week 33 - Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cookery

 

Following hot on the heels of one childhood classic - the infamous Delia's tarragon chicken, from her Summer Collection - this week features another beloved influence from when I was growing up - Madhur Jaffrey and her concise tome, published in 1982, on Indian Cookery. 

After the BBC aired the TV series that accompanied the book, her calming manner and her fail-proof recipes meant she quickly became a household name. Soon housewives all over the land were cooking whole legs of lamb in a yoghurt sauce; Indian-style pork chipolatas and pork chops with chickpeas; and mini cocktail koftas and chicken tikka skewers to serve at provincial dinner parties.

I still vividly remember the shelf of books in my parent's kitchen; and how I would sit and leaf through them after dinner, excitedly planning my future dinner parties from delights such as the Milk Marketing Board Cookbook and the Heinz Cookbook ( I recollect that my Sister made the bean-filled shepherds pie on several occasions). While Delia's Summer Collection featured a showy sunflower on the cover, tempting you in, Madhur went for something more, well, beige. 

That, coupled by a distinct lack of photos, meant it wasn't always one of my favourites to look at. But, as you could tell by the well-thumbed corners and oil-splattered pages it was much-loved by my Mum for cooking from, with recipes that were dependable yet exotic.

My absolute favourite of the dishes she cooked from it was the keema matar, or mince and peas. You can use beef or lamb, but I think lamb is best. Even better is mutton, and I bough half a kilo of course ground mutton from Turner and George for my version of this (which still wasn't as good as my mum's). 

I, for once, followed the recipe faithfully, but it's very adaptable and forgiving kind of dish and I have made with the addition of tinned tomatoes, and chunks of par-boiled potato (added with the water) and a mix of different spices, including cardamom, cinnamon and turmeric, and also with a mix of garam masala and curry powder, and it's always been great.

Minced meat and peas

Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cookery

1 tbsp vegetable oil

1 medium onion, peeled and finely chopped

3 medium cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped

500g minced lamb (ground beef may be substituted) 

A 3cm piece of fresh ginger, peeled and grated 

1-2 fresh, hot green chilies, chopped

1tsp ground coriander seeds

1 tsp ground cumin seeds

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

300g frozen peas

1 tsp garam masala

Half a lemon

Fresh coriander, chopped, to serve

Put the oil in a large frying pan over a medium-high heat. When hot, brown the mince (in batches if needed) set aside and drain all bit a tablespoon of oil from the pan.

Add the onion and stir and fry until lightly browned. Add the garlic, stir and fry for another minute. 

Add the lamb, ginger, green chillies, coriander and cumin.

Add ¾ cup water and bring to a boil. Cover, turn heat to low, and simmer for 30 minutes. Add the peas, fresh coriander, salt and pepper garam masala, lemon juice, and the remaining water. 

Mix and bring to a simmer. Cover and cook on low heat another 10 minutes or until peas are tender. 

I also made butter chicken, which wasn't strictly a Madhur recipe as I marinated the chicken in a tandoori spice mix and yoghurt, before grilling until charred in places, and then adding to a defrosted batch of sauce I made aeons ago but was still very tasty. Looking (and tasting) like a spiced-up version of Heinz tinned tomato soup. and none the worse for it. I'm afraid I used Google when I made it and don't have a recipe. But Madhur does, and it's probably very good

There has to be some ballast to soak up the sauce and the beer, and I would normally go for bread. A nice puffy peshawari nan or a virtuous wholewheat chapati for preference, but one of the things I am determined to master in 20202 is cooking rice. While I wouldn't say this was perfect, it was a decent effort and extremely easy.

Mushroom Pilau  

Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cooking

Wash 450ml basmati rice, soak in cold water for about 30 minutes then drain.

Fry a small onion and 1 chopped clove of garlic. Add 200g sliced mushrooms, and fry for a few minutes, then add 1/2 teaspoon of grated ginger and 1/4 teaspoon garam masala and a pinch of salt. Stir a couple of times and add the rice. Stir until the rice is coated in the oil and add enough water to just cover – less water than you would usually  add as the rice is soaked. Bring to a boil, put the lid on the pot, turn off the heat and leave for 15 minutes. Fluff through the grains with a fork and serve

And finally, some veg. As much as I love meat and fish, I think I could quite happily be a vegetarian on the Indian subcontinent with dishes such a cheesy peas, aloo gobi, aubergines cooked in picking spice and, my favourite bhindi bhaji (the much maligned okra). This recipe is fresh and crisp and helps balance out a big meal, the shredded stir fried carrot and cabbage, lightly spiced with mustard seeds and a little chilli.

