A smidgen difficult mince pies

Up until last year, I’d made mince pies just once, and was disappointed by the recipe from my usual reliable celeb chef.  I resurrected the search last year after failing to find good mince pies here in Canada. Orlando Murrin’s ‘Unbelievably easy mince pies’ on the BBC Good Food website is now my official mince pie recipe.  Although ‘unbelievably easy’ might be over-egging things a tad Mr Murrin.   I grant you that the ingredient list is scant but bringing the pastry together requires dedication.  With no egg or liquid to bind, it can seem an unsurmountable task to turn the sandy crumbs into pliable dough. I capitulated the first time and added beaten egg.  This year I would achieve the impossible.

This is what you start with

And it can be done.  It will crumble to begin with, but keep moulding it together with both hands as if you were making a freeform sandcastle.  Soon it will be robust enough to begin turning it over and kneading.  It might still crumble, but just press in the bits that fall off and keep going.  After about 5 minutes of pressing, moulding and kneading you’ll get there.  I promise.



Last year's baked ones



Ready to go dough

A footnote:
An oven warm mince pie with double cream and a wodge of rum butter can’t be beat. If you are in London, hot foot it down Piccadilly to Fortnum & Mason, excuse-moi your way past French tourists and pick up a jar of their rum or brandy butter: the perfect mince pie accessory. Rum-buttery scrumptiousness in a jar.

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.

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.





In the bleak mid-winter



Siberia

The view from my balcony window resembles what I imagine a nuclear fall out would be like.  Thankfully it is not radioactive dust, it’s snow and it is falling with real purpose.  It looks like I’ll be spending this Saturday in a perpetual snow globe.  January is bearable (only bearable mind) with the addition of good hearty food.  It’s bleakness warrants a culinary hot water bottle.  I actually cooked this last Sunday, but it is perfect for today’s extreme weather; roast pork with red cabbage.  If you are wondering where the apple sauce is, well, I burnt it, so it went in the bin!

The red cabbage is not my recipe, it’s Nigella Lawson’s and well it’s bloody brilliant.  The only person who doesn’t like it is my Mum, but she has something against red cabbage in general which I will never understand, so we can discount her opinion.  Not only does it taste good, it smells good and a little bit Christmassy, so it helps erode the January gloom.  Since it is a UK recipe it calls for mixed spice, which I have discovered is not a common spice mix here in Canada, although you can find it if you go to a decent supermarket or try an Asian or Indian grocer.  If you can’t get it, replace it with pumpkin spice, which is essentially the same mix, maybe the quantities of each spice vary, but it will do the same job.  The other great thing about this recipe is that it requires zero skill, you can’t over cook it; in fact the longer it cooks, the better the flavour, and it freezes well.

A lovely plate of food!

The last time I tried roast pork, I failed on the crackling.  It was chewy and soft.  The whole point of roast pork is the crackling, so I have been reluctant to try it again.  Aided by Leith’s Cookery Bible, one of my new Christmas gifts, I tried again.  Thinking back to my last disaster, I think I know where I went wrong; I ignored instructions that were seemingly optional.  The first being let the pork dry out.  Sounds wrong, right, because you want a juicy piece of pork?  I bought my pork shoulder on the Saturday afternoon, and as soon as I got it home, I removed it from the plastic wrap and polystyrene tray, placed it on a plate on top of some kitchen paper and placed it in the fridge uncovered.  So my advice would be if you want to roast pork, buy it the day before, so it has 24 hours to dry out.  If you buy it the same day or even the same afternoon you are going to cook it, the results won’t be as good.
 
The second rule was to get the meat to room temperature before placing it in the oven.  If your joint has been in the fridge overnight like mine had, then it will take a good 2-3 hours to get the fridge chill off it.  Change the kitchen paper if it is soaked through, and wipe/pat the meat so it is dry.

The best crackling I ever made!

