Strawberries & Cream at SW19

The view from Henman Hill-Murray Mount

Wimbledon is with us, and as I write, it’s piddling down in SW19 and Venus Williams, is flapping around in a disco-toga ensemble under the very sensible glass roof.  I make the pilgrimage every year (sob…sniff) except this one, and instead have to make do with the TV, whilst receiving texts from my sister who has bagged Centre Court seats so close to the celebrity box (ok sorry Royal box) that she can see the Duchess of Cornwall’s crow’s feet.
  

Sister & I slurping Pimms in the sunshine

What I love most about Wimbledon is how polite and well coordinated everything is.  It has manners.  Players in pressed white outfits on top of precisely trimmed grass, all against the seemingly garish but oddly demure purple and green backdrop.  You can't (well you could, but be prepared for frowns) turn up in cut off denim shorts and a ripped to the navel vintage Cure t-shirt.  Summer dresses and floppy hats with plenty of sunblock for when the sun shines.  You also have to consider the standard of your sustenance.  A Wimbledon picnic is not a ham sandwich and a bag of crisps transported in a carrier bag, even if it is from Waitrose.  Think breadsticks, crudités and olives with a good tub of hummus or sushi.  Go for salads in stackable boxes, try couscous with roasted vegetables and crumbled feta or a tomato laden pasta salad with a swirl of pesto.  If you really must have something between two slices of bread, try smoked salmon on a grainy, nutty loaf.  Strawberries are compulsory, so do all the prep work at home, bring a small pot of cream and a bag of crushed up pre-made meringues.  Plonk the lot into a bowl and you have your very own portable Eton Mess. Just remember the spoons.

This is my armchair homage to Wimbledon.  A little like scones, these strawberry shortcakes are a little cakier, due to the addition of cream to the mixture.  I followed Nigella Lawson’s version from How to be a Domestic Goddess. 

Shortcakes
325g plain flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp baking powder
5 tbsps caster sugar
125g unsalted butter, frozen
1 large egg
125ml single cream (or half & half will work if you are in US or Canada)
1 large egg white

Filling
1 punnet strawberries
1 tbsp caster sugar
250ml double cream/whipping or heavy cream

Pre-heat oven to 220c/425f/gas mark 7
Mix flour, salt, baking powder & 3 tbsps of the caster sugar altogether in one bowl.  Grate the butter into the same bowl and crumble it into the flour mixture with your fingers.

In a separate bowl (I use a measuring jug) pour in the cream and crack in one whole egg, then whisk.  Pour this into the flour mixture, a little at a time, using a fork to mix in.

Bring the dough together and tip out onto a floured board.  Roll it out to a thickness of 2cm.  Using a 6.5cm round cutter, dip it in flour and then cut out rounds.  You will need to keep re-rolling it, and will get 8 shortcakes.

Place the rounds on a baking sheet with at least 2.5cm between them.  Brush the tops with egg white, sprinkle with remaining sugar and bake for 10-15 minutes until they are golden brown.  Transfer to a wire rack to cool after cooking.

For the filling just whip up the cream with a tbsp of sugar.  Split a shortcake in two and fill it with sliced strawberries and a dollop of cream.


Come on Andy Murray!

Smoked Meat Sandwiches at Schwartz's Montreal

‘Oh it’s just like Paris’, everyone said, when I told people I was going to Montreal.  Curiously instead of bistros and brasseries, they implored me to try Schwartz’s, a Jewish smoked meat deli, more akin to New York I thought, than Paris.  So after a morning scaling the Parc du Mont Royal, our appetites slowly building as the gradient increased, Jerry and I lined up with other Schwartz devotees, sunglasses on, noses upwards, breathing in the beefy air with mouth-watering anticipation.   

