The Greasy Spoon

Squid in Black Ink

Apologies for my absence over the last few days, but I have just returned from a jaunt around Venice with The Girl. As you might expect in that City of Dreams (and lover-ly Murano Glass) we had a wonderful time; and even managed to squeeze in a few Dry Martinis and Bellinis at Harry's Bar. I can also whole-heartedly recommend the Ristorante Corte Sconta (Calle del Pestrin 3886), where the thinly sliced and marinated tuna was to die for.

A local dish that seemed to crop up again and again, was Seppie in Tecia Col Nero, otherwise known as Squid cooked in its own Black Ink. Here's a genuine version of the thing taken from Arrigo Cipriani's Harry's Bar Cook Book. It's all a bit gothic, and when you're cooking it, the black ink goes everywhere, and stains everything, so be warned.

Buy or catch your squid. Pull the head and body of the squid apart. Cut off the tentacles below the eyes. Remove the silvery ink sacs on either side of the innards, and discard the rest. Pull out the bone from the body, and discard. Rinse the prepared squid under the tap, and peel off the pink skin. Cut the body and tentacles into pieces.

Heat some olive oil in a hot pan, and add a chopped celery rib, chopped onion and a crushed garlic clove. Fry until soft. Next add some plum tomatoes, and the squid, and toss for a few minutes, turning the heat to high. Add a cup or so of dry white wine, and some chopped basil and parsley, and let it all bubble away for a few minutes. Take the ink sacs (which you have kept back), and force the black ink into the pan, little by little, until you have a rich black sauce. Season with salt and pepper, and cook for about an hour or so, until the squid is soft. If the sauce dries out, add some fish stock.

That's it. Serve with polenta, and a bottle of Prosecco on ice. Prosecco is the regional sparkling wine of the Veneto, and it's amazing value for money. I'm planning to stock up on the stuff in bulk. And as an added bonus, here's an arty photograph I took of a party of Japanese schoolgirls outside Florian's Cafe.

Zucchini Fritters

If you've got the time and inclination, courgette (or zucchini) fritters are the perfect thing to serve with drinks, and especially with a Dry Martini.

I find it best to use baby courgettes, so that you end up with fritters the size of a small coin. Slice the courgettes very thinly, put them into a colander, and then sprinkle them with salt. The salt will draw out the water. You will be amazed by how much water drains off. Next, beat an egg white until frothy, and dip the courgette slices into the egg white, shake off the excess, and then dip them again into flour, which you have previously seasoned with salt and black pepper.

In a deep-fat fryer, heat some peanut oil to about 375 F (190 C). If you don't have a fryer, use a wok. Nut oil burns at a higher temperature, and so is an excellent choice for this sort of operation. Drop the courgettes into the oil, a few at a time, until they are crisp. Watch them like a hawk, so that they don't burn. Incidentally, when frying, it's always best never to overcrowd the pan; if you do, you run the risk that your food may steam or boil, which, of course, is a different technique all together.

Drain the fritters on kitchen paper, and sprinkle them with more salt and pepper. Okay, this means that your fritters are going to pretty salty, but I think that, in this case, it provides a perfect balance with the dry oiliness (is that a word?) of a classic Martini cocktail.

Savoy Cabbage

I love cabbage, and especially Savoy Cabbage. If you cook cabbage for too long, it turns a nasty yellow colour, and gives off lots of dodgy sulphuric smells. For the best result you need to cook your cabbage briefly (and on a high heat). This will also help to keep the cabbage a rich, and dark green colour. A tried and tested way to cook cabbage is as follows:

First, take off the outer leaves. Slice the Savoy Cabbage in two, and remove the hard woody core in the centre. Then slice up the cabbage into chunks. Get hold of a wok, and when the pan is hot enough, pour in some nut oil. Nut oil burns at a higher temperature, and so is perfect for this sort of thing.

Fry the cabbage in the hot oil, shaking the wok as you go. Add a crushed garlic clove, some salt, pepper and a pinch of sugar. After a few minutes the cabbage should be ready. Simplicity itself.

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.