The Greasy Spoon | Food & Culture

Champagne Cocktail

 

 

 

 

I adore Christmas, believe me. But, Jiminy Cricket, I'm glad when it's all over. I sympathise with a friend who used to hang a banner up in his Drawing Room declaring "Christmas Must Go!". That's why I like New Year's Eve (or Hogmany as it's called in Scotland), even if this means that you might get a dark, hairy stranger in a kilt turning up on your doorstep at midnight with a lump of coal.

 

 

And what to drink, apart from the obvious and excellent choice of Champagne? How about mixing up a chic Champagne Cocktail this evening?

 

Here's a classic 1930's Champagne Cocktail from the Metropolitan Hotel, New York. First you need to soak a sugar cube with a dash of Angoustura Bitters. Put it in the bottom of a champagne flute.

While I'm about it: a quick word on champagne glasses. I use the classic flute shape. You can also use the rather kitsch shallow glass version- which, apparently, was fashioned from Marie Antoinette's left tit. They're fun- but I've been told on good authority that they're not good for the champagne bubbles, and make them go flat rather quickly.

But on with the cocktail: Fill up the glass with a decent Champagne. Laurent Perrier is delicious, relatively affordable, and a brand I'm currently rather keen on. Finish it off with a twist of lemon.

 

 

Champagne afficinados will probably sneer at anyone who tries to make a champagne cocktail, but I like this recipe for its simplicity, and classic origins. I'm off to a New Year's Eve party in Buckinghamshire tonight, but if I'm still alive by tomorrow morning, plan to write about things Bavarian. I would like to thank everyone and anyone who has bothered to read "The Greasy Spoon" over the last few months, and I wish you all a happy and peaceful 2008. Happy New Year!

Absinthe

 

 

As I'm in a rather decadant, fin de siecle sort of mood, I've decided this morning to write about absinthe. Recently, I asked a friend if they would like a glass of "the green fairy". My generous offer was rejected with a look of horror, fear, and pity. Yes, absinthe still has a more than sinister reputation, and most people out there are vaguely aware that the stuff used to be illegal.

What exactly is absinthe? Absinthe is a distilled, anise-flavored spirit derived from herbs including the flowers and leaves of the medicinal plant Artemisia absinthium, also called Grand Wormwood or Absinthe Wormwood. The wormwood contains small quantities of thujone. It's also highly alchoholic.

The stuff I drink, La Fee, is a staggering 68% proof (that's almost double the strength of Gordon's Gin)- and some brands are even stronger. But there are so many half truths in the absinthe legend. You don't drink the absinthe neat, you dilute it with water; and this involves a curious ritual. Ideally you need a proper absinthe glass, which has a small reservoir at the bottom. Into the glass goes the neat absinthe. Next, you place the pierced absinthe spoon over the top of the glass, on to which goes a lump of sugar. Iced water is poured over the sugar, through the spoon, and down into the glass. The water turns the absinthe opaque (this is called the "louche"), and the flavours, herbals, and  aromatics are released.

 

 

 

Absinthe was originally invented in Switzerland, but became hugely popular in France, especially at the end of the nineteenth century. During the 1880's and 1890's the wine trade suffered badly, and absinthe drinking became widespread, especially amongst Parisian artists, intellectuals and the Bohemian set. So widespread in fact, that it became a social problem; but more from the amount of absinthe consumed, than the scientific properties of the drink itself. After a series of rather grisly murders (blamed on absinthe), the drink was banned by the French government in 1915, and then by other countries around the world, apart from Great Britain, Spain, and Portugal.

 

It's still quasi-illegal in the United States, because of the thujone content, which can supposedly give you hallucinations if taken in high quantities. But then so can oil of bergamot (used to flavour Earl Grey tea)! Modern absinthes have significantly small, and I stress, non-harmful levels of thujone. Absinthe is safe. Trust me! So there it is. The story of absinthe. I had a glass last night, and it was good. Extremely good. And less bitter than you would think, helped along by the iced water and the sugar cube. They say it leaves you with a clear head, and helps to concentrate your thinking. And I think it does, as I leapt out of bed this morning full of joie de vivre. Allez l'absinthe!

