Sichuan Pepper Eating Contest

I must apologise, I have been away for a while. Mostly, I have been eating and drinking in Barcelona. A nice long blog with lovely photos to come all about that, I promise.

In the meanwhile, this post is dedicated to dumplings, booze and my darling friend Sinead.  I love eating with Sinead; together we go to the edge of gluttony and beyond – sod the bill and calories and everything else. Every dish we consume together is thought about, discussed and then wolfed. She was the first person I met who I could fully share my obsessive love of food with – from oysters to mini chicken kievs – we share a passion for that YUM factor. I miss not living on the same corridor as her.

When we decided to meet in Chinatown, I knew I had to take her to Fushia Dunlop’s resturant; Ba Shan.  I was looking for an excuse to go after a delightful dumpling feast there with Paul many months ago.

Sinead and I surpassed ourselves: gobbling down a dizzying array of Chinese small bites and traditional street food. We talked about flavours, we dipped in chilli oil, we downed tsingtao beer, we had a Sichuan pepper-eating contest – I think we drew at 3 in one go each. (For those not acquainted with the Sichuan Pepper; they are devilish little peppercorns that are both hot and cold, numbing your mouth in an addictively painful tingle).

Neither of us cared much for the other people dining, as we giggled, shouted and (accidently) threw food all over the floor. We both finished the meal with a loud, proud burp. I’m sure I remember being told in China that eating nosily and belching were considered good manners – a sign that you enjoyed your meal and a compliment to your host. I think we displayed the best manners Ba Shan has ever seen.

 Here are a few of the dishes we sampled. The photos are terrible I’m afraid;

 

Chinese Burgers; little greasy pockets of slow cooked pork and pickles

Pot-stickers dumplings. Chicken and water chesnut stuffed into crispy dumplings; finger shaped finger food.

 

Pork and chive dumpling, with chilli and garlic sauce. Oh, sweet dumpling joy.

 

Dan Dan Noodles, and in the background garlicky chilli aubergine with minced pork. Sloppy spicey meaty goodness.

 

As you see with this photographic evidence we really put some food away.  What the photos don’t show is the mini sweet and sour pork ribs, the spicy pickled cucumbers, the deep fried king prawns, the extra round of dumplings and the bright blue jug of cocktails that finished the night.

 

Mouse’s Mince Mess

Everyone I’ve ever loved has loved a plate of mince in its various incarnations. Spaghetti bolognaise, chilli con carne or just mince and mash, learning how to cook mince to perfection has been a personal mission. I think I’m nearly there.

 ‘Mattie’s Mince Mess’ was the only recipe that could interest my brother in cooking when he was a little boy.  Mum and him used stir in all the ingredients together and then she served it with heaps of buttery mash. A perfect dinner for an aspiring rugby player/human tank.

With no disrespect to my brother’s cooking skills (although they are limited to stirring), the recipe is fairly straightforward.

However, for years I’ve been striving for that deep yummyness that my mum’s mix had.  My mince mess never quite that rich tasty moreishness – the kind that made me stand in front of the fridge and eat my mum’s mince mess cold. But last week, I think I cracked it.

Inspired by the dead mouse we found in our kitchen cupboard on Tuesday morning; I’ve called this recipe Mouse’s Mince Mix.  I would never have drunk quite as much red wine (partly meant for the sauce), and therefore been quite as generous with my ingredients and cooking time, if I didn’t have the deeply joyous task of cleaning the cupboards, floor and all the baking utensils the mouse had pooed all over in its death throes.

Not the most appetising image I know, but it worked for this recipe so do try it.

Spaghetti bolognaise

Ingredients (serves 2 for dinner, and left overs, serves 4 normal people for dinner, with garlic bread and salad)

One big onion, finely chopped

3 fat, firm cloves of garlic, chunkily chopped

3 table spoons olive oil

Two carrots, chunkily chopped

1 teaspoon each of whatever dried Italian herbs you have; I used Rosemary, Thyme, Basil, Oregano and Parsley

Salt and Pepper

250g ish low fat beef mince

250g ish low fat pork mince

Big squeeze of tomato puree

Tin of chopped tomatoes

Vegetable stock cube

Big glass of red wine (I used a Cabernet Merlot)

Whole-wheat pasta

 

