More Quick Dinners

And from slow, lazy summer afternoons where I have time to produce such fancy food as summer pudding and the many-layered Moussaka, to after work ‘feed me now, I’m starving!’ moments (these generally occur from Monday to Friday). It is always helpful to have recipes that use stock cupboard items and that take half an hour maximum to prepare. I get home around 5.10pm on a weekday, Paul arrives home maybe 5 or 10 minutes later and if something isn’t ready within about an hour (or around the time King of the Hill starts), he’ll start snacking, thereby irretrievably denting his appetite (and mine, as I can never resist his sandwiches). Here then are some suggestions of quick evening recipes that provide satisfying home cooking (no colourings, microwave meals or jarred sauces here!), guaranteed to make you forget about a lousy workday.
P.S. These dishes serve two very greedy people.
Pasta with Spicy Sausage and Mustard:
Our current favourite dish, this is from Appetite by Nigel Slater. He uses Orichette pasta, which is shaped like little ears (hence the name). If you can’t get Orichette (which we can’t in our local supermarket), we often use pasta shells. I imagine that spaghetti or linguini would be great as well. I find that Orichette is a bit trendy at the moment anyway although it has a lovely bite to it that the plain shells don’t have. Besides, who thought of the ridiculous idea that pasta (or any other food for that matter) had to be trendy?
Ingredients:
Half a packet of pasta (or however much you think the two of you can eat)
4/6 Spicy Sausages (we use Sainsbury’s Sicilian Pork and we use 6 not four, but whatever you like, providing they’re good quality!)
Little Olive Oil
Pinch or two Chilli Flakes (more if you like it muy caliente)
Tbsp Dijon Mustard
200ml Double Cream (or single if that’s all you have)
Some salt and pepper to taste
Fresh Basil Leaves
Glass white wine
Method:
Put a pan of water onto boil (enough for the pasta).
Meanwhile, skin the sausages. Heat a little olive oil in a heavy bottomed frying pan (you want the meat to stick slightly and leave those lovely sticky bits on the bottom of the pan to enhance the sauce, or deglaze, if you will). Fry the sausage meat until cooked through and turning golden brown.
Once the water is boiling, add the pasta and cook until slightly al dente. Drain.
Add the white wine, let it bubble up and simmer for a minute or two before adding the chilli flakes and mustard. Scrape the bottom of the pan of its sticky sausage bits and cook for a minute more. Throw in the basil leaves, torn, and season to taste. Add the double cream and slowly bring to the boil so all the flavours amalgamate. Finally, add the al dente pasta, combining well. Taste for seasoning and serve.
Note: I have tried adding slowly fried onions to this but the flavour is completely drowned out by the loud mustard and chilli, so is a bit of a pointless exercise.

Another quick supper is Risotto (see recipe in previous post below). Don’t be scared by the slow cooking and painstaking stirring. It really is ready within half an hour, and that gives you plenty of time to cook some simple green beans with it and grill a piece of salmon or use up the Sunday roast chicken scraps by stirring them into the risotto. If you have had a really bad day at work, Risotto is a soothing balm for the ragged soul.

A flashy quick supper, if you’re feeling adventurous but lazy is from Tamasin Day Lewis’s Art of the Tart, Blue Cheese, Broccoli and Creme Fraiche Tart. This is a multi-layered but ultimately one pan (for the filling at least) open top pie, most ingredients you should have in your cupboard or fridge:
Tub Crème Fraiche (about 150ml)
70g Blue Cheese (the original recipe recommends Stilton I believe, but I prefer a milder Danish Blue)
100g cooked and chopped broccoli (the original states less broccoli but I prefer more)
Tbsp Capers, drained
4 Anchovies, chopped
Parmesan for sprinkling on the top
3 sprigs Thyme
1 small chopped onion
2 cloves garlic finely chopped
150g Puff Pastry, ready rolled if possible
Sweat the chopped onion in a teaspoon of olive until softened. Add the chopped garlic and Thyme. Cover and leave to cook, very gently, until everything is fragrantly soft to the point of melting. This will take about 20 minutes.
Add the cheese, broccoli, capers, anchovies and Crème Fraiche and warm through gently for about 4 minutes. Remove from heat and leave to cool.
Meanwhile, preheat oven to 200c. Trim the puff pastry to the size of your baking sheet. Do not grease the sheet. Puff pastry gives out quite a lot of oil during cooking anyway.
With a knife, score a square within the puff pastry, an inch inside, without cutting right through, to make a frame or border if you like for the filling. Spoon the cooled mixture within the scored border and sprinkle with grated parmesan. Bake in oven for about 15 minutes or until puffy and the pastry is golden brown. Serve in large chunks with a green salad. I find that this is better when it has cooled down slightly although the recipe suggests serving it out. It is a bit trickier to cut when really hot.