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.

The Twelve Days of Christmas

 

 

King Arthur lay at Camelot upon a Christmas-tide, with many a gallant lord and lovely lady, and all the noble brotherhood of the Round Table. There they held rich revels with gay talk and jest; one while they would ride forth to joust and tourney, and again back to the court to make carols; for there was the feast holden fifteen days with all the mirth that men could devise, song and glee, glorious to hear, in the daytime, and dancing at night.

Traditionally, The Twelve Days of Christmas starts on Christmas Day, and ends on Twelfth Night. It was a time of great Medieval feasting and revelry. I'm very fond of St George's Hall, Windsor, which is an early Victorian fantasy of what a Medieval Hall should look like; and the recent restorations after the disastrous fire have been superb. There's a suit of armour there, stuck up in front of a great roundel on the wall- with all the overtones of Arthurian legend and the great Medieval poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. And how suitable for a Christmas feast! In a similar vein, the engraving below shows the famous Boar's Head being brought into The Queen's College, Oxford. The boar is paraded into the Hall, to the strains of the fifteenth century Boar's Head Carol.

 

 

 

Still on the subject of Christmas food, I've got a great family recipe for Candied Fruit.

First, you need to get hold of five large oranges. Cut them in half, and squeeze out the juice. Discard the flesh, but not the pith. Next, cut the peel into strips about half an inch wide, and place them into a saucepan. Cover with boiling water and simmer for about five minutes. Drain and repeat this four times, using fresh water each time.

In a large pan, pour 250 ml (8 fl oz) of water over 1 1/2 lb of granulated sugar, and dissolve the sugar over a gentle heat. Add the orange peel, and cook them slowly, with the lid partially on, until they are soft. This should take about half an hour- or a bit longer. Leave them to cool down, and then sprinkle them with caster sugar.

Leave out to dry for a day or so- and then store them away in an air-tight tin. They are utterly delicious, and would make an original- if simple- present for someone. You can also try the same technique on lemons, but we all reckoned this Christmas, that the orange version was probably better. But as always, it's a matter of personal taste, isn't it?

Mulled Cider

 

 

Old Apple tree, old apple tree; We've come to wassail thee; To bear and to bow apples enow; Hats full, caps full, three bushel bags full; Barn floors full and a little heap under the stairs

Wassail is a traditional mulled punch, drunk at Christmas-time in the Northern and Germanic countries. Very Nordic.

Wassailing can either mean the singing of carols (at Christmas, the serfs would wassail the Lord and Lady of the Manor), or, as in Gloucestershire, and other western counties, the wassailing of an apple tree- to ensure a good harvest, and drive away the evil spirits. This is done on Twelfth Night. I reckon that The Wicker Man was closer to the bone than many people realise.

Anyway, although I realise that you are probably not going to start wassailing apple trees in down town Vancouver or Katmandu, I am going to give you my recipe for my very own wassail, Mulled Cider. I prefer it to Mulled Wine, I really do. The problem with Mulled Wine, is that many people get it very wrong. They chuck in a bottle of plonk, boil it up, and then add all sorts of other dodgy ingredients, including vodka; and the result is an over-acidic, pungent brew which can leave you with a god-awful hangover.

 

 

 

Mulled Cider is "different", smoother- and in my opinion delicious. There are no rules; but to get the best results, I suggest that you keep it simple.

In a large pan, I pour in a decent dryish West Country or Norman organic cider. Try and avoid the cheaper, sweeter, fizzy stuff. Next, I cut an orange in half, and add that. Do the same with a lemon.

Now it's time for the spices. A cinnamon stick, a few cloves, nutmeg, and a kernel of ginger would work well. Taste it! If it's too dry, add a bit of brown sugar.

Start warming it up. You do not want to boil it. Keep it simmering at just below boiling point. If you boil it, all the alchohol will vapourise away- and you want your party to go with a swing, don't you? If you're going to serve it in glass mugs, make sure that you put a silver spoon in the mug first. This will prevent the glass from shattering. If you've got time, decorate the wassail with "Lamb's Wool". This is just peeled apple simmered in cider until it goes woolly, and "explodes"; once that's done, you can float the pulp on top of the mulled cider.

