The Greasy Spoon

Shirred Eggs with Scallops

Working as I do in the antiques and auction business, I'm often lucky enough to pick up interesting bargains. The latest acquisition to my modest cookery library is a copy of the Bestway Cookery Gift Book, circa 1938. It's a smallish, slightly stained volume, which has the added plus of having once been part of the Anton Mosimann Collection. If you see any similar books from the 1930's, I would urge you to buy them, as cook-books from this period are becoming increasingly hard to track down.

I had a look to see if there were any recipes which I could post on The Greasy Spoon. Tastes change, and I reckoned that dishes like Gooseberry Custard, and Monday Pudding, wouldn't go down that well in today's world of sun-dried tomatoes, and properly cooked squid-ink risotto.

However, I found a simple recipe for Shirred Eggs with Scallops, which I think, would make an excellent first course. I've adapted it slightly.

Take some fresh, medium-sized scallops, cut them into quarters, and flash-fry them in a pan. They will need very little cooking. Put the scallops into a ramekin dish. Next, make a white sauce in the usual way. Remember, that's butter, flour, and then milk, and a bit of nutmeg. Pour the white sauce over the scallops, and then break a fresh egg onto the top. Season with salt and pepper, and add a knob of unsalted butter. Bake in a medium oven, until the eggs are set; and then decorate with some chopped parsley. Ideally, you want the egg yolks to remain soft, and slightly runny.

Marinated Haddock with Prawns and Dill

This recipe comes from Nathalie Hambro's Simple Fare (1986), one of the more interesting cook books in my collection. As well as being a fashion designer, and all-round style guru, Nathalie Hambro is one of the most innovative and inspiring cookery writers out there, and if you are looking for fresh ideas, I whole-heartedly recommend her books. Most of them, I think, are out of print, but can be bought easily from amazon.co.uk, or abebooks.co.uk.

I like this recipe for its Baltic, or Nordic, overtones, and it's very easily made with the simplest of ingredients. Here's how you do it:

Line a dish with tin foil. Spread some dill over the foil, and season with sugar, Maldon salt, and black pepper. Next, place a fresh smoked haddock fillet over the dill. Normally I would use undyed haddock, but for this recipe I've found that the dyed yellow haddock works better. The Haddock needs to be as fresh as you can get it. Cover the fish with more dill, sugar, salt and pepper. It's best to use more sugar than salt, and to go easy with the pepper. Sprinkle some large peeled prawns on top. Wrap the whole thing up tightly with the tin foil, and stick it into the 'fridge, with a weight on top, for at least 24 hours- preferably longer.

When it's ready, slice the haddock into long, thin pieces. It's slightly like Japanese sushumi. Arrange it in a serving dish, with the prawns. Take some spring onions, and cut them in four lengthways. Soak them in a bowl of ice-cold water- after a few minutes the green tops with start to curl-up- which looks impressive, for virtually zero effort. Take them out, drain them; and stick them in with the marinated haddock and the rest of the prawns.

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!

Mexican Prawn Ceviche

The 1st and 2nd of November are celebrated in Mexico as the Festival of the Day of the Dead. It does, of course, co-incide with our Hallowe'en, but the emphasis is on joy and celebration, rather than the macabre. The Mexicans believe that death is not the end, but instead the beginning of a new stage of life, and celebrate the lives of former loved ones with colourful parades, papier-mache skeletons, bright pink sugar skulls and anarchic carnival. I haven't been yet, but one day I would love to fly over there and join in the fun.

Well, it had to be a Mexican recipe today, didn't it? As it's The Greasy Spoon, I've adapted a Mexican version of Prawn Cocktail, although I think it originally came from Peru. It's called Ceviche. The raw prawns are "cooked" in lime juice. It's delicious. For my American readers, we say "prawn", you say "shrimp". So let's call the whole thing off.