Gujerati Cabbage with Carrots 

Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cooking

1/2 a medium white or green cabbage

3-4 carrots

1 fresh, hot green chilli

2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 tbsp whole black mustard seeds

1 whole, hot dried red chilli

1/2 tsp sugar

1/2 lemon

salt to taste

Core the cabbage and cut in into fine, long shreds. Peel the carrots and grate them coarsely. Cut the green chilli into thin, long strips.

Heat the oil in a wide, casserole-type dish over a medium-high flame. When hot put in the mustard seeds. As soon as the mustard seeds begin to pop (this takes just a few seconds), put in the dried red chilli, cabbage, carrots and green chilli. Turn the heat down to medium and stir the vegetables around for half a minute. Add the salt and sugar. Stir and cook for another 4 minutes or until vegetables are just done and retain some of the their crispness. Add the lemon juice. Stir to mix. 

week 32 Delia's Summer Collection - Delia Smith

'Delia's tarragon chicken' always reminds me of my family. It was a family favourite when I growing up and my Mum and Sister still mention it when we talk about what we are going to have for dinner in the group chat. Its a timeless recipe that seems as equally at home as a mid-week supper or at a fancy dinner party (my sister cooked it at one of her first proper 'weekends away' with her friends. Before everyone got blotto and ended up, fully clothed, in the swimming pool....)

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The recipe features in Delia's Summer Collection and is her take on the French classic poulet au vinaigre. Released the summer I was 12, the Summer Collection is still up there in my top ten cookery books as it introduced me to exotic recipes such as halloumi with capers and lime; and Piedmont peppers (via Elizabeth David); and, in the vegetarian chapter, pasta puttanesca (which Delia describes as 'tart's pasta and advises 'if your'e a strict vegetarian replace the anchovies with another spoonful of capers'). Suddenly the world turned from a murky beige to glorious technicolor.

When I was younger I remember being very vocal that, when I grew up and  had the wherewithal make tarragon chicken for myself, I certainly wouldn't restrict myself to three measly shallots per serving. Then I grew up and realised you had to go and find the shallots, and buy them, and - and this is the real kicker - peel them all individually. And, while I did add as many to the pan, through watering eyes, as I could could be bothered to prepare, with the benefit of hindsight I fully endorse my mother for sticking to the recipe. Sorry Mum for doubting your wisdom.

Another thing that I didn't appreciate as a youngster was the price of sherry. On this occasion I used Marsala, as a substitute for (near enough a pint of) Amontillado, as that's what I had in the cupboard. But if you are economising, or don't have a bottle of sherry knocking around, or want to whip this up for a quick mid-week dinner (and you should, because it;'s wonderful) then you can use white wine or, I think even better, a can of dry cider. Switch up to cider vinegar if you want to carry on the apple theme. 

Delia's Tarragon Chicken

1 chicken, jointed into 8 pieces, or 8 bone-in thighs

150 ml sherry vinegar

2 tbsp fresh tarragon leaves, plus extra to garnish

2 tbsp olive oil

12 shallots, peeled and left whole

4 cloves garlic, peeled and left whole

400 ml Amontillado sherry, Marsala, dry cider or white wine

2 tbsp crème fraîche

salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat the oil in a large frying pan and season the chicken.

When the oil begins to shimmer, fry the chicken -in two batches, if needed - until brown. Place the browned chicken on a plate.

Add the shallots to the pan, brown these a little, and finally add the garlic cloves to colour slightly. Turn the heat down, return the chicken pieces to the pan, scatter the tarragon leaves all over, then pour in the vinegar and sherry. Bring to a simmer simmer, then turn the heat to a very low setting, so that the whole thing barely bubbles, for 45 minutes.

Halfway through, turn the chicken pieces over in the sauce. When they're ready, remove them to a warm serving dish (right side up) along with the shallots and garlic. 

The sauce will by now have reduced and concentrated. Whisk the crème fraîche into it, taste it and season as required, then pour the sauce all over the chicken and scatter with the sprigs of tarragon.

Saint Delia recommends serving with new potatoes and peas. So I did. The former being straight out the ground at the allotment. The latter were straight out the freezer. Glass of rose with an ice cube optional but very delicious. Cheers to my lovely family, this one's for you.

week 31 - Ottolenghi

Stealth's birthday celebration have featured several times before on the blog, including summer strawberry cakes, handmade noodles, and several weekends where we probably didn't feel like eating much at all. This year I had something special planned - a meat feast, and not like the ones we used to get half-price when she worked a Pizza Hut.

To celebrate the heralding of the last year of her fourth decade, I had bought a whole, larder trimmed, fillet of beef from Turner and George. While this was a mostly altruistic gesture, I also knew that the tail fillet would make a great tartare, which we enjoyed the night before Stealth arrived, along with some frites and a green salad. 

