This is simple, and so-very English. It's just whipped double cream, broken up meringue pieces, and chopped up strawberries, served in a glass bowl. Ideal for picnics beneath the Immortal Elms, if Dutch Elm Disease hasn't got there first, that is.
I like to add a dash of brandy to the cream. Instead of the meringue, you could also use sponge fingers.
Last night's sorbet making was a total success. The Earl Grey/Orange combination worked like a treat. I jiggled the flavours a bit, deciding that it was initially too sweet, so cut back a bit on the sugar, added more Earl Grey, and a smidgen more of the orange juice.
The fun thing about sorbets (which are easy to make), is that you can experiment with all sorts of interesting flavours. Pimm's sorbet would be fun- though bear in mind that alcohol will stop the sorbet from freezing, so it might be an idea to initially burn off the alcohol from the Pimm's, add it to the sorbet mixture, and then serve it ice-cold, with Pimm's poured over the top.
There's nothing more satisfying than coming up with a fresh idea for a recipe, experimenting with it- to get it exactly right, and then serving it up to your admiring and ravenous friends. That's what food should be all about...
If you've been following my blog, you'll know that I don't like puddings. By that, I mean English trifles, and similar concoctions covered with sickly custard, and made from sponge, and suet. It's a personal thing, but I would rather have something simple, and clean on the palette, too.
If you ever have the inclination to invite me to dinner (lucky you), the following recipe would work wonders. It's endearingly simple, and after a hard day's work at the blacking factory, undeniably easy.
Trot down to the shops and buy some Italian red blood oranges. Peel them. If there's any white pith left behind, dip the oranges quickly into boiling water, and the pith will come off. A useful tip. Cut the oranges into thick slices, and arrange them on a plate. Sprinkle them with sugar, and some grated lemon rind.
Finally, garnish the dish with a sprig of mint, but, first, crush the mint gently between your fingers to release the oils and aromas.
Ah, Crepes Suzette! Back in the halcyon days of the 1960's, they were considered to be the height of sophistication: flambeed at your table by suave waiters in maroon mess-jackets.
It's a great dish, and I have no time for saddos who think that Crepes Suzette are beneath their contempt. It's exactly the same with German wine. The "BMW and Chardonnay" crowd has learnt to despise German wine- all those years of Blue Nun, and Golden Oktober (which always sounded to me like a band of East German Revolutionaries), I suppose; but what if I told you that the most revered and expensive wines in the Edwardian period were Mosels, and Hocks; and not Clarets or Burgundies? German wine may be out of fashion, but there are some wonderful wines out there, and they can be great value, too. So buy German! There, I've had my little rant. Now on with the Crepes Suzette.
There's a nice legend about how Crepes Suzette were invented. Henri Charpentier, an assistant waiter at Monte Carlo's cafe in Paris, claimed that he invented the Crepes to cover up a mistake he made when preparing pancakes for the Prince of Wales (later Edward VII), and one of his numerous dollybirds, who just happened to be called Suzette. Well, it's a great story, even if I detect that Henri may have been a trifle economique with the actualite.
First, make a pancake batter. In your Magimix, blend the following ingredients together: 100g plain flour, a pinch of salt, an egg, an egg yolk, the grated rind of half an orange, 275ml of milk, and 50g melted butter. Let the batter stand for about half an hour.
To fry the pancakes, chuck a knob of butter into a sizzling hot pan, and then pour in enough batter to cover the bottom of pan. By the way, just like sex, the first one's always a mess, so don't worry if it goes wrong, throw it out, and the remaining batch will improve each time. Gently fold each pancake up on each side, put them to one side, and keep them warm.
To make the sauce, rub eight sugar lumps over the skin of an orange, and then drop the lumps into a pan once they have become saturated with the orange oils. Melt the sugar lumps in a pan very carefully over a gentle heat. They should caramelise. Next, pour in the juice of two large oranges, the juice of a lemon, and 50g of unsalted butter. Bring to the simmer, and reduce the sauce slowly. When it has thickened up, bring it to a fast boil, and add a further 50g of unsalted butter. You should get a glossy sauce. Add two tablespoons of Cointreau. Pour the sauce over the pancakes, and let the sauce soak in.
And last, but not least: the final touch. Pour some warmed Cognac over the Crepes Suzette, and apply a match. Your friends will be delighted and amazed!
I’ve often thought it slightly odd that the Feast of St Valentine (that day of Love and Romance) commemorates a Roman martyr who was tortured and put to death in the most horrible fashion. Having said that, for us simple creatures of the male persuasion, Valentine’s Day can be sheer torture if you get it wrong- and, Jiminy Cricket, can you get it seriously wrong.
