Cheat's Goulash

A new addition to the spice cupboard after my trip back to the UK, is a tin of La Chinata smoked paprika douce (sweet), which I bought from a Spanish deli, Garcia & Sons on Notting Hill’s Portobello Road.  Established in 1958, Garcia’s is the Spanish cook’s reliable source.  The basics of a Spanish larder are all here; olive oils, vinegars, key spices such as paprika and saffron, pulses, beans and paella rice. The store width long deli counter has everything to create an outstanding tapas spread; on-the-bone jamons, chorizos, manchego cheese and quince paste, olives and anchovies. 

I managed to control myself and bought only paprika, knowing that trying to smuggle back my favourite boquerones (anchovies & green olives) to Canada was a foolhardy sport.  In any case, the paprika in our cupboard at home was well past its best.  Faded in flavour and colour, I made goulash with it earlier in the year and it lacked the smoky–bacon pungency that the fresh sangria coloured powder gives.  Determined to put the new tin to good use, I did a quick thirty minute version of a goulash, using pork tenderloin and a couple of roasted red peppers I cooked in the oven earlier that day.  Not only is tenderloin a good value cut of meat which goes a long way, but it is perfect for relatively quick cooking; staying tender and not turning chewy.   

Feeds 4:

Olive oil

450g pork tenderloin cut into medium thick strips

2 smallish onions thinly sliced into half moons

2 sticks of celery chopped (not essential, I only added it as I had celery to use up)

250g mushrooms sliced

1½ tbsps smoked sweet paprika (douce not piccante)

1 tbsp tomato puree

250mls chicken stock

2 red peppers roasted* or a jar of roasted red peppers

100mls sour cream

• Get a pan of water on the boil ready for your pasta/noodles.
• Start by frying the onions (and celery if using) in a tbsp of olive oil in a large pan over a low-medium heat.  Cook for about 10 minutes until soft and slightly golden. 
• Turn the heat to high, add the pork and mushrooms and brown for 3-4 minutes. Season with salt & pepper. The mushrooms might give off a bit of liquid so reduce this as much as you can by cooking it off on a high heat before the next step.
• Add the paprika and stir to cook through for 1-2 minutes.
• Add the tomato puree and stir through.
• Pour in the chicken stock, reduce the heat and simmer for 6-8 minutes, until the meat is cooked through.  Whilst it simmers you can add the roasted red peppers which because they are already cooked only need to be heated through.
• As the pork simmers, start to cook whatever pasta or noodles you are having with it.
• Before serving stir through the sour cream until it’s blended into a creamy rich sauce.

*Roasted peppers involve nothing more than turning the oven on and putting them in to cook.  Once they are done you can use them in soups, pasta sauces, as bruschetta toppings or draped over a piece of steak.  Heat the oven to 400F/200C.  Chuck the washed & dried peppers onto a baking sheet or dish and put them in the oven for 25 minutes.  You can turn them over half way to ensure even cooking.  Once they are cooked (they will be soft and some of the skin will be black), use tongs to place them into a plastic Ziploc bag – be careful of the juices inside which will be very hot.  Leave them to cool in the bag.  Then you will be able to easily peel the skin away.  Scrape the seeds away and discard the stalk.  Slice them into desired size.

Top Lebanese food......in Ruislip Manor?

‘There are only two kinds of people; Lebanese and Wannabes’ states our waiter's t-shirt at the Cedar Tree, a Lebanese restaurant in Ruislip Manor. Word must have spread as the place was full of willing convertees on a Tuesday evening. According to Toptable.com diners, this is the UK’s 2^nd best Lebanese restaurant.  Open for just under 18 months, the award laden restaurant was recently deposed from top spot by Layla in Esher, Surrey. Having grown up in Ruislip, I’m familiar with its mild dining scene; a Harvester, 2 Beefeaters, a handful of passable Indians, a half decent Italian and of course the must-have in any middle class suburb, a Pizza Express.  So you can understand my scepticism that such heavenly Lebanese food could be found by trundling out west on the Metropolitan line to a zone 6 suburb. Perhaps they were the wannabees?

