The Greasy Spoon

Sweetcorn Relish

After all this talk about finger sandwiches, Eton Mess, and avocados, it's time for something a bit more robust. I've got a secret yearning for sweetcorn relish. It's American white trash, diner food at its best. Bick's, the Canadian brand, does a great range of "relishes", and I love the retro packaging, too.

A few days ago, I decided to create my own sweetcorn relish, in true diner style. It worked well, and was similar to the stuff you buy in jars. Here's how I made it:

First, I chopped up some shallots, and cooked them in oil. Next, I tipped a tin of sweetcorn into a bowl, and mixed in some green and red peppers (chopped into tiny cubes), a splash of white vinegar, a spoonful of sugar, a teaspoon of garlic powder; seasoned it with sea salt and pepper, and finished off the job with a spoonful of starchy cornflour.

I added the cooked shallots to the mixture, and heated the thing slowly in a small pan, so that the cornflour cooked properly. The finished result was pretty darn authentic. For extra heat, you could also add some red chilis, sliced very thinly into strips- I hesitate to use the French term julienne, as in this case, it just doesn't seem appropriate. Perfect with burgers, even better with fried chicken.

Baked Beans

One of the amusing things about Fortnum & Mason in London's Piccadilly, is that they stock Heinz Baked Beans. Apparently, they always have, and always will. During the late nineteenth century, Baked Beans were considered a delicacy, and were extremely expensive. They still are- if you insist on buying them at Fortnum's.

Incidentally, when you're next in The Big Smoke, drop into the newly re-furbished Fortnum & Mason. I think they've done a terrific job, and managed to keep the old-style charm of the place, even though they have completely re-built the interior, and made it into the sort of store genuine Londoners might shop at; rather than just for the good ol' tourists (God bless 'em)- and that's how it always used to be.

Anyway, Baked Beans. Baked Beans have a mysterious past, and are probably descended from the cassoulets of Southern France. I suspect, of course, there is also a considerable American influence. The first tinned Baked Beans were produced by the Burnham & Morrill Company in 1876, for use by the fishermen of Maine.

But why the 57 varieties? It's nothing more than Henry Heinz's clever marketing ploy, first used in 1896; and has nothing to do with how many different products Heinz was selling at the time. There's a photograph of the Baked Bean King, below.

I do make my own home-made Baked Beans from time to time, but frankly, I reckon the genuine stuff in the tins (and always by Heinz) is the best bet. If you do want to make your own, its simple: just heat up some cooked haricot beans in stock, add some tomato puree, onion salt, pepper, a tiny bit of vinegar, and some sugar.

And remember, if you're going to cook dried beans, it's essential that you soak them in water over-night, otherwise you could suffer a serious stomach upset. You've been warned!

Jambalaya

I'm currently fascinated by the food of the American Deep South, with its Creole, Cajun, French and Spanish influences. Jambalaya is the Deep South's version of Spanish Paella. There are many different variations, and local recipes, but the general rule of thumb is that Creole jambalaya includes tomatoes, but Cajun jambalaya doesn't. Here's The Greasy Spoon's Creole version. I've included smoked paprika, cayenne, and Tabasco for added spice, but I'm aware that not all jambalayas include hot ingredients, so I'll leave it up to you.

First, I cook some chicken pieces, and smoked sausage in olive oil, until brown. Next, I add some chopped garlic, some chopped tomatoes, and the "Holy Trinity" of chopped onions, green bell peppers, and sliced celery to the pot. Sprinkle them with smoked paprika as they cook. Throw in a handful of rice (I use Uncle Ben's Long Grain), and pour in some fish or chicken stock. Season with salt, Cayenne Pepper, and a dash of Tabasco.

Let the jambalaya simmer away for about 45 minutes. Towards the end of the cooking, stir in some pre-cooked prawns (i.e. pink). If you want to use uncooked prawns (i.e. brown), you will need to cook them at the very beginning along with the chicken and the sausage. Serve in a bowl, and eat with a spoon.

Maryland Crab Cakes

This is one of the all-time great American recipes, comfort food at it's best; and it's relatively easy to make too. Traditionally, the Blue Crab from the Chesapeake Bay area is the one to go for, but I have to accept, reluctantly, that this side of the pond, other varieties of crab will have to do.

Die-hards might also want to add Old Bay Seasoning, which is a spicy American herb and spice mix. As I don't seem to be able to get it here (maybe I should try the excellent Wholefoods in Kensington High Street?), I've substituted a very similar spice mix.