After a swift thirty minutes of feet shuffling, spent mainly eavesdropping on the excitable bachelor party ahead of us, we were ushered in.  There’s no doubting this place is a Montreal institution, and in case you weren’t aware, there are reminders all about you.  Walls are papered with articles all agreed in their devotion to this 80 year old institution. Someone was so moved by the meat, they wrote a musical about it.  A place with such longevity doesn’t need 21^st century décor.  It’s elbows close dining at shared tables or a high stool at the counter.  Pop comes in cans and place mats double as menus.  Napkins are pulled from spring loaded dispensers and ketchup is squirted from a squeezy bottle. 

The food comes out in a teasing trickle, first pickles, with a crisp crunch and vinegar hit, then homemade frites, fluffy and sweet insides with nut brown skins.  The kitchen door swings open and an imaginary fanfare goes off in my head heralding the arrival of the sandwiches.  Hand sliced, medium-thick, the meat is layered at least eight storeys high between warm rye bread that balances precariously.  Such a mound might normally dictate the use of cutlery, but hunger triumphs over etiquette and we delve in with our hands.  The meat is gently smoked, not overly salty and beautifully moist and tender.  A generous squirt of bright yellow mustard, alternating bites of pickle and pinchfuls of fries is all that is needed.

I know it’s a good meal, if apart from the odd appreciative grunt or ‘oooh that’s good’, neither of us can face making conversation, since doing so, would slow down the flow of food.  I love a thriving friends and family dinner, but sometimes when the food deserves my full attention, I need a companion who understands I don’t really want to talk, I just want to inhale.  Save for the giggly bachelors (I assume something really funny must have happened last night), most diners adopt a similar semi-mute state, using hand gestures and eye rolling where applicable.

The best part? We feasted for just over $10 each. There’s nothing more satisfying than having a great meal when I don’t dread the arrival of the bill.

Kitchen carnage

"What should we do this afternoon?” I enquired.  After a morning watching a mediocre England play Switzerland against a rainy backdrop, I wasn’t exactly buoyed up to go bounding about.  I surprised myself: “how about we go down to Bills and get a lobster for dinner?” “Sure” says Jerry, already lacing his shoes.  He really ought to disagree with me sometimes; neither of us knows how to cook lobster. 

I’ve tank-shopped at Bills, an unassuming fishmonger hidden amongst Chinese grocers on Gerrard Street’s mini-Chinatown, but never had the courage to buy anything. We dillied in front of the ice laden trays of fish and dallied by the tanks of live lobster.  I was seconds away from copping out and buying some safe tuna steaks, when I saw some less intimidating, but still live prawns.  They looked like something I could handle. We might actually have a pan big enough for them. They were Spot Prawns, fresh from the British Columbia coast, and only in season for a short while.  I felt a little privileged. Bills lady said to cook them simply, put them in a bowl with wine and let them drink it for a few minutes, (I wasn’t sure what the purpose of this was, was it a marinade or to get them drunk so their death would be less excruciating?) then pan fry with garlic just for 2 minutes, no more.  “I was thinking of adding chilli, parsley and some lemon zest”.  She nodded in agreement.  “Just remember to suck out the heads.  It’s the best bit.”

We made a quick side visit to one of the Chinese grocers for lemons and eggs (I’d attempted to make banana oat muffins in the morning but stopped short at the instruction to crack in one egg), and up to that point I’d been confidently carrying the bag of critters, secure in the knowledge that there were three layers of packaging they’d have to claw through to escape. In the queue the ruckus started. There was in-fighting within the plastic and the bag began to shake. I set the bag down.  Ignoring them would make them behave. Jerry rolled his eyes and silently took the bag.  He’d deal with their death; I’d worry about chopping garlic and chilli.

We got them home and tipped their frolicking bodies into an icy bath.  That shut them up….a little bit too permanently.  The iced temperatures had killed them prematurely. Relieved I wouldn’t have to combat their escape attempts, I sliced up about 4 good sized garlic cloves, one long red chilli, grated the zest of a lemon and chopped a good handful of parsley. I let the chilli and garlic sizzle in some butter and olive oil for a few minutes before pouring in a glass of white wine and letting it bubble away for a minute or two more. The prawns were then packed into the pan and covered as they cooked for two to three minutes. I added some final colour with the parsley and lemon zest before swirling some cooked pasta through the sauce and serving. They are the creamiest prawns I’ve ever had. The heads have a hidden pocket of brain goo that’s like concentrated lobster bisque. Just like the lady from Bills said. It’s the best part. 