Another tart with a heart for a quick supper is a puff pastry pizza, although I find that it bears little resemblance to a bona fide pizza. However, like it’s namesake, it is filling, moreish and fast food of a sort.

Cheats Pizza
Ingredients:
Half pack puff pastry (about 250g or thereabouts)
2 onions, thinly sliced
couple springs Thyme
2 cloves Garlic, chopped finely
2 tbsp Olive Oil
4 or 5 vine tomatoes, chopped into quarters (or cherry tomatoes halved)
100g feta cheese (or goats cheese)
Dried Oregano
Good quality Olives, stoned if necessary and halved
Basil (or spinach) leaves
Method:
Preheat over to 200c.
Prepare the puff pastry in the same way as the Blue Cheese Tart above. Fridge for about 15 minutes or whilst you prep the rest of the dish.
Gently heat the olive oil in a frying pan. Add the onions, garlic and thyme leaves and cook slowly until they are meltingly soft and sweet.
Remove the puff pastry base from the fridge and spread the pan fried onions over the bottom of the pizza, inside the border as before. Dot the onions with the chopped tomatoes, olives and goats cheese, sprinkle with the oregano and grind over some black pepper. Bake for 20-30 minutes, until the pastry is golden brown and puffy, the cheese should be burnished and the tomatoes sweetly softening. Cover with the basil or spinach leaves and serve.

Toad in the HoleThis great British classic, which sounds like Lewis Carroll invented it, is simply sausages incased in batter and baked in a really hot oven. Very simple and quick particularly if you make the batter in the morning. The American’s have their own version (although, this seems to have passed on into the dubious annals of 1950s cookery) which involves frying an egg inside a piece of fried bread with a circle cut out of it, the egg being the toad, and the bread, of course, being the hole.

Ingredients:
150ml milk
150ml water
salt and pepper
2 small eggs
110g Plain Flour
8 Sausages
2 Tbsp Lard
Method:
Prepare the batter: Whisk together the milk, water, eggs, plain flour and salt and pepper until smooth, making sure to whisk out any lumps of flour. Leave to stand for at least 15 minutes, the longer the better.
Preheat oven to 220c.
Put 2 tbsp lard in baking dish. Put baking dish in oven. You need the lard to be sizzling hot so that the batter starts cooking as soon as it hits the fat.
Brown the sausages in a hot frying pan. I like my sausages to have third degree burns and I find that they don’t always brown successfully in the oven. I am particularly particular about the browning of sausages but then, I am seeking help for my strange quirk(s).
Once the fat is hot and sizzling, quickly pour in the batter, it will fizzle as soon as it hits the pan, and arrange the sausages on the batter. During cooking, the batter will puff up (and the longer you have you left it, the more it will puff) around the sausages, nestling their burnished toads in a golden, crispy blanket. It should take approximately 30 minutes to cook, but do check after 20 minutes because cooking time varies depending on the size and material of your baking dish, oven temperature fluctuations etc.
Serve with lashings of mashed potato and onion gravy.