1.       Heat the oil in a big saucepan on a medium heat, add the onions, garlic and salt and pepper, fry for 10 – 15 minutes, until really the onion is buttery and soft but not changed colour

2.       Add the carrots and fry for a for further 5 – 10 minutes

3.       In a non-stick frying pan heat a little splash of olive oil and put on a medium heat, season the meat with salt and pepper on both sides and then add it to the pan and brown it off gently until you get to stage 6 (about 10 minutes)

4.       Add all the herbs to the onions and carrots and stir around for a couple of minutes

5.       Push all the herby onion and carrot mix to the outside of the pan and add a generous squeeze of the tomato puree (just under a tablespoon) to the middle and fry for a minute or so, then mix it up with everything else

6.       Add the chopped tomatoes and mix, bring to a simmer and create a rich tomato sauce (no juice left), then add the meat and stir it all up

7.       In the tin that the tomatoes were in, add your stock cube and boiling water, stir to dissolve and then watching your fingers because the tin will be hot, add to the mixture.  Simmer and stir until the liquid is nearly gone

8.       Add the wine, and a glug more, and then simmer for an hour (or however long it takes you to deep clean all your bakery items, drink the rest of the wine, clean the floor, sigh dramatically a few times and grate some parmesan.

9.       Good plate licking to be had.

 

Note: a good variation on this mix is a chilli con carne; don’t use carrots (maybe mushrooms instead?) instead of the herbs add a teaspoon each of cinnamon, cumin, coriander and chilli powder. Use two – three fresh red chillies and add at stage 4.  Use a beef stock cube and less wine. Serve with rice and natural yoghurt.

 

Mouse attack

Two sightings so far (one dead, one alive)

Traps have been brought.

 

Pauper’s Prawn Curry

After the success of last week’s curry (and by success I mean cheapness relative to taste) I decided to have a go at it again tonight. With no generous donations or huge sponsorship deals as yet, my personal credit crunch is still not showing any green shoots. The ingredients are still store cupboard gatherings. 

I found a packet of fresh king prawns lurking at the back of the freezer, and with the joy of frozen spinach now in my life, this week’s version was slightly more lavish than last week’s veggie offering.  As with everything I seem to make, nothing was really weighed or measured and most ingredients are interchangeable with other bits and bobs. I knew this one was particularly good because we both licked our plates clean. (When I was little and still lived under the watchful eye of my mum, I would have to lick my plate hidden in the kitchen pretending to load the dishwasher. Now I can do it straight after dinner).

Pauper’s Prawn Curry

 

Ingredients

Thumb sized bit of fresh ginger, chopped up

Juice of half a big lemon

2 grinds of salt

Fresh coriander if easily available, roughly chopped

Big glug of vegetable or sunflower oil

One big onion, sliced

2 fresh chillies, finely chopped

Handful of new potatoes chunkily sliced

1 teaspoon each of chilli power (half if you don’t want it too spicy), turmeric, garam masala, cumin and coriander

1 juicy tomato

10p sized squeeze of tomato concentrate

100ml tomato juice

Packet of chopped tomatoes

1 litre fish stock

1 packet raw prawns

5 chunks of frozen or a bag of fresh spinach

Whole grain rice

 

1.      Saving a little bit of the ginger, combine the rest, lemon juice, salt and fresh coriander in a bowl and put to one side

2.      Fry the onion with the little bit of ginger in the oil for five minutes on medium to high heat

3.      Add the chillies, stir

4.      Add the new potatoes, cook for five minutes

5.      Add all the spices and stir and cook on a medium heat for 3 minutes

6.      Put the kettle on

7.      Add the tomato and the tomato juice, stir around a bit for 2-3 minutes

8.      Add the chopped tomatoes, bring to a simmer and let it reduce for 5 minutes

9.      Put the rice on

10.  Add the fish stock

11.  Bubble away, stirring occasionally for 15 -20 minutes (taste a potato to check it’s cooked)

12.  Add the spinach, stir around until unfrozen or cooked

13.  Add the prawns, stir around for 3 minutes

14.  Add the lemon juice mix

15.  Serve with rice and lick your plate clean.

 

I must remember to get a 'before' picture...

 

Living on the Toast Line

It is hard having no money. It’s also hard to complain when the reason you have no money is because you have splurged your last £3.50 on cherry tomatoes at Broadway Market.