Potted Stilton

 

 

More Christmas food from The Greasy Spoon. Stilton is a famous English blue cheese only made in the counties of Derbyshire, Leicestershire, and Nottinghamshire. It has a creamy, crumbly taste which improves with age. It's also quite similar to the Danish Blue.

To make Potted Stilton, you need to mash some up with a third of its weight of unsalted butter. Next add a pinch of cayenne pepper, and a bit of nutmeg. Add some port, and carry on mashing. If it gets too runny, add a good hard cheese to thicken it up.

Pack the cheese mixture into a ramekin dish, and bung it in the 'fridge. It will make an interesting alternative to the cheese course, and is highly, highly suitable for this time of year. Drink it with port- if you're extremely fortunate, something like a Fonseca '63. I'm lucky enough to have a few bottles of the stuff left, but recent tastings have been a bit disappointing. It was probably at its peak about five years ago, so need to drink it up fast. Life is so darn hard.

Gravy

 

 

I hope- pray even- that this Christmas you are going to make some genuine, home-made gravy. I know that some poor souls out there skip this, and make that stuff straight from the packet. And I loathe that. Starchy, synthetic, a nasty brown colour, gloopy- quite horrible. Ruins everything else on the plate.

What is gravy? I had a few protest emails when I had the temerity to suggest that "gravy' in the United States, is what we call a white sauce. Ok, ok, I realise now that this is a term from the Deep South, and that some of you up on the East Coast have a similar thing to us in Britain. Serves me right for hanging out with a bunch of wannabe Confederates.

Proper gravy (or jus, if you live in Hampstead) should be thin (I can't stress that enough), and made from the juices left over from your turkey, beef, or joint.

Once the meat has cooked, lift out your joint, and let it rest. You will have the oven pan left over with the meat juices left behind, and probably some caramelised burnt bits as well. Pour off the surplus fat floating on the top.

Over a moderate heat, stir in a small bit of flour, so that it soaks up the juices, and let it cook for a bit. It's now time to deglaze the pan. This means adding liquid to soak up the burnt bits left on the bottom of the pan. You can use wine, or stock- or a combination of both. For stock, I normally use the water left over from any vegetables that you are cooking at the same time. If you're making a light coloured gravy, say for chicken or turkey, I would use white wine. If you're making a darker gravy for beef, I would use a red, say a Beaujolais.

Let it bubble away, and then finish it off with a tiny splash of soy sauce. This adds a bit of colour, and intensifies the flavours. Strain off the gravy, and serve it in a sauce boat. I prefer my gravy to be very thin, light as well, and it's important when you serve it, not to let it swamp everything else on the plate. Apart from that, it's all pretty straightforward. Good Luck!

Never Was There Such A Goose!

 

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. It's tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of bone upon the dish), "they hadn't ate it all at last!"

I've decided this cold and hoary morning (it's seven o' clock!) to write about the Christmas goose. There's something terribly Dickensian and Christmasy about our old friend the goose, isn't there? Up until the 1890's most people in England didn't eat turkey, because it was so incredibly expensive. That's why it's such a big deal when Ebeneezer Scrooge buys a massive turkey for the Cratchit family, who would normally be huddled round their scrappy little goose come Christmas Day.

But which one is better? The goose or the turkey? I like turkey, I do. But it has a tendency to become dry and stringy, and by Boxing Day most sane people are fed up with it; even when it's turned into our famed Boxing Day Turkey Curry. There is no doubt that a fresh turkey is preferable to a frozen one. If you have a frozen one, for god's sake make sure that it has thawed properly, otherwise you and your family could get yourselves into serious trouble. If you can, try and get the gamey tasting English Black Norfolk, or the American Bronze variety. And some more advice: stuff the bird at the last minute, rather than the night before. The immediate problem with goose is that there just isn't going to be enough meat on the thing. If you've got lots of friends and family coming round, then some of them are going to go hungry. It tastes delicious, and has a rich and gamey flavour, but there's also going to be lots of fat. I'm fine with that, but there will be some poor souls out there who will want to run for the hills. Paul Levy also reckons that the goose is really at its prime come Michaelmas (ie September) rather than December.