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Wild Food

Food never stops being a source of fascination to me, to the point where I am obsessive about it. I have books on every facet of food, from the rituals of cannibalism to finding food in the wild to books devoted to the humble potato and nothing more. I can prepare meals similar to ones that Pliny; Queen Elizabeth I or Abraham Lincoln would have eaten. There is no facet of food that I do not find fascinating. For example: did you know that the tiny, caviar sized beads that make up blackberries are called drupelets? True, with this parched summer we have had though, the blackberries more resemble premature cabbages, so resoundingly tight and green are they. Or that milk is the only ‘food’ produced purely and therefore naturally for the sole purpose of ‘food’ and feeding.
Picking fruit has always held fond memories for me. Growing up next door to a farm, the nearest store being about 5 miles away, there was very little by way of entertainment save for going on long walks. Of course, children have vivid imaginations and after picking lots of red shiny berries, I would spread out my cornucopia and make all sorts of potions, grinding up Hawthorns and Rosehips that I had planned to poison a particularly awful teacher with! It wasn’t until many years later that I discovered that neither of those wild fruits was even remotely poisonous.
I also remember bitter cold autumns spent harvesting the nuts from the Hazel tree and chestnuts to roast on the fire later on. My Mum and I would fill our Parka hoods with them because they were too prickly to hold. When we got home, we would carefully remove the filbert from their tight little casings and revel in their creamy, crunchy, almost green taste. We would have to wear gloves to peel off the spiky, green shell of the chestnuts and then put them in the fireplace to slowly roast. My Grandad would always leave them on too long and they’d explode if you didn’t split them first.
Unfortunately, where I live now, there is very little by way of free produce save for the few blackberries that have left me scarred but undefeated, and the promise of some sloes. However, my mum, who was considerate enough not to move, has elderberries, blackberries, sloes, filberts and crab apples all pickable and without chemical enhancement within walking distance of her home.
This summer I have been making the most of what this long, hot summer has produced by making preserves. I have made four jars of Greengage and Damson Chutney and was happy to find that I could use the almond scented kernel, nestling within the tough stone of the plums to make a sort of almond liquor. I will be making crab apple and blackberry jam soon and sloe gin. Because the tomatoes are remaining a sort of peachy colour this summer, they will be perfect in a spicy relish, where slow cooking will coax out their tangy tartness and make it rich and thick.
Please remember though, to not strip the branches of their fruits. The birds need them more than we do, particularly in these days of rapid industrialisation. As D.H. Lawrence wrote: “I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself”.

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Appealing Eyes and Irritating Flies

Unfortunately my seeming inability to keep up with modern advancements with computer technology has let me down. I have been unable to post any pictures to accompany the It’s My Birthday entry so here they are instead, along with a picture of our Max, our little bean, who thinks that he can solve all the world’s problems if only he can keep catching and fetching myriad items in a day. These might range from a cinder, a rock, an empty disinfectant bottle (quickly confiscated for obvious reasons), empty loo rolls, the cap of a marker pen, and even occasionally the odd maverick ball or Frisbee. Max has a furrowed forehead because he takes his job so very seriously.