So this week I am on an economy drive: I am trying to last the week without doing a food shop. The cupboards are bare.

Sminorf Ice Stir Fry, perhaps?

The curry last night: tinned tomatoes, frozen spinach, chick peas, stock, an onion and a teaspoon each of basically everything in my spice rack except dill (saving that for today) and cinnamon. Served with way too much rice, as ever.

The good thing about cooking with no money and limited ingredients is whatever happens is a nice surprise.  Necessity is the mother of all invention. I didn’t follow any recipes this week and I didn’t feel stressed about not having the right ingredients, so everything has worked out better than expected.

Tomorrow all I have to play with is McCain’s hash browns, kidney beans, cherry tomatoes and some flour. Thank God I’ve got the crumble out of the freezer!

And on Friday: A rich dish of tomato sauce and honey, roasted with the finest shop brought pesto. Served with a jus of vegemite. At your table a waiter will pour over a froth of Tabasco to enhance the subtle flavour of each competent of this rewarding meal.

 

Down on the Farm

It almost pains me to write this, as I know that part of what makes the restaurant I’m going to tell you about so great, is its feeling of exclusivity.  Everyone loves feeling like they have stumbled across something secret and special.  A little bolt hole that they don’t have to share with the unwashed hordes.

I very much doubt that the unwashed hordes have yet stumbled across this site, so I can give away this secret with some confidence.  Just round the corner from our flat is Hackney City Farm. We found it earlier this year when visiting Columbia Road Flower Market, and we instantly found our inner children; petting donkeys and giggling at enormous snoring pigs.

I saw then that the farm had a cafe on weekends, and a restaurant on Thursday evenings.

On Paul’s sister recommendation (and I will be forever grateful to her for bringing it into my life) we’ve been back for breakfast several times.  Meaty sausages, rashers of bacon so thick they could almost be gammon steaks and perfect scrambled eggs help fight off lingering hangovers like nothing else.  I have been waiting for the opportunity to try the restaurant and when my mum came for supper last Thursday and I had the perfect excuse to go.

I booked a table, ringing and sending an email in my keenness.  The weekend cafe was transformed with lanterns and candles.  The menu was simple, just a couple of choices for starters and mains, with a pasta course that came in large or small.  We shared the two starters between the three of us.  We fought with our polite forks over beetroot salad, cheese, cold meats and pickles;  I could have happily had it all to myself (for me happiness and greediness are never far apart).

When we eat out the three of us scan menus for meals that will fill us up, as well as being delicious.  We agree that still being hungry after eating out is horrible. So, we all ordered the large pasta course. Tagliatelle was mixed with shredded, slow roasted pork shoulder and a reduced winey sauce. I’ve never had pork with pasta except the standard spag bol.  This was so delectable, you couldn’t rush it, forking it in quickly lost all of its rich complexity.  Instead we slowly spooned it in, our faces never far from the plate, all groaning with happy porky pasta induced pleasure.  (I am sure carbs release happy hormones.) It was BYOB, so Paul and I washed it down with a lovely (and cheap) bottle of red from the off license over the road. We then trundled home, which thankfully was just round the corner.

Percy tasted delicious

 

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Today Paul met me after work. It’s such a lovely thing to be met after work. We walked towards Liverpool Street station, dodging those people that give out free papers and talking about our days (Work?! The time has come,” the Walrus said /”To talk of other things”). It was a fantastic London evening; St Paul’s and the Bank of England provided a dramatic backdrop to our mundane banter.

We were almost past it before we saw it; a restuarant board advertising 6 oysters for £5.  The board told us this was to celebrate the start of oyster season.  We both have a soft spot for oysters. For me their salty whiff of glamour has not been tarnished by over-consumption.  For Paul, they are a relatively new addition to his diet.  He describes his attitude to food as “risk adverse.” I don’t think there is anything more risky than trying an oyster for the first time. Cold, wet, slimy, expensive, resembling the aftermath of a particularly violent sneeze; they are an acquired taste.