In a mixing bowl combine fresh prawns, lime juice, salt and pepper. Your prawns will need to be extremely fresh.  Mix it all together. Cover and stick in the 'fridge for twelve hours. The acid in the lime juice will "cook" the protein in the fish. You will know when the mixture is ready, when the prawns have turned pink. In case you were wondering, they start off a grey colour in their natural state. Now it's time to add the other ingredients.

In the meantime, you've cut up red peppers, red onions, plum tomatoes, and yellow peppers into julienne (which is a cheffy term for thin strips). Add these to the bowl. Next add a finely chopped jalapeno chili, a teaspoon of sugar, and a dash of wine vinegar. Finish the whole thing off, by garnishing with a thinly sliced or diced avocado, and roughly chopped coriander. You could get away with serving this as a first course in a wine glass, though in the photograph above, it's presented on a serving plate. Very retro, and slightly different. I like it.

Black Bean Soup

I've had fun researching suitable food for Hallowe'en. Along the way, I discovered Colcannon, a traditional kale and potato dish which is eaten in Ireland, and Gingerbread Husbands, which were eaten by young village girls to make sure they found a husband. And then I hit upon the brilliant idea of Black Bean Soup. It's spicy, warming, velvety, er- black, and with Mexican hints suitable for the Day of the Dead festival on November 2nd, too. Here's my version.

You can either use tinned black beans (which are hard to find in the UK), or dried beans which you need to soak overnight in cold water. In a pan, cook some chopped smoked bacon in butter for a few minutes. Next, stir in a chopped onion, chopped carrot, and two crushed cloves of garlic. It might also be a good plan to throw in a finely chopped green chili. One of those fiendishly hot small ones. I'll leave that up to you.

Next, you need to add cumin. If you've got time, you can dry-roast some cumin seeds in a hot frying pan, and then when they're popping, take them out and crush them in a pestle and morter. Otherwise you could use powdered cumin. Add the cumin to the pan, and stir in. Cook for a few moments. Tip in the black beans, some chicken stock, and a liberal dash of my favourite Tabasco Sauce.

Simmer on a very low heat with the lid on for about an hour and a half. You want the soup to be thick and velvety. The black beans should thicken everything up. Serve with sour cream, and chopped chives. A spicy Mexican Salsa would be good too.

Luckily, I'm not going to be at home tonight. In recent years, the mean streets of Battersea have become full of roaming gangs of ghouls, witches, Frankensteins and mad axe murderers on Hallowe'en Night. Yup, Tick or Treating has suddenly become big over here. It was quite amusing at first, but last year I found myself under siege, and had to retreat to the back of the house, while the street urchins shouted through my letter box: " 'ere Mishter...we know you're in there", or words to that effect. Well, tonight kiddos, you ain't getting anything from me. That nice Mr Scrooge in Number 43...

Scrambled Eggs

You may be surprised that I am devoting a whole post to scrambled eggs. What's there to know about them, I hear you ask? Well, quite a bit. For seven long and hard years, I had to endure the scrambled eggs made by the gastronauts who ran my school kitchen at Dotheboy's Hall. Watery, and rubbery, like some sort of experimental industrial plastic; I reckon that they had added quite a bit of egg powder and water to the mix.

But scrambled eggs made properly is an entirely different matter. Here's how that great French chef, Auguste Escoffier, made them:

Break eight good eggs into a mixing bowl. Blend them very very gently with a fork. You do not want to beat them. You do not add water or milk. That's what British cooks did in the 1950's. You don't want to add salt at this stage, either, as it makes the eggs watery, and the finished product will end up less yellow in colour. I think it was the restauranteur, Marcel Boulestin, who suggested that Escoffier also rubbed garlic onto his fork to add a bit of flavour to the eggs. I'll have to check up on that one- I may be wrong.

Anyway, now heat a small copper pan. When the pan is hot, add a knob of unsalted butter. Pour in the eggs, and start to cook them on an extremely low heat. In professional kitchens they would probably use a bain-marie. That means placing the smaller pan over a larger pan full of simmering boiling water to get the lowest heat. As I've got a job of sorts to hold down, and have limited time, I don't do this; but I can only stress that for it to work, you need to set your heat to the lowest possible settings.