On the news front, as you can see from the pet section of photos, Coney won First Place in the Harlow Retired Greyhound Show 2006, for Most Appealing Eyes. She failed miserably in the Waggiest Tail section by resolutely not wagging her tail. As I said, she can be very difficult at times, and since this latest accolade her prima donna like behaviour has reached mammoth proportions. She now insists on eating from a pink bowl, but not just any shade of pink. It has to be Fuschia Pink, after her favourite flowers, which she expects fresh in a vase next to her water bowl every morning. She now uses Spangley Peepers Eye Drops, meat scented, three times daily, to keep her ‘assets’ appealing and has suggested getting them insured for £1 million. On the bright side, she still sniffs where other dogs pee and has appalling flatulence. The moral of this story being that every appealing eye has a whiffy tail.
My birthday passed by peacefully. I prepared the aforementioned meal, along with a Greek Salad which of itself was delicious and light: taken from Falling Cloudberries, it combines lambs lettuce, a soft, slightly peppery leaf, salty and soft Feta cheese, shiny, large Greek olives, vine tomatoes and chunky cucumber with a red wine and olive oil dressing. The tart creaminess of the cheese mixes with the dressing to bring all the ingredients together: perfect for a warm Summers evening.
The Whitebait were a bit of a disappointment but I think that perhaps they were overcooked and would have benefited from a deep fat fryer. I refuse to give in to purchasing one however. I just know that Paul and I will be deep frying everything from Mars Bars to Cream Eggs to Schmackos (well, we wouldn’t want the beans to miss out). And that is just not good for our already burgeoning cholesterol levels.
Perhaps you do need to be sitting on a Mediterranean bar somewhere to truly appreciate these silvery morsels, with a glass of ice-cold white wine or beer. Sometimes food is about the ambience. For example, road food (by which I mean, salty crackers, peanut butter M&Ms, food on the run) just doesn’t taste moreish when you eat it in your living room. A Christmas Meal doesn’t exude the same seasonal aura when eaten in March. Baked Potatoes and butter doesn’t envelope you with a fluffy hug in the summertime.
The Moussaka was another matter altogether. For a dish that, like revenge, is best served lukewarm, it is incredibly flavourful. Layers of fried Aubergine and Potatoes, a slow cooked meat sauce, delicately spiced with Cinnamon (but don’t tell the Cinnamon-phobes), topped with an inch thick layer of béchamel sauce, baked for 40 minutes or until that creamy blanket has become burnished and bubbling. Then the hard part. Do not eat until at least at room temperature. This can take up to an hour on a warm day. Sweet torment! It is worth it though. Moussaka is one of those special dishes, like Lasagne, that just works in a rare instance of alchemy instead of science.
We enjoyed the leftover Moussaka the next evening (when the flavours had amalgamated even more) in a real merging of cultures with some Ratatouille tiny rice shaped pasta, the name of which always alludes me.
A cautionary note: do not do as my Grandmother did and force yourself to eat the Moussaka at room temperature. If you think you will prefer it hot, then reheat it! Eating food is not about rigidity; it is about enjoying a life-giving pursuit.
The lovely, lovely summer pudding remained in the fridge that night because we were much too full and content on the first two courses, so we decided to have it for dessert the following day.
A summer pudding is a joy to make, particularly if you have picked the fruit yourself (see below) because it is so colourful and simple. I used Redcurrants, Blackcurrants, Blackberries, Strawberries and Raspberries (of which I picked only the Blackberries myself unfortunately), and seeing them simmering in the pan, all their juices being released in a red rainbow, makes you thankful for this time of the year. The mishapenly cut pieces of bread are wodged into the pudding basin after being dipped into the fruit juices to form an airtight layer and the fruit is then poured in and a final pink stained bread lid is put on top. It is weighted down and fridged for many hours, preferably overnight, after which time it is nervously unmoulded. To be honest, if I can produce such a piece of food art with my clumsy fingers and impatience, then anyone can. I served it with a whipped cream, sweetened with icing sugar and vanilla and smartened up with a tub of Marscapone Cheese (tempting to eat this alone as it is!) and, whilst the ever-present flies drove everyone made as they frantically tried to get to the sweet fruit that they could sense, it was a success and one that I would consider repeating again.

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It's Ahhh time....

A terribly schmaltzy section subtitled: Some pictures of our dogs, past and present: Coney, Max, Buster, Poppy, Higgins and the bestest boy that ever lived, Benji 'The Boy' to whom everything I ever cook and eat is dedicated to.

Benji, aka The Boy, in his most favourite position, supine and poised for tummy scratching.
A slightly suspicious looking Buster. Not one for cameras and hoo-ha, Buster is now nearing the ripe old age of 18. He walks very stiff and bandy legged but we think he must be made of metal and sinew to have lasted this long. Surely the George Burns of the dog world.
Another shot of The Girl, Coneykins, winner of the Harlow Dog Show 'Miss Most Appealing Eyes 2006'. She is proud and resplendent in her rosette. Actually, it fell off at the show at the same time she stopped to pee. Just goes to show what she thought about standing around with lots of other dogs, none of which quite as regal as her, being bored and not allowed to run.

Buster and Benji cosied up on my husband's LaCrosse blanket. Best Friends.

My mum's dog Poppy in a Ralph Meatyard type shot.

