 4 or 5 cloves of garlic or more if you feel like it, 2 x 400 gram cans of high quality petit pois - I use the French brand d'aucy, olive oil, a glass of dry white wine and between 150 and 200 grams of serrano ham. It is important that the ham be from the scruffy end bits of the ham, which are often sold in Spanish supermarkets. The most important thing is that the meat should be able to cut into a 1cm dice or even rougher than that if you can get the ham of the right thickness.
Firstly chop the onions and garlic as finely as you can. Heat the olive oil in a wide frying pan and fry the onions and garlic together for a good ten minutes. The simple truth of this stage is that the longer you fry the onions and garlic the sweeter they will become. The resulting dish will be all the better for a bit of patience at this stage. While the onion and garlic are gently frying (don't forget to keep an eye on it), cut the ham up into a 1cm dice. When you think the onions and garlic are ready, add the ham and fry gently for long enough to render a good proportion of the fat out of it. Again 10 minutes is probably a good time. Then add 2 tins of peas, being careful to add a bit of the water from the cans, as the starch present in the water will act together with the fat from the ham to make an emulsion that will then thicken the sauce. Add a glass of dry white wine and let the whole thing simmer for 15 minutes or so - enough time to boil the alcohol out of the wine and to allow the sauce to thicken a bit. At this point I should make it plain that I have only ever made this dish by instinct. With the exception of the 2 cans of peas, I have usually done everything by eye. The way to tell if the dish has been a success, apart from its being delicious upon completion, is to see that when any leftovers have cooled down, the sauce has thickened up quite a bit as a result of the fat from the ham solidifying again.
Enjoy with a glass of whatever wine takes your fancy. Que aproveche!
I will start by saying that I love Spain, Spanish food and above all else the Spanish people, at whose hands I have been the recipient of truly astonishing levels of hospitality. If any criticisms come to the surface later on, I hope my Spanish friends will understand that, in the event of any doubt, I would refer readers to my opening comment.
I will post recipes and tips, but I hope that what comes through is an attitude towards food and perhaps even towards life. To a certain extent, I am self taught in cooking. There have been many trials and quite a few errors. The thing about errors is not to repeat them
There are a few things without which the aspiring Spanish-style cook cannot hope to function. These fundamental ingredients are, in no particular order:
Olive oil (I will leave the quality up to you, but you only get what you pay for.) onions, garlic, canned or jarred anchovies, paprika both the sweet and the hot, chorizo - especially the softer type which is ideal to add to dishes to give extra flavour, eggs, flour, olives, tinned tomatoes and good quality tinned tuna. As the blog progresses it will become apparent that certain foods need to be added to the list.
So, in the relaxed spirit in which I hope to continue, I will list the ingredients, which are:
1 large onion or 2 smaller ones, 4 or 5 cloves of garlic or more if you feel like it, 2 x 400 gram cans of high quality petit pois - I use the French brand d'aucy, olive oil, a glass of dry white wine and between 150 and 200 grams of serrano ham. It is important that the ham be from the scruffy end bits of the ham, which are often sold in Spanish supermarkets. The most important thing is that the meat should be able to cut into a 1cm dice or even rougher than that if you can get the ham of the right thickness.
Firstly chop the onions and garlic as finely as you can. Heat the olive oil in a wide frying pan and fry the onions and garlic together for a good ten minutes. The simple truth of this stage is that the longer you fry the onions and garlic the sweeter they will become. The resulting dish will be all the better for a bit of patience at this stage. While the onion and garlic are gently frying (don't forget to keep an eye on it), cut the ham up into a 1cm dice. When you think the onions and garlic are ready, add the ham and fry gently for long enough to render a good proportion of the fat out of it. Again 10 minutes is probably a good time. Then add 2 tins of peas, being careful to add a bit of the water from the cans, as the starch present in the water will act together with the fat from the ham to make an emulsion that will then thicken the sauce. Add a glass of dry white wine and let the whole thing simmer for 15 minutes or so - enough time to boil the alcohol out of the wine and to allow the sauce to thicken a bit. At this point I should make it plain that I have only ever made this dish by instinct. With the exception of the 2 cans of peas, I have usually done everything by eye. The way to tell if the dish has been a success, apart from its being delicious upon completion, is to see that when any leftovers have cooled down, the sauce has thickened up quite a bit as a result of the fat from the ham solidifying again.
Enjoy with a glass of whatever wine takes your fancy. Que aproveche!
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