Stir slowly with a wooden spoon from the middle, so that the egg sets in creamy curds. This is a real art. You don't want the egg to stick to the pan, yet at the same time, you want the egg to set. When the eggs are almost ready, stir in some cream. Quickly remove the eggs from the heat. They will carry on cooking in the pan. Now you can stir in some more butter to taste, and season with salt, pepper, and some chives. As Ian Fleming once wrote: "Scrambled Eggs, Bacon, and Strong Black Coffee- they never let you down." Though I suppose at the same time, he was implying that his women did. Enough said.

Mushrooms

It's Autumn, and I'm thinking mushrooms. Moist, meaty, woody mushrooms. There's a place I know on a wooded hill in South Oxfordshire, where at this time of the year top London chefs drive out to and pick fungi for free; then charge a fortune for them in their fancy restaurants back in The Big Smoke. Believe me, I've seen it with my own eyes: Volvo estates loaded up entirely with mushrooms; every variety of mushroom you could ever think of.

The English have never really been into mushroom hunting. It's far more common in mainland Europe; and in France you can take your crop into a local chemist, and get them to point out which are the deadly ones; in other words, whicha the ones that are gonna kill you. If you're going to go mushroom hunting, you really need to know what you are doing, otherwise you could end up in trouble- serious trouble. So kiddywinks- a word of advice from The Greasy Spoon: please, please don't do this at home...

As I was in an autumnal mood, I decided to make Mushroom Risotto. And who better as a guide than Arrigo Cipriani of The Harry's Bar Cookbook. The Harry's Bar Cookbook is one of my all-time favourite foodie reads. The recipes are unpretentious, delicious, and always seem to work out. The next time you're in Venice, save up, and enter the hallowed doors of Harry's (It's next to the Gritti Palace, near the Grand Canal, opposite a rather dubious dive called Haig's Bar)- you won't be disappointed,; although I have to admit that it has a reputation for being fiendishly expensive. Fiendishly. Anyway, this is how you make Harry's Bar Mushroom Risotto.

First, you need to make a "mushroom mixture". Sweat some porcini mushrooms in olive oil, for about seven minutes or so, until they are cooked and golden. Next add some crushed garlic, and some chopped flat leaf parsley. Cook for a bit. Add a cup or so of white wine. I used a dry Italian Soave. Put to one side.

Now for the risotto. They say that the mark of a good chef is how well he or she makes risotto. This could be true. I'm usually quite good at it, but now and again I go wrong; especially if my attention span starts wandering, which as my ex girlfriend contests, happens on a regular basis. Heat some olive oil in a pan. My much loved and battered bright orange Le Creuset thing was perfect. Now saute a minced onion. I chopped up my onion in the Magimix. Cook for a bit. Now add your rice. It's very important that you use risotto rice. Under no circumstances use any old rice you've got hanging around in the cupboard. The best rice to use is either Carnaroli rice or Arborio. Let the rice absorb the oil for a minute or so. Add your mushroom mixture and stir.

Now for the important stock bit. You need to use a chicken stock, which you have kept on or near the boil. You are going to ladle in your hot stock bit by bit, so that the rice absorbs the liquid. What you must not do is tip in the stock all at once. Stir like crazy. Ladle. Stir. Ladle. Carry on adding the stock bit by bit. Risotto always takes much longer than the cookery books say. I would guess at least half and hour, to forty five minutes. When the stock runs out, use boiling water. You should finish up with a well-cooked risotto. I like mine to be fairly sloppy, though the Italians prefer the rice to be slightly crunchy. Grate in some fresh parmesan cheese and stir in some butter. That's it. Perfect for October. And I expect you want to know where that mushroom hot spot is in South Oxfordshire, don't you? I'm not gonna tell you.