Get hold of some juicy crab meat and put it into a mixing bowl. Add a cup of mayonnaise, a tablespoon of mustard powder (I use Colman's), a beaten egg, a teaspoon of Lea & Perrins, the juice of a lemon, and some chopped parsley. Mix it all together.

Now for The Greasy Spoon's "Old Bay Seasoning" mix. Grind up some celery salt, mustard seed, cinammon, powdered ginger, peppercorns, and a bayleaf until you have a reasonably fine powder. Add a teaspoon or so of this to the crab mixture.

Next you need to add some form of breadcrumbs. I find it easiest to use about seven crushed Saltine Crackers, and I suspect this is more authentic. The easiest way to crush them is to put the crackers into a plastic bag, and then bash them with a hammer. Chill the mixture for about two hours in the 'fridge.

To cook them, all you need to do is to drop them into hot oil (say, in a wok), and fry them until they are golden brown. Utterly delicious: the taste of the East Coast.

Yellow Pepper Relish

This is a quick and easy thing I invented yesterday, and it worked out perfectly. First, I steamed two yellow peppers until they were cooked (first removing the inner pith and seeds with a sharp knife) and then peeled off the skins, so that only the soft yellow flesh was left. Next, I whizzed up half a red onion in the trusty Magimix, together with a red chili (though, of course you could also use a green one), and two cloves of garlic.

Once they had all been thoroughly chopped up, I added the yellow pepper flesh, and using the "pulse" button combined the ingredients carefully. You don't want the peppers to break down too much. Then it was a simple matter of adding fresh lime juice, lots of Maldon Salt, and a good quality Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

It would work brilliantly with cold beef, and the yellow colour is interesting. The sweetness of the peppers balances out well with the sharpness of the lime. Try it, and I don't think you will be disappointed.

Caesar Salad

Fed up with rich Christmas food? Then the famous Caesar Salad could be the answer to your prayers. Caesar Salad is one of those classic dishes that has been over-tweaked, bastardised, and generally ruined by self-indulgent chefs over the years. The best Caesar Salad is the original Caesar Salad.

It was invented by Caesar Cardini in 1924. Cardini was a chef working at the Hotel Comerical in Tijuana- the Mexican town a few miles from the Californian border. During Prohibition, large parties of Americans used to cross the border in search of booze. The story goes that Cardini created the salad when a large party of hungry Americans turned up for the Fourth of July celebrations. He had run out of food, so made do with what he had left over.

Julia Child, the great food writer, apparently telephoned Cardini's daughter to get the authentic recipe- and came up with this. And who are we to argue with either of them?

First, you need two small heads of Romaine lettuce. Tear the lettuce into large shreds. Add two coddled eggs. Coddling is a technique where you only boil the eggs in their shell for one minute, so that you end up with a runny yolk. Add half a teaspoon of salt, and freshly ground black pepper; the juice of two lemons, ten drops of Lea & Perrins, half a cup of fresh grated Parmesan cheese, and half a cup of garlic oil. Garlic oil is just a good quality Virgin or Extra Virgin olive oil, infused by some garlic cloves for a day or so.

Toss the salad, so that the ingredients combine with the runny egg yolk, and lettuce leaves are well coated. Finish off the dish with some freshly prepared croutons. This is just deep-fried bread- cut into cubes. For some reason, slightly stale bread makes better croutons. You've probably noticed that I haven't added anchovies to my Caesar Salad. I have a strong hunch that the original recipe didn't include them, and I've tried to keep it authentic.

Thanksgiving Blues

Today is Thanksgiving, and amongst other things, also the anniversary of the assassination of JFK back in 1963. I once made a futile attempt to cook a Thanksgiving Dinner for an American family in Los Angeles. The turkey was dry, and over-cooked, and I soon discovered that what we call "gravy" back in England, was, to Americans, a white sauce made from a roux of butter, milk and flour.

I expect my American readership to be down today, as you will all be stuffing yourselves with turkey, cranberry sauce, baked ham, pumpkin pie and the like. It's one of the reasons Americans tend not to have turkey for Christmas Day; by that date, you're probably all sick of it.

However, one of the better dishes from Thanksgiving are Candied Yams, and of course, you don't have to limit yourself to making them only for Thanksgiving.

Yams are sweet potatoes. Scrub them all over. and then steam them for about thirty minutes. Take them out, and put them to one side. In a small saucepan, make a caramelised sauce. Melt some unsalted butter, add some sugar, Maldon Salt and pepper, some grated ginger, and a bit of stock. Cook for a few minutes. When you have a thickish sauce, pour it over the steamed yams, and bake them in the oven for about fifteen to twenty minutes. Sprinkle some chopped parsley over the finished yams and serve.

