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
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