Russian Lemon Soup

Jiminy Cricket, I love this soup! I've taken it from Dara Goldstein's A Taste of Russia, which is a must for your cookery library if you like hearty East European cuisine. It's extremely simple to make, cleansing, unusual, and most importantly delicious. Here's how you make it.

In your favourite pan cook a handful of rice (I use Uncle Ben's Long Grain American Rice) in unsalted butter until the rice absorbs the butter and becomes transluscent. This should only take a few seconds. Next add some good chicken stock (home-made si vous plait- I'll be coming to this in another post). Simmer for about 20 minutes. You will probably need to add more stock bit by bit- you want to get the balance right between the rice and the liquid. When the rice is cooked, stir in some double cream, and the finely grated rind and juice of a lemon. Keep on stirring to make sure the soup is well blended.

Finally, serve in bowls with a slice of lemon floating on the top and chopped parsley or dill. Make sure that each bowl has a spoonful of the rice on the bottom of each bowl.

Cider and Onion Soup with Cream

It's that time of year again. Here in the gloomy streets of London the nights are drawing in, and a sniff of woodsmoke is in the air. Before we know it, Bonfire Night, and Hallowe'en will be upon us. And what better than a warming onion soup laced with cider? Here's how you make it.

First, you need to understand that onions need a great deal of cooking before they become palatable. I don't care what your cookery books say, you will have to trust me on this.

You need to slice some onions. Throw a few knobs of unsalted butter into a pan. Now cook the onions. It's probably better if you've sliced them thinly. Add some thyme. I'm lucky enough to have a vigorous plant thriving on my kitchen windowsill. Let the onions cook well, until they are soft, but not burnt or brown. So you will want to use a low heat. Now stir in some flour and let that cook. Pour in a good slug (I love that word) of cider. I used a dryish West Country Organic Cider that I found in a local shop. At this stage it's important to let the cider bubble- to boil off the alcohol. Okay, we all love a good dram of whisky at the right moment, but I find that alcohol needs to be boiled off in cooking- otherwise you are left with a nasty bitter taste.

Now add some stock (chicken or vegetable is fine, home-made or reduced-salt Marigold Bouillon powder would be ideal). Cook the soup on a low heat look mad. Mine took over an hour before the onions were cooked properly. When that's done, lower the heat and add a dollop of single cream. If you don't lower the heat, you run the risk of the soup curdling. Season with a decent salt and ground chunky black pepper to taste. That's it. And if it's cooked properly it's surprisingly subtle and smooth.

recipes

Kedgeree

I've had arguments with a friend of mine about what makes up a proper kedgeree. A breakfast relic of the British Raj, in its purest form it's essentially rice, smoked fish and eggs (the original dish, khichdi, included lentils); and Great Aunt Agatha, in a naughtier moment, might have stirred in a smidgin or two of curry powder. This is my improved creamier version. And there's wild rice for extra crunch.

First, cook a cup or two of wild rice for about 25 minutes. Next, saute some chopped onions in oil and butter. Next stir in some rice. (I prefer Uncle Ben's Long Grain- which has had the starch removed, and will stop the kedgeree becoming one big mess). Add a few teaspoons of curry paste and some nutmeg., and then add the partially cooked wild rice. Cook for a few minutes, so that the rice becomes translucent and soaks up the spices.

Meanwhile, cook some smoked haddock fillets (preferably undyed) in a mixture of milk and water, with a few peppercorns. Bring to a simmer, and then turn off the heat, and let the fish sit in the hot milk and water (with a lid on), until cooked. This is the best way to poach smoked haddock. Set the cooked fish aside, and tip the resulting milky fish stock over the rice. Simmer this on a low heat until the rice is cooked. In effect, you are making a pilaf. You may need to add some more water and stock. When the liquid has been absorbed, flake up the haddock into large pieces and fold into the mixture with a dollop of single cream.

Slice up some softly boiled eggs, and serve with chopped parsely, lemon juice, and a bit of Cayenne Pepper. For some reason this dish works extremely well with Mango Chutney.