Asparagus season is here!

Asparagus season is now in full swing here in Ontario at least, so give the Peruvian stuff the elbow and make the most of the next 6 weeks or so by eating as much as you can. To be honest I don’t buy it at other times of the year because the taste of home grown stuff beats anything that has been air freighted, so I start to keep an eye out at the end of April, start of May. My first serving depends on how eager I am.  I’m pretty happy just steaming the spears and serving them still warm with a pool of vinaigrette and a dollop of mayonnaise. I made a fantastic supper dish at the weekend by drizzling the spears in olive oil, seasoning with salt and pepper and then roasting for 10-12 minutes in a hot oven (200c/400f). I fried some chorizo until crispy (pancetta or streaky bacon would work just as well), finely chopped it and soft poached a couple of eggs, and served the whole lot on top of the asparagus. For a more classic approach I like a hollandaise sauce. I’ve used a couple of recipes in the past but my favourite is Rick Stein’s fuss free approach.  I prefer to whisk by hand as I think it gives more control and I also have a bowl of ice cold water on the side just in case the mixture gets too hot.

Hollandaise Sauce

Start by preparing the clarified butter, by melting 250g unsalted butter and let it cool for 15 minutes or so. It will settle into two parts; spoon off and keep the golden yellowy stuff on the top and discard the milky white part. Now you are ready to begin. This is the point where you should have your ice cold plunge bath on standby. Get a pan of water to simmering point (don’t allow it to boil furiously), and then pop a Pyrex bowl on top, being careful to check that the water doesn't come into contact with the bottom of the bowl. Add two large egg yolks, followed by 2 tbsps of water to the bowl and start to whisk like mad. Don't whatever you do stop because you don't want scrambled eggs to form. Plunge into iced water at any point if you think it is getting away from you. The eggs will gently cook as you whisk, and what you should end up with after a good 5-10 minutes of hard whisking is a pale, slightly thick, but aerated consistency.

Once you have this, now you can start to add the clarified butter, a spoonful or two at a time. Keep whisking all the time and eventually you will see the sauce start to thicken. You can now turn off the heat and remove the bowl from the pan. The final stage is to add some flavour by squeezing in half a lemon (or more if you prefer), and then a pinch of cayenne - keep whisking! I thought the addition of cayenne sounded a bit strange at first, but I really like it. It has to be subtle, you aren't going for something to blow your head off, but it does really work. Add salt and pepper and you are ready to go. Just drizzle it over and get stuck in.

Pie eyed

all puffed up straight from the oven

I make a pie and it turns out it's British Pie Week (7-13 March).  Although I aim for the things I cook to beautifully synchronise with the seasons or current events, it's rare I achieve such perfect planning.  Truthfully I had no clue that it was Pie Week, I wasn't aware that we as a nation even celebrated such a dish.  The hankerings started last week thanks to a few Facebook friends both of whom cooked pies and displayed their efforts online (maybe they knew it was Pie Week coming up....hmm?), so instead of risotto or pasta, which are my usual vehicles for left over roast chicken, I attempted a pie.

Now that I am a lady of leisure, I still don't have time to make pastry from scratch, least of all puff pastry, so mine came out of the freezer.  Lazy pastry at hand, it doesn't get very complicated from here on in.  Prepare the filling in the morning or day before and keep it chilling in the fridge and when you are ready to eat just top it with pastry and bake it.  The only forward planning required is remembering to thaw out the pastry a couple of hours prior. 

Ingredients
50g plain flour
50g butter
650mls chicken stock from a cube or powder
3 tbsps milk or cream
left over roast chicken (you can bulk this out with cooked ham or bacon if you like)
2-3 leeks washed and sliced
2-3 carrots peeled and chopped into bitesize chunks
salt & pepper
fresh tarragon or thyme

Start by prepping the veg, heat some olive oil in a pan and add the carrots for 5 minutes or so, then add the leeks and cook for another 5 minutes.  Season with salt & pepper and set aside.