So my advice on this one: if there are just a few of you- go for goose, and sit back and enjoy the rich and subtle flavours; if you've got a horde coming round, go for turkey, but try and get a properly reared and decent variety, and cook it with care. I know this is expensive, but as it's only once a year, I think it's going to be a good investment. Joy to the World!

Cumberland Sauce

 

 

One of the best English Christmas traditions is the Christmas ham. As well as turkey or goose, many families order in a York ham- dry cured and matured over a period of at least ten weeks. Let's be honest: it's probably more delicious than the turkey, especially when cut into impossibly thin slices and served on your plate with Cumberland Sauce.

I'm sorry America, but Cranberry Sauce looses hands down in the Christmas sauce stakes! English Cumberland Sauce is infinitely preferable. And I would love to persuade you to give it a shot this year, instead. Try it out- and report back.

This is how you make it: Peel of the skin of an orange, and then cut the skin into julienne (ie very thin strips). Put the orange strips into a pan with some water and bring to the boil. This will remove any bitterness from the orange peel. In another small pan, melt four heaped tablespoons of redcurrant jelly, with a teaspoon of ground ginger. Stir well, until the redcurrant jelly and the ginger have combined.

Redcurrant jelly is best described as a smooth English jam (made obviously from redcurrant berries) which we normally eat with lamb. It's available ready-made in jars- though I have to admit, I'm not sure if it's easily obtainable in America; so you may have to track it down on the internet, or see if you local deli stocks it. The redcurrant jelly will act as a thickening agent, but true Cumberland sauce should really have a thinnish consistency, so try to keep it reasonably thin- if it coats the back of a spoon, you know it's about right.

Next, pour in a decent slug of port, and the juice of one orange, and half a lemon. Stir well, then add the blanched orange strips, which you've taken out of the hot water, and drained.

You will be left with a thickish, tangy, fruity, gingery, port-infused dark red sauce- which will act as a balance to the salt in the ham. I can best describe it as the taste of Christmas. Utterly nostalgic. Oh- and one last word of advice: Cumberland Sauce should always be served cold, so don't try and warm it up; that would be a huge mistake...

Cauliflower

 

 

I thought this morning I would write about another British winter classic, Cauliflower Cheese. There are various ways of making this. My dear old grandmother (sadly no longer with us) used to serve it whole in a tureen, with the cheesy, creamy white sauce poured on top. I think this is a particularly attractive way of serving it, visually at least, and possibly the old-fashioned method.

You need to catch hold of a smallish caulifower, trim off the green leaves around the stem, and then steam it. Steaming is always a great way to cook vegetables, as it stops them getting soggy, and, in this case, the cauliflower will remain whole. If you boil it, it will start to break up.

Place it in a tureen, and make a white sauce. You will probably remember how to do this from previous posts. Melt some unsalted butter in a pan, stir in some flour so that the flour is cooked properly, and then slowly add milk and a bit of stock (the cooking water from the cauliflower would be ideal) until you have a smooth sauce.

Next, grate in some cheese (such as cheddar, though it would be fun to experiment with other varieties), and add salt, pepper, and grated nutmeg. I have to admit that I prefer a simple white sauce without the cheese, and lots of nutmeg, but it's all about personal taste, isn't it?

The other method is as follows: cut the cauliflower up into florets, removing the woody core first. Next, steam them or boil them until cooked. Make sure you don't overcook. Make your cheese sauce as before, but add breadcrumbs, and pour over the florets, which you have arranged in an ovenproof dish. Finish them off under the grill, so that the cheese and breadcrumbs start to turn brown. Finis.

Brussels Sprouts

 

 

Brussels Sprouts are part of the traditional British Christmas. The problem is that no-one likes them. They need careful cooking, otherwise they become soggy, grey in colour, sulphuric, and generally pretty nasty.

One of the best books on Christmas food, if not the best book, is Paul Levy's The Feast of Christmas. Its also got lots of fascinating stuff about the history and mythology of Christmas too. I found a recipe in it which solves the Brussels Sprout problem:

First, you need to shred them with a sharp knife. Next stir them in peanut oil at a high heat, with shredded garlic, ginger, and fresh chilli. A wok would be ideal for this. Because you've cooked them quickly over a high heat, the shredded sprouts will remain green, and the combination of the peanut oil, ginger,and chilli will give them an oriental style twist.