Oysters

One of my all-time favourite restaurants is the incongrous Grand Central Oyster Bar in New York, situated directly beneath the Railroad Station Terminal in Midtown Manhatten. Grand Central was built between 1903-1913 in the Beaux-Arts style, and the Oyster Bar ("Below Sea-Level") is a sprawling labyrinth of Byzantine influenced vaults decorated with glittering mosaics.

I like the huge choice of oysters chalked up on the menu there. The agonising decision you have to make between say, Martha's Vinyard oysters on the one hand, or Chesapeake Bay molluscs on the other. I've no truck with those poor souls who insist on cooking their oysters using bizarre recipes involving breadcrumbs and grills. For me, oysters should always be eaten raw, on ice, straight from the shell, perhaps with a dash of our old friend, Tabasco, or a squeeze of lemon juice.

There are three types of oyster. The Pacific, Olympia, and Atlantic. Pacific oysters are the most prolific, and tend to have a creamier taste. The Olympia is found again, in the Pacific Ocean, but limited to Washington Sound. They're a small oyster with a full taste. Atlantic oysters (as served at Grand Central), have a saltier flavour. I'm currently into the Atlantic type, preferring the ozoney, minerally, salty taste of the sea that hits the back of your throat as soon as you've tipped one of the critters (they're alive!) down there.

If you've tended to avoid oysters in the past, may I persuade you to change your mind? Because you're missing out on one of the greatest pleasures in life. It's true. Trust me!

Bananas Foster

I went to an interesting wine tasting last night, and sampled a yeasty Veuve Clicquot vintage champagne, some excellent single malts, and a range of fabulous salty sherries. As I've just about recovered, this evening I've decided to write about Bananas Foster. Bananas Foster was invented in 1951 by Paul Blange of Brennan's Restaurant in New Orleans. It's an American classic. Here's my version:

First, catch some bananas. Peel them, and slice them diagonally. In a shallow frying pan, saute the bananas in some unsalted butter. Next, sprinkle on some brown sugar, and some ground cinammon. You want the butter to caramelise in the sugar, so baste the bananas with the sugary, cinnamony butter. After a few minutes, your sauce will go slightly brown. That's how you want it.

Now for the fun part. Pour in a generous slug of rum. I used Mount Gay rum from Barbados. Mount Gay was first produced in 1703, so it claims to be the oldest rum in the world. And I'm sure it is. I don't doubt that for one minute. Tip the pan towards the gas, and the rum and butter sauce will ignite. If you're one of those unfortunates with an electric stove, use a match. The whole point of the flambe is to burn off the alchohol and the fats, so that a delicately flavoured sauce is left behind. After a minute or so, the flames will die down. If they don't, you've got a fire on your hands.

Serve the flambeed bananas over some vanilla ice-cream in individual ice cream glasses. Pour over the remaining sauce from the pan, but let the sauce cool down slightly to avoid shattering the glass. Serve it fast- before the ice cream melts. It's simple, it's excellent, it's delicious.

Margarita

I picked up a taste for the Margarita Cocktail when I was in California. I would argue that it is one of the three greatest cocktails of all time alongside the Dry Martini, and the Bloody Mary. There are various theories as to when and how the Margarita was first born. Carlos "Danny" Herrera is said to have first mixed a concoction of white tequila, lemon juice, and Triple Sec in 1938. He was the barman at the Rancho La Gloria in Tijuana, the Mexican border town where the Caesar Salad had been invented by Caesar Cardini.

Essentially, the Margarita is a mix of Tequila (Silver or Blanco tequilas are preferable to the gold), Triple Sec (ie Cointreau), and Lime Juice (or possibly Lemon Juice). The rim of the glass is moistened with lime juice, and then dipped into salt. Some Margarita afficinados claim that salt was only used to hide the taste of a low-budget tequila, but I have to put up my hand and say that I like the contrast between the salt and the sweetness of the tequila and the Triple Sec.

I trawled the net for authentic Margarita recipes and found this one from "Drink of the Month" in the December 1953 issue of Esquire Magazine:

1 ounce tequila
Dash of Triple Sec
Juice of 1/2 lime or lemon
Pour over crushed ice, stir. Rub the rim of a stem glass with rind of lemon or lime, spin in salt—pour, and sip.

Again, simplicity rules ok? Nothing frozen. No cocktail umbrellas. No extra ingredients. A Margarita is a Margarita. Got it?