Before you put the joint in, get a really sharp knife or even better a Stanley knife or one of those retractable parcel cutter blades.  Draw the blade lengthways over the skin – don’t apply too much pressure, you don’t want to go through to the meat.  Leave a gap of about 0.5cm and make the next incision.  Drizzle the skin with oil and rub in some sea or rock salt.  Be quite liberal with the salt, and you’ll get crispy, crunchy, salty crackling.  I cooked mine based on the 25 minutes per 450g/1lb rule, at a temperature of 220c/425f/gas mark 7 for the first 25 minutes, then I reduced it to 375f/190c/gas mark 5 for the remainder of the cooking time.  I think the salt and the scoring definitely plays it’s part, but it is the earlier preparation that’s the real key.

Nigella Lawson’s red cabbage

Olive oil
1 onion, halved and cut into thin half moons
1 tablespoon rock/sea salt or 1/2 tsp table salt
1 red cabbage, finely shredded
3 tbsps soft light brown sugar
375ml red wine
juice of one orange
1/4 mixed spice (or pumpkin spice)
2 eating apples, peeled and chopped into small chunks

Get the largest casserole pan you have and over a low-medium heat add a tablespoon of olive oil, then the onion and salt.  Soften the onion,  but don’t colour.  The salt helps the onion to stop catching and colouring.  After about 4-5 minutes add the shredded red cabbage, sprinkle over the sugar and pour in the wine and orange juice and scatter over the mixed spice.  Let everything wilt down for a bit and lastly add the apple chunks and stir them in.  Place a lid on top and cook at the lowest temperature possible for 2 hours.  It doesn’t really matter if you could it for longer.

Mi Mi Restaurant - Vietnamese penicillin

It’s time to erect the scaffolding, I’m in need of urgent post-yuletide restoration.  Weeks of the ‘ah sod it, it’s Christmas’ mantra, has resulted in carb induced lethargy and a Santa silhouette.  The overeating sneaks up on me.  First I’m swapping my skinny lattes for gingerbread ones with whip cream because they smell more festive.  Then there is the  chocolate advent calendar, which arguably at 30-something I should have dispensed with years ago, but refuse to, and then the mince pies.  I couldn’t find any here in Toronto (apart from a $7.50 box at the Brit shop!!) so I baked my own and you can’t (well I can’t) eat one without a slurp of cream and a wodge of rum butter.  Anyway, you get the picture, it all adds up and here I am days into January still foraging through the last of festive confections and woefully deficient of greenery and vitamins. 

So yesterday we dragged our chocolate filled bodies down to Gerrard St East, Toronto’s smaller Chinatown in search of sustenance that was as far removed from turkey and all the trimmings as possible.  We settle on Vietnamese Pho which has restorative properties much like a bowl of Jewish chicken soup or Mama’s Minestone.  Mi Mi’s doesn’t look much from the outside but a glance inside boasts an encouraging number of diners so we head in.  Shabby decor equals great food and Mi Mi’s follows that principle, although I must be fair, there’s not a plastic chair in sight.  A bright, sincere ‘happy new year’ accompanied by a corrective pot of green tea is a welcome that overrides the indifferent interior.  Regulars are acknowledged by name, kids are encouraged to watch while their juices are concocted and there is a lot of satisfied slurping going on.  Even before the food arrives, I’m estimating how many visits it might take until I’m considered a regular.  My Vietnamese must have, summer rolls, are verdant with herbs and the blush prawns stretch through the rice paper.  I’m beginning to feel more wholesome by the minute and the Pho’s not even here yet.  Jerry’s bowl is actually a basin, and I’d wager is bigger than his head.  He’s gone for an X-Large with slices of rare beef, and I go for a more dog bowl size with the addition of some brisket.  I douse mine in chilli sauce from the condiment apothecary and garnish with beansprouts, a squeeze of lime and Thai basil.  The meaty clear broth is addictive and I can almost feel the goodness permeating through me, as if melting away the Christmas excesses, one mince pie at a time.  Realistically I know that the weighing scales will probably still read the same tomorrow morning, but at least I am on the right track.  Better finish off the last of the choccies tonight so I really can make a clean start tomorrow.

Mi Mi Restaurant

688 Gerrard Street East, M4M 1Y3

1-416 778-5948