Anchovy Butter

 

 

I love anchovies. They're a small, silvery salt-water fish found in the mild waters of the Med, and the warmer reaches of the Atlantic. The Romans were crazy about them and used them extensively in their cooking.

The anchovies we're used to in Britain are cured in salt, and then packed in olive oil- which gives them a powerful, extremely salty flavour. Last summer when I was on holiday in Positano, I sampled the unsalted local variety- arranged simply on a plate with torn basil leaves and olive oil; and my god, they were good.

So today, I've come up with an oh-so-simple recipe for anchovy butter. You can use it with fish, or just simply spread it on your toast; and if warmed up gently, it would make an excellent sauce. In a mixing bowl mash up a pat of slightly soft unsalted butter (ie taken out of the 'fridge for a bit). It's important to use unsalted butter, otherwise the dish is going to be far too salty. Generally, I use unsalted butter anyway in my food, as it leaves you to decide how much salt to put in at the end of the cooking period.

With a fork, mash in your anchovies. When they've been combined, add a squeeze of lemon juice. The lemon juice acts as a balance, and will help to smooth out the salt. I think a dash of ground mace or cayenne pepper would be work well here too.

Finally, pack the anchovy butter into small ramekin dishes and keep it in the 'fridge.

Christmas Herring Salad

 

 

A German style Christmas market has come to town. I haven't been yet, but all sorts of stalls, fairground rides, and ice-rinks have gone up in Hyde Park. And for once, it's suddenly cold and frosty here in London. Every Christmas I make a German or Scandanavian style Herring Salad. I was given the recipe by my great uncle whose family originally came from Cologne. He treated the enterprise as a work of art, and "built" up the salad over three or four days; however I recently ran into a Swedish girl at a cocktail party who insisted that it needed to be made quickly- and then finished off immediately. I'm going to go with my great-uncle on this one, as the vinegars in the salad should act as a preservative.

Want to make it?

This is how I do it: You will need a large mixing bowl. Chop up some herring. You are supposed to use salted herring, but I use Scottish roll-mops- which are herring marinated in vinegar and spices. Add some diced cooked potatoes, peeled diced apples, diced gherkin, chopped celery, chopped anchovies, and ham- chopped up into small pieces. Mix it all around. Throw in a handful of capers, and some diced cooked beetroot.

 

 

The beetroot will make the salad go an interesting bright pink colour. Next, mix up a vinaigrette. That's just a small dollop of mustard mixed with sugar, and wine vinegar to form an emulsion, with oil added slowly. I suggest you use a light oil, such as sunflower oil, rather than olive oil for this one. Olive oil is too Mediterranean in style and flavour. Finish off the salad with lots of chopped dill, and chopped egg white. It's delicious.

Braised Red Cabbage

 

 

I promised in my recent Lancashire Hot Pot post to write about Red Cabbage, and this Sunday morning I am being true to my word. Braised Red Cabbage is a classic British dish. It's more than just cabbage- there are other ingredients in there as well, and the dish has tangy, piquant flavours going on. It's also suitable for this time of the year.

You need to get hold of a red cabbage, slice it in two and take out the core (that's the hard bit in the middle). Slice up the cabbage thinly.

Next, slice up some apples in the same way, removing their cores in the same way. Put them in a casserole dish along with the cabbage, and some diced streaky bacon.

In a separate pan heat up a good dash of port, two tablespoons of red wine vinegar, and two tablespoons of caster sugar. Bring to the boil, and then simmer gently for a few minutes. Pour the liquid over the cabbage, bacon and apples, and season well with salt and pepper. Shove the dish (with the lid on) into a medium oven and cook for an hour or so.

Welsh Rabbit

 

 

You know, here in Britain we eat strange things: Haggis, Spotted Dick, Deep Fried Mars Bars in Batter, Stargazey Pie, Bread and Butter Pudding, and Welsh Rabbit. Before all you animal lovers out there in cyberspace bombard me with protest emails, I have to stress that Welsh Rabbit is actually a toast and cheese dish. No-one is exactly sure why it's called this. Some people call it Welsh Rarebit. If you want to make it, it's easy; and perfect as a late night supper snack or TV Dinner.