Oh, yes, the time has come, my little friends / To talk of food and things

Well, we certainly have acquired one.  We slipped shyly inside this City restaurant, hardly believing it could be true. 6 for a fiver! Amazing.  We ordered 6 each (on my insistence) and slurped them down with lemon juice and green Tabasco splashed on. The best thing was (apart from the price) these oysters had come from Maldon, Essex. For a morbid moment, I imagined them tottering to London, white stilettos and all, before being devoured by a modern day Walrus and Carpenter.

I, uh, weep for you. I (hic), oh excuse me / I deeply sympathise

To enjoy these cheap Essex oysters head to Gow’s Restaurant & Oyster Bar.

 

Food Rant

Sometimes I daydream about roasting a chicken on Sunday, then using the leftover meat for a curry on Monday and then boiling down the carcass for chicken soup on the Tuesday.  The reality is that I barely have the time to Hoover the stairs, let alone pluck scraps of meat from a chicken carcass.

 

When Paul and I moved to Hackney I imagined myself pottering up to Broadway Market and buying our weekly groceries from a nice market stall.  I’ll probably get to know the stallholders by name, I thought.  But I think I’ve been once, and brought over priced cupcakes.

 

I like the idea of making my own bread or rolling out my own pasta, but who actually does this?! I work 9am – 6pm, Paul about the same.  For us toast and pasta are the things you cook when you don’t want to cook.  But chefs and food writers have laden them with guilt for me.  I feel anxious about my foodie credentials when I pour dried pasta in boiling water, and then stir in ready-made pesto and call it tea.

 

Our kitchen has one work surface, which is the size of a chopping board. We have two pans; one saucepan and one frying pan.   My blender is tucked in a corner; it shines at me optimistically every now and again, but I’ve only ever used it to make pesto, once. And it takes a long time to clean. And our dishwasher doesn’t work.

 

We don’t eat ready meals.  If I ever fancied lasagne or fish pie, I could knock one together. But they take bloody ages and pan and space issues make more complex dishes a bit of a pain. Chefs and food writers give me great pleasure, but I can’t imitate them. I don’t have the time or the resources.

 

Anyway, what I’m coming to realise is (and Paul is a great help here) that we can still eat healthy, fresh meals without spending a fortune or taking an age.  I love that these meals come together quickly and don’t need fancy ingredients. We buy most things from an online supermarket, topped up by our local corner shop. This salmon stir fry was one of the first meals I made when I realised I didn’t have to be slave to the stove to make inventive and delicious meals. It takes 15 minutes, using one pan. It also doesn’t matter if you don’t have all of the ingredients. I once reached for the wrong bottle and added balsamic vinegar instead of sesame seed oil. It tasted fine.

 

 

Salmon Stir Fry

You’ll need to chop everything first. You’ll need one frying pan or wok. This serves two hungry people.

 

2 salmon fillets

Thumb sized piece of fresh ginger

2 garlic cloves

2 red or green chillis (the ones corner shops sell)

2 teaspoons Chinese five spice

Soy sauce

Sesame seed oil

Vegetable/sunflower oil

2 packets ready to wok noodles (the thin or ribbon ones, we once tried it with Singapore flavoured ones and it was a bit weird)

1 bundle of spring onions

Enough vegetables for two people; I tend to use green beans, baby sweetcorn and a green pepper

1 lime

1. Start by putting your salmon fillets in a bowl, finely chop one half of the ginger, one garlic clove and one of the chillies and add these, with one teaspoon of the 5 spice, to the bowl. Add a generous tablespoon of the soy sauce and the sesame seed oil, stir everything round and put the bowl in the fridge.
2. Chop all the vegetables into similar sized batons. Chop the remaining ginger, garlic and chilli.
3. Heat a tablespoon each of sesame seed, soy sauce and vegetable oil in your frying pan.  Add the ginger, garlic, chilli and 1 teaspoon of 5 spice. When it’s really hot add the vegetables. Cook until they look nice (about 4 minutes). Add the noodles and two tablespoons of water, maybe a splash more soy sauce. Cook until the noodles are cooked.
4. Plonk all of this onto a waiting plate (good idea if it’s heated but don’t worry if not) then add the salmon fillets and all the nice marinade to the still hot pan. Cook on each side for 2ish minutes then split the noodles across two plates and add a salmon fillet on top of the noodles with a wedge of lime. 