The Boy and Higgins curled up together.

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It's My Birthday and I'll Cook If I Want To.

It’s my birthday in a couple of days and to celebrate I am cooking. Most people probably don’t like to cook on their birthday but I am not most people, plus I rarely get the chance to cook something other than after work meals where speed is of the essence. It is a landmark birthday (in my mind anyway) for I turn 30. to me, being thirty symbolises personal growth, maturity, a sort of farewell to your youth. After all, whilst you’re still in your 20s, you can remember things like school and teenage pursuits. You can apply for a reality TV show, be accepted and stand a chance of not being eliminated within the first week (ageism is rife in the reality sector of TV: just the slightest whiff of a grey hair or a hint of a pot belly and you’re immediately considered ‘uncool’ or some such other term of derision used by the youth of today). Once you reach thirty, activities like nightclubbing, binge drinking, and watching American Pie-style films or romantic comedies either make you seem like a member of the Rolling Stones or a distant relative of Bridget Jones. Fortunately for me, being a stay at home, stick in the mud girlie swot, these pursuits have never really been my cup of tea (although, somewhat ironically, tea is now the drink of choice for us 30-somethings) so turning the big 30 will have very little impact on my life, save for some moments of quiet reflection. It is amazing to realise how quickly the years pass when you leave school.

Anyway, to celebrate this ‘happy’ occasion, I have decided on a retro themed menu. Typical fare as might have been on a restaurant menu back in 1976, the year of my birth:
To start with: Deep-fried Whitebait with all the accoutrements (i.e. soft brown bread, unsalted butter, lemon, parsley). Actually, I’m making this for my mum because this was her favourite starter in the 70s and it’s lost a lot of favour in the 15 years or so although I’m not sure why. It’s perfect finger food, great to share and transports you to warmer climates by the sea. At least, that’s the plan.
Main Course: Moussaka (recipe from Falling Cloudberries by Tessa Kiros, one of the most beautiful cookbooks I have ever seen – and I’ve seen a lot!). This recipe uses a combination of pork and beef mince instead of lamb, which is not favoured by most members of my family. Only recently have I been cooking lamb for the two of us because I feel that I have been unjust in my disliking of lamb, suspecting that it comes from a hereditary fear rather than a bona fide issue. The fact that I vastly undercooked the half leg of lamb is neither here nor there. I overcame my squeamishness and found the meat to actually be succulent and sweet. Served with cheats version of Potatoes Dauphinoise (20 minutes on the hob in hot milk and cream with a whole onion and chopped garlic, then slam it (literally slam it, it doesn’t work otherwise) in the oven on the hottest setting you have. Et voila! Potatoes bathed luxuriously, Cleopatra style, in cream (and garlic). Is there no end to the versatility of my beloved potato?
But enough remembrances of meals past, on with the dessert (no, not Madeleines): my favourite course of every meal, I am going to make the awesome looking Summer Pudding. No cooking required (if you discount the simmering of the fruit) just lots of red-finger staining assembly.
I am hoping that the Summer Pudding, a great British classic - bound to have been invented by the Victorians with their love (and abundance!) of fresh soft seasonal fruits arranged in an architectural manner – will be tart without being eye-squintingly so, soft and comforting without being cloying and attractive without collapsing on the plate! I have been picking blackberries from the brambles at work and a couple of times a day I risk massive blood loss as I scratch and sting my legs on the fierce thorns and spiteful stinging nettles that seem to curl themselves lovingly around my treasured fruit. It is a therapeutic pastime, and makes you feel like somewhat of the cavewoman, clamouring for the biggest, most blackest fruits which are always a tiny bit out of reach. My work colleagues look at me as if I’m half crazed as I walk back into the office clutching a baby’s fistful of blackberries as if it were gold, twigs poking out from my entangled hair, purple staining my fingertips and raging scratches on my legs. Not only do I find the hunt for the elusive fruits therapeutic, there is also a large cost element involved. A tiny punnet of blackberries costs over £2.00 and whilst I will happily spend money on decent ingredients, why bother when you can pick you own for nothing?

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