Six of us, an intertwined mix of aunts, sisters, mothers and cousins decided to find out. The £12.50 special (Mon-Thurs) of either 3 hot/cold mezze or a mezze and a main is a bargain.  You get the same deal for a smidgen more (£15 Fri-Sun) with the added bonus, if you see it that way, of a live musician. We made do with Michael Buble burbling in the background as we drank decent Lebanese Rose and designed our mezze spread. Served with warm flatbread, the tahini rich hummous was well dressed with olive oil, but needed a jolt of lemon.  Baba ghanouj maintained good texture from the grilled aubergine with a well balanced garlicky background.  Fried halloumi cheese was honey brown and crispy on the outside, whilst oozing in the middle and the mezze stalwart tabbouleh, a bulgar wheat salad, was verdant with parsley and chopped mint. Lamb Arayes was devoured quickly; two flatbreads charcoal grilled with parchment crisp edges sandwiched together minced spiced lamb and pine nuts. A simple but sprightly dish of soft broad beans dressed in garlic, olive oil, coriander and lemon (foul ma’la) cut through the richness of the creamy dips.

Mains such as kofta style lamb or meshwi (cubed meat) are speared onto skewers, cooked over charcoal and served with a winning thick and tangy tzatziki, a mild sliver thin onion salad and seasoned rice or fries. The meat is smoky from the grill and enriched with earthy cumin and coriander.  Cubed skewered chicken (shish taouk harra) is dressed in spicy tomato sauce and comes with a mayonnaise style garlic sauce.  Sea bass is simply spiced and cooked with a just charred skin from the grill.

Honey soaked nutty baklawa are hoovered up alongside fresh mint teas and cappuccinos. I was tempted by the Cedar Tree tea, a hot drink with fresh mint, lemon, honey and real lemonade.  I didn’t think it through.  It was a hot fizzy drink - basically Lemsip without paracetamol. I should have got the mint leaf tea.

I’ll let them off for the tea.  It’s the meat that matters, and here they excel.  There’s a take-away kiosk at the front, serving most items from the restaurant menu.  I suspect (ok maybe I hope) it may well be the death of Manor Kebabs further up the road.  I’m not sure I want to become a Lebanese citizen, but I wannabee in their gang.

Cedar Tree Restaurant

80 Victoria Road

Ruislip Manor

Middlesex

HA4 0AL

www.cedartreerestaurants.com

By Royal Appointment

7 days back on British soil and I've chomped my way through the culinary to-do list with gusto.  Bacon sandwiches on white bread, lamb dhansak, naan bread and onion bhajis at the Curry Mahal in South Harrow, and fish & chips by the Hampshire coast have all been consumed. A pub lunch, preferably in a leafy beer garden was also on the list, and within 24 hours of touching tarmac at Heathrow we arrived in Windsor - my parents default day trip of choice for any out-of-towners.  The castle is still standing and Eton College is awash with foreign summer school students.  It's a squashed summer Sunday in Windsor.  The tourist trap restaurants clamour for custom, with 'real pubs' and 'old-fashioned' tea rooms pushing fish and chips, afternoon teas and assorted British fayre (spelling it with a 'y' makes it more British you see) on unsuspecting tourists.  Floundering to recall Windsor's hidden treasures amongst the fakes the Royal Oak was the best non-boasty option, and it had a beer garden.

The Royal Oak's new month-old menu has royal pedigree.  Meats are supplied exclusively by the Royal Farm Shop at Windsor.  Lamb is reared at Sophie & Eddie's  (aka Prince Edward and Countess of Wessex) Bagshot Park pad, and Gloucester Old Spot and Landrace pigs roll in mud in the Queen's Windsor Castle private back garden, Home Park.  The Sussex herd beef in the puff pastry topped beef & ale pie, is hung for 20 days, and master butchers at the farm shop, hand raise the cold pies for the ploughmans plate which comes with wedges of stilton and cheddar and homemade royal chutney. You can even get a pint of the Windsor & Eton Brewery Windsor Knot beer to commemorate Will & Kate's wedding. If only the tourists realised.

The Royal Oak, Datchet Road, Windsor, SL4 1QD.

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.