 

Supermarket Strike

Last night a lightning bolt struck me in the supermarket.  I staggered for a moment whilst the full weight of it hit me. Ginger Nut Crumble. Dear Lord why hadn’t this been done before! (Maybe it has but not by me or my mum or in any of the crumbles I’ve eaten).  On Saturday Paul’s Grandma had kindly given me an enormous bag of apples from her garden.  Whole hours of my day have since been lost pondering what two people could do with so many apples.  Then I had it; crumble, with custard yes, but also with ginger nuts.  Feast on this:

 

Ginger Nut Crumble

I didn’t weigh anything except the flour, butter and sugar for the crumble mix I’m afraid, the weights of which I got from here. Guessing for everything else worked fine.

You’ll need an oven proof dish.

For the crumble:

300g/10½oz plain flour + pinch of salt
175g/6oz brown sugar (normal sugar would be fine too)
200g/7oz unsalted butter, cubed at room temperature 

 

For the filing:

Enough hard fruit to fill your dish, chopped into bite sized pieces  (apples, rhubarb, peaches, nectarines (I used about 15 medium sized eater apples, 4 sticks of rhubarb and 2 nectarines. This made enough for 1 large crumble and 1 small one.  This is too much for two people so if anyone wants a crumble, let me know. Too late!)

2 tablespoons of brown sugar

1 tablespoons of flour

1 teaspoon cinnamon

5cm piece fresh ginger, finely chopped (optional)

 

For the making:

1. Fill your dish up to the point that you want the crumble  mix to start. I didn’t peel anything, but I cored the apples.  
2. Sprinkle over enough brown sugar so that each bit of fruit has some on, but don’t cover them or it will be very sweet. If you’re using cooking apples add more.
3. Sprinkle the flour over
4. Sprinkle the cinnamon over
5. I also chopped up some fresh ginger very finely and squeezed a little bit of honey over, but I had gone a bit crazed at this stage so no worries if that doesn’t sound appealing.
6. Mix the flour and sugar in a big bowl. Add the cubes of butter a few at a time and rub with your fingers until all the butter is add and it looks like breadcrumbs.
7. Add on top of the fruit.
8. Smash three  to five ginger nuts wrapped in a tea towel with an implement of good smashing abilities and sprinkle over the top of the crumble (remembering that crumble is nice if it goes crunchy so don’t totally cover it with ginger nuts).  I thought afterwards that you could lessen the amount of flour you use and add the ginger nuts crumbs into the crumble mixture.  I’ll try this next time and let you know!
9. Put in the oven at 180C for about 40 minutes. Check it at 30 – the fruit should be bubbling out of the sides a little bit and the crumble should be browning.
10. Eat in a bowl with custard or ice cream. (not out of the oven dish stood at the oven because you will burn your mouth. I learnt that the hard way)

 

Pickling

Let me explain:

I am not a gourmet, and my poor housemates at university who once ate blue cabbage and frozen pork chops will agree: I am not always a great cook. Despite living in the same city as celebrity chefs and food critics, I just muddle along pretty averagely I suppose.

But I have always enjoyed cooking and eating.

Growing up, I’d occasionally boss my mum out of the kitchen and blend strange soups, cakes that went flat in the middle, and tofu stir-frys for my protein-shaking rugbyplaying brother. I had my vegetarian phase (boy-related and unsuccessful) and my secret teenage eating ‘problems’.

University was fairly uneventful food-wise, apart from some exotic meals travelling in the Far East, and the blue cabbage incident. But since leaving university and moving to the ‘Great Oven’ of London, and especially since moving into my little flat in Hackney with Paul, I’ve really started to love food.

I’ve stopped buying ready meals and started reading food blogs. I’ve been dazed and delighted by the cheapskate cafés on our doorstep. I plan meals. I dash from Vietnamese to Turkish with barely time for digestion.

In East London there are markets every weekend, and I cycle pass Smithfield butchers on the way to work. There are fancy establishments I never dreamed I would visit and more, more, more. Second helpings until I burst.

DeboraJane is a record of my culinary adventures. It is my way of pickling experience, or preserving things. Like making jam or salting mackerels.  (Not things I have tried yet.)

Mostly set in an ex-council flat in East London, the main characters will be two twentysomething graduates: we are poor, hardworking, and hungry. I hope our friends and family, and maybe more people too, will enjoy reading about what we get up to.

Bon appetite!