If you’re out to impress tonight, I would advise you to avoid restaurants at all costs. You’ll discover dewy-eyed couples holding hands, while swarthy Lotharios flog over-priced roses, serenaded by squeaky violins. It’s like appearing as out of work extras in an old episode of “The Love Boat”.
Instead, how about cooking up a romantic dinner for two over at your place? I would suggest that you keep it simple (a decent steak picked up on your way back from the Counting House would be ideal), and finish it off with strawberries dipped in chocolate.
Get hold of several bars of dark chocolate, and melt them gently in a bain-marie. This just means placing a smaller pan into a larger pan full of barely simmering water. The dark chocolate has more solids, and will be less likely to separate. Stir until you have a smooth sauce. Dip the strawberries in the chocolate, and then chuck them into the ‘fridge. With any luck, they should be set by the time you get onto the pudding course. They would go well with a Sauternes or Tokaji, too.
I’ve always admired that bit in Roman Polanski’s “Tess”, when the rakish Alec d’Urberville dangles strawberries over Nastassja Kinski’s ravishing lips. Here’s your chance! Strawberries are out of season, but who cares?
Here's a gem I've taken from the Tate Cookbook. The Tate Gallery Restaurant (now Tate Britain), has always been one of the better London gallery restaurants, and it's also decorated with fascinating murals by the pre-war artist, Rex Whistler.
Despite being English, I have to admit to not being a Pudding sort of person; but I like this recipe for the balance between the sweetness of the pears, and the savoury Stilton Quennelles. A Quennelle, by the way, is usually just a tablespoon of mousse, which has been poached in stock, or some other similar liquid. You may have been lucky enough to have sampled Quennelles of Pike if you have ever been to that beacon of hope and civilisation in a world gone mad, France. Anyway, let's get started:
Peel some pears, but keep the stalks intact, and remove the cores from the bottom end of the pears with a sharp knife, or better still, a corer. Rub the pears with lemon juice. Chuck them into a saucepan, and add some sugar, mixed spice, about half a cup of red wine, the same again of port, and a cinnamon stick. Top up with water until the pears are covered. Bring to the boil, and then reduce the heat, and simmer until the pears are tender. They will take on an interesting dark red colour. Leave them to cool, and then take them out and set them aside.
You will be left with a syrup in the bottom of the pan. Boil that away, until the syrup is reduced by a half. This will also thicken the sauce.
The Quennelles are easy. In a Magimix, whizz up some Stilton cheese (which you've previously chopped up into small pieces), with some dill, and chopped walnuts. You will end up with a paste. Season with black pepper (there's no need for salt, as the Stilton is already salty), and add some single cream.
Cut the pears in half lengthways, and then slice the pear halves downwards, so that you get nicely shaped pear slices. Fan out the pear slices on a plate, shape the Stilton mixture with a tablespoon to form a Quennelle, and place this next to the pear. Pour a little of the sauce around the pear on the plate. Voila!
I first had Vodka Sorbet at a small local restaurant in Paris, just off the rue Monsieur Le Prince in the 6eme. I'm not exactly sure how they made it, but I've come up with a method that produces very similar results. Try and use a good quality Russian vodka such as Stolichnaya.
In your favourite pan, combine a cup of sugar with two cups of water over a medium heat. When the sugar has completely dissolved, stir like mad, and bring it to the boil. Reduce the heat to low, and let it simmer for about five minutes, then take it off the heat, cover the pan, and let it stand for about ten minutes to cool off.
Next add two and half tablespoons of fresh lemon juice, and a decent slug of vodka. Pour it into a container (tupperware is ideal), and shove it into your deep freeze. When it is half-frozen, take it out and mash it together with a fork. Put it back into the freezer again. When it's re-frozen, take it out, and blend it together in the trusty Magimix. Re-freeze. Serve it with a sprig of fresh mint, and drizzle some more cold vodka over it.
You will find that cold vodka goes thick, and stops the sorbet from freezing up completely- and that's how you want it. Like other recipes from The Greasy Spoon, engagingly simple.
Today is the Feast of St. Nicholas. Father Christmas, or Santa Claus, is partly derived from this saint. In Holland and other parts of Europe, children put out a boot for Saint Nick on the night of the 5th December to get presents. St. Nicholas has, I think, a creepy assistant called "Black Peter" who gives naughty kiddiwinks a lump of coal.
For me, the run-up to Christmas really starts about now. I was in a Black Cab with a friend a few nights ago, and as we sped through Sloane Square on the way back to the mean streets of Battersea, the Christmas lights looked fantastic. Bond Street is also currently looking pretty amazing. Anyway, as I'm now in that sort of mood, I thought it might be a good plan to have a look at Gingerbread. As a ginger fanatic, I can't get enough of the stuff.