Make the sauce by melting the butter on a low-medium heat and then add the flour and cook it out for about 2-3 minutes stirring to avoid it burning.  Add the stock  little by little and keep stirring until you have a smooth sauce with a custard thickness.  Finish with the milk or cream and add some chopped fresh herbs if you have them to hand; tarragon or thyme work well.

To assemble the pie add the chicken and vegetables to the sauce, mix well and transfer to a pie dish.  Roll out the puff pastry on a floured board and lay it on top of the filling.  Brush with beaten egg and bake in the oven at 200c/400F for approx 25-30 minutes until the pastry is golden brown. 

A cup of tea and a warm buttered Welsh Cake

I am technically a quarter Welsh, although I have never had much of an affinity to the Land of My Fathers, or Nana in my case, but I like leeks, Gavin & Stacey and I am fond of daffodils, so the Welsh gene must be somewhere amidst all that Englishness.  In the mood for something to drink with my afternoon cuppa, I thought I would give Welsh Cakes a go.  I've had them once before; they look unremarkable, quite understated in fact, but served warm with butter, a sprinkling of sugar or drizzle of honey they beat having a biscuit with a cup of tea any day.  They are easy to make, a bit like cookies or biscuits, except instead of baking them in the oven, you griddle them on the stove top.

225g self raising flour
75g caster sugar + extra for dusting
1/2 teaspoon mixed spice (or pumpkin spice)
110g cold butter
75g sultanas
1 large egg lightly beaten

Sift the flour, sugar and spice together.  Add the butter in cubes and rub the mixture in with your fingertips until you have a crumbly, sandy texture.  Tip in the sultanas and mix in the egg.  Form a dough once the egg is incorporated, and add a little milk if it is too dry. 

On a floured surface roll out the dough, and use a cutter (approx 6cm in diameter) to cut out the cakes.  They should be about 0.5cm or 1/4 inch thick.  Keep re-rolling the dough until you run out.

If you have a cast iron griddle, then use this, but otherwise any thick, heavy bottomed pan will do.  Liberally grease it with butter and cook the cakes on a low-medium heat for 3 minutes each side until golden brown.  If they are browing too quickly, reduce the heat so they still get the 3 minutes they need on each side to cook through the middle.

Serve with a cup of tea, whilst still warm with butter and honey!

Holy guacamole



Before


Mr G is cooking up his chilli for tonight's dinner (as well as several bagfuls for the freezer), and I have to admit in very hush tones that his is considerably better than mine.  It's true, it's yummy, there, I said it.  So with my nose well and truly disjointed, I had to do something to edge into the spotlight, so I'm making guacamole, and my version is well and truly better than his.  In all honesty he's never made it, but I know that should he bother I'd beat him.

This recipe is very approximate, and you should just add more/less of each ingredient to suit your taste.  Suffice to say that I don't think any guacamole is complete without lime juice, salt and fresh coriander leaf (cilantro), and of course a ripe avocado.  The guacamole police will tell you that a good guacamole should be chunky in consistency.  I couldn't care less, do what you like, so long as it tastes good.  I normally blitz everything until smooth in my blender, but tonight I made it by adding all the ingredients to a pestle & mortar and mashing it up, mainly because I couldn't be arsed to get the blender out.   

After

You will need:

1 x ripe medium-large avocado

2-3 cherry tomatoes or a quarter of a regular tomato chopped

1tbsp lime juice

1 pinch sea salt

1/2 tsp chilli powder or chilli flakes or some chopped fresh jalapeno chilli (as much as you can stand)

1 tbsp finely chopped red onion or 1 finely sliced spring onion
1 small handful fresh coriander chopped

As previously advised combine the ingredients using whatever method you prefer.  Season with pepper, and then taste to check if it needs more lime, salt or chilli and adjust to your taste.