Here's how I do it: Melt some butter in a small pan. Grate in some cheese. A strong, mature Cheddar is perfect. (Incidentally, in case you didn't know, Cheddar is a town in Somerset, England; and Cheddar is probably our most famous cheese; and cheese is the one thing we probably do as well as, if not better than the French). Next add a dollop of mustard (has to be tangy Colman's, doesn't it?); a dash of Lea & Perrins, and a slug of Guinness.

Meanwhile toast some brown bread, and pour the melted cheese mixture over it. Season with salt and pepper, and then cut the bread into fingers. Finish the dish off by flashing it under the grill for a minute or so. Perfect if you're about to slob out in front of Saturday Night television.

Gingerbread

 

 

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 ingredientsto form a dough. Use your hands!

 

 

Turn the dough out on to a lightly floured board, and using a rolling pin, roll it 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.

Guinness

 

 

Today's post is about that classic stout, Guinness. Guinness is a form of porter, a beer which originated in London in the early eighteenth century, and has been brewed at the St James's Gate Brewery in Dublin since 1759.

The dark colour, and bitter flavour comes from unfermented roasted barley. The creamy head comes from nitrogen. I've got a great recipe for you: Beef Stew in Guinness with Parsley Dumplings. What could be better for a cold December day?

This is my own recipe. It's easy to make, but remember, as ever, keep the stew cooking at a low temperature for at least three hours. This will help the toughish cut of beef to break down.

Let's start: Slice up some onions, and saute them in butter. Chop up some stewing steak, dust it with flour, salt and black pepper, and fry it in the butter. When the meat is brown, add some beef stock, and a pint of Guinness. Bring to the boil to burn off the alchohol, and then reduce to a simmer. Add a dash of good old Lea & Perrins.

Next throw in some carrots, which you've previously peeled and cut into batons. Add a tablespoon or so of tomato puree. This will help to thicken it up even further. Simmer in a medium oven for at least three hours. At least.

You should end up with a reasonably thick sauce, and nicely cooked beef- which should be beginning to break down.

Now it's time for the dumplings. Very easy to make. In a bowl mix some dried suet (the EU has banned the real thing; what on earth's going on there?), with twice the amount of self raising flour. Add some salt and pepper, and some chopped parsley; and form smallish balls with your hands. Float the uncooked dumplings on top of the stew, and shove the thing back into the oven.

Cook until the dumplings have risen and the flour in them has cooked. It shouldn't take too long. Ideal for December. I like it.

Bang Bang Chicken

 

 

Apologies for my absence over the last few days. On Friday I was invited to a Bond-themed party, and was told to come in fancy dress. I rocked up in full naval rig; finding to my horror that no-one else had bothered, so ended up feeling like an extra from Follow the Fleet surrounded by kids in jeans and t-shirts. Heigh ho.

Anyway, this morning's gem of wisdom is taken from A. A. Gill's excellent book on The Ivy Restaurant in London's Covent Garden. I had a feeling that Bang Bang Chicken was one of those dishes that had been bastardised by British and American Chinese restaurants- but I've discovered that it is a reasonably authentic Szechuan thing.

This is how you make The Ivy version: Spoon 250g smooth peanut butter into a bowl, and place it over a saucepan of hot water for about ten minutes. The peanut butter should soften up- and you need to stir it now and again. Remove from the heat and stir in a dash of sweet chili sauce. Then add five tablespoons of sesame oil, and six tablespoons of vegetable oil. Stir carefully so that they form an emulsion.

Get hold of a smoked chicken, remove the skin, and take the meat off the bone, shredding it as you go. Put to one side.

Now for the Chinese style vegetables. This is easy. It's just two carrots, peeled and finely shredded; spring onions and cucumbers cut into strips, and shredded in the same way. Pile them up on a plate and sprinkle them with rice vinegar. Arrange the chicken on top, and pour over the peanut sauce. Finally, finish the dish off, by sprinkling some toasted sesame seeds on top.