Here is a recipe to make Gingerbread Men (I'm rebelling against the latest politically correct trend to call them Gingerbread People. The world is mad enough as it is). I've adapted this recipe from the internet.
First you need to pre-heat your oven to 170 C. Line a baking tray with baking parchment to stop the Gingerbread sticking. Melt 125g of unsalted butter, 100g dark muscavado sugar, and 4 tablespoons of golden syrup (that's the stuff in those picturesque old-fashioned tins).
Sieve 325g flour, a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda, and two teaspoons of ground ginger into a bowl, and then stir in the melted ingredients to form a dough. Use your hands!
Turn the dough out on to a lightly floured board, and using a rolling pin, roll the dough out to a reasonable thickeness. I like them quite thick. Now for the fun bit. You can use a Gingerbread Man cutter thing (available from cookshops) to make Gingerbread Men, or if you prefer other shapes, you can make stars, and biscuits, and goodies like that. Place them on the tray, shove in the oven, and cook them for about nine to ten minutes.
When they're cooked properly, you can decorate them with icing. Frankly, I can't be bothered, and they're long gone before then. Patience is a virtue- and it ain't found in me.
Look, this may seem completely loopy-loo, but now is the time to start making your Christmas Pudding; and if anything it may even be a bit on the late side. Traditionally, the Christmas Pudding was made on "Stir-Up Sunday", which was the last Sunday before Advent, (about four to five weeks before Christmas Day), but in our family we used to make it as early as late October.
I love Christmas Pudding. The way your spoon plunges into the moist (you hope!), rich, fruity mass; and the contrast with the smooth, rich, alchohol infused brandy butter. Nearer Christmas, I'll have fun writing about that festive sauce. This is the way I make The Official Greasy Spoon Christmas Pudding:
First, you need to stir up all the following ingredients in a pudding basin: 350g mixed fruit and peel (this means crystallised peel, dried apricots, currants, saltanas, raisins, grated lemon rind, and grated orange rind); 50g chopped glace cherries, 25g flaked almonds, 50g dried suet (you can't get the proper stuff anymore- the EU has made it illegal), 35g white breadcrumbs, 35g plain flour, 70g moist dark brown sugar, 50g grated apple, and a dash of mixed spice and grated nutmeg. Some weirdos add carrot- but very sensibly, I leave this one out.
Once you've stirred all the ingredients together well, add two beaten eggs, the juice of half a lemon, and half an orange, pour in two tablespoons of a dark stout (ie Guinness), a tablespoon of black treacle, and a dash of decent Scotch Whisky. Most recipes will tell you to add brandy, but being a contrarian, I've decided that Scotch works better. Stir it like mad.
Now's the time to add the mixture to a basin. Recently, I've had this thing about those old-fashioned ball-shaped puddings- the ones you see in Dickens and in Walt Disney. I managed to track down a ball-shaped pudding mould from Divertimenti in the Fulham Road, and used that- but a traditional ceramic pudding basin will be just dandy. Smear the inside of the basin with butter. This will stop the pudding sticking to the side. Pour in the mixture. Top off with a piece of buttered greaseproof paper, ideally cut down to fit. Finally, place a cloth over the basin, and tie it off at the top with a bit of string.
Steam it for five to six hours. This means getting hold of a large pan, filling it about a quarter full with water and bringing it to the boil. Place the pudding in the middle of the pan, and put the lid on. The steam will rise up within the pan, and cook the pudding. Once it's cooked, leave it in a cool place with a piece of tin foil on top. It will mature in the run-up to Christmas. On the great day itself, you will need to steam it for a further three hours.
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.
Now for a bit of old fashioned nepotism. This recipe is from the outstanding ABC of Tried and Tested Recipes by Marigold Honey, which you can buy from amazon.co.uk.
Take 6-8 oranges, peel them, and cut some of the peel into thin strips. Into a small saucepan add 3 oz of granulated sugar, 5 fl oz of water, a cinnamon stick, and the orange peel. Melt this slowly over a lowish heat, stir and bring to the boil. Simmer for a minute or so, until the liquid starts to thicken up, then add a dash of cognac, and a slug of Cointreau.
Meanwhile, slice the oranges as thinly as possible, and tip them into a glass bowl. Pour over the cooled syrup. Next, make a caramel by melting 3oz of sugar in water, and then boiling it hard until it starts to turn brown. This is your caramel. Pour the brown liquid into an oiled tin, and leave to set. When it's hard, you will be able to break it up with a hammer.
Sprinkle the caramel pieces onto the syrupy oranges, and top off with some flaked almonds- which you've previously dry roasted in a non-stick frying pan. Remove the cinammon stick.
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