The rest of the beef (minus a small part of the Chateaubriand, that I cut off and put in the freezer to attempt the wellington treatment on at some point) was going to be anointed simply with salt and pepper and olive oil, roasted quickly so it was still pink within, and served with three homemade sauces and some colourful salads. All taken from the brilliant first Ottolenghi cookbook.

Roast beef fillet with three sauces

1 beef fillet, trimmed, (about 1.5kg) at room temperature

olive oil

coarse sea salt

black pepper

Preheat the oven to 220C. Place the fillet in a bowl with the oil, salt and pepper and massage in to the meat. Place a heavy pan on a high heat and sear the fillet until brown all over. I

Transfer the fillet to a roasting tray and put in the oven to roast. 10-14 mins for medium rare, 15-18 mins for medium or longer for well done. 

Remove from the oven, wrap in foil and leave to rest for at least 30 minutes. When ready to serve, unwrap and cut into slices. Season with sea salt.

Choka (smoky tomato sauce)

450g plum tomatoes

2 tbsp sunflower oil

1 small onion, thinly sliced

1 red chilli, seeded and chopped

2 garlic cloves, crushed

2 tbsp chopped coriander

1 tbsp paprika

a pinch of dried chilli flakes

salt and black pepper

Preheat the grill half the tomatoes and place, cut side down, on a tray. Put the whole tomatoes under it and cook for about 15 minutes, until the skin is burnt and blistered. The burnt skin will give the sauce its smoky flavour. Place the hot tomatoes in a bowl and crush them roughly with a wooden spoon. Pick out most of the skin.

In a saucepan, heat up the oil. add the onion and cook for 3 minutes on a medium heat. Add the onion and oil to the crushed tomatoes, together with the chilli, garlic, coriander, paprika and chilli flakes. Taste and season liberally with salt and pepper. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Rocket and horseradish sauce

50g rocket

2 tbsp freshly grated horseradish (I used 1 heaped tbsp from a far)

1 garlic clove, crushed

2 tbsp olive oil

1 tbsp milk

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp black pepper

125g Greek yoghurt

Put all the ingredients except the yoghurt in a blender or food processor and pulse until smooth. Transfer to a bowl, add the yoghurt and mix well. 

Watercress and mustard sauce

40g watercress

1 tbsp wholegrain mustard

1 tbsp Dijon mustard

1 garlic clove crushed

2 tbsp olive oil

Sea salt and black pepper

100g cream cheese

Put all the ingredients except the cream cheese in a blender or food processor and pulse until smooth. Transfer to a bowl, add the cream cheese and mix well. 

Alongside the beef I also made the roasted aubergine with saffron yoghurt and pomegranate; a superb dish that both looks impressive and is easy to throw together (bake slices of aubergine in the oven and then cool and cover with the yoghurt dressing, pomegranate and basil). And chargrilled asparagus, courgette and manouri, which is a Greek goat and sheep cheese, similar to halloumi, that has luckily made its way to the shelves of Waitrose in Wycombe. 

At least I knew if the food didn't impress her, my choice of supermarket would. Luckily, it was all a big hit.

week 30 - Every Grain of Rice - Fuschia Dunlop

While I'm sure I will look back at the blog in times to come and marvel at how well we ate during this strange period, the reality is that about 80 per cent of our time since March has been spent either cooking or washing up. (With another ten per cent reserved for feeding my bloody sourdough starter).

Mostly, it's been worth it. But as I stood in the heat of high summer, poised over a wok full of bubbling oil while desperately trying to stop my slices of aubergine disintegrating, I questioned my recipe choices. And when I then found that we didn't have any chilli oil (a constituent part of three quarters of the dishes I was cooking), the Ewing questioned my choices too. Although she still grabbed a mask and went out to the shops. Mostly to escape from me a a semi-hysterical state for a few minutes.

While it all sounds rather frantic, my mini meltdown belies how easy most of these dishes - from Fuchsia Dunlop's Every Grain of Rice - actually are. In fact, I rustled up four different plates of food, plus some rice, in about an hour after work and didn't end up divorced (despite my best efforts). 

It's a great book as I have ever cooked from it has simultaneously been simple (although anything deep-fried remains my Achilles heel) yet terribly exotic. After you've stocked up on a few basic sauces and spices - then the majority of the dishes contain only a handful of ingredients and can be made within minutes. At if you are a chilli head, like me, you in luck as lots of the recipes contain a good dose of spice (and if they don't, I usually chuck in a dried chilli or two anyway...)

I tackled my nemesis, the fish fragrant aubergines, first. The dish contains precisely zero piscine elements but is so named for the sauce that draws on the seasonings used in Sichuanese fish cookery. Deep frying in a wok is not as traumatic as I always make out, and the advantage is you don't need much oil, although you do have to fry the aubergine in several batches. This is a dish that's also good cold, but make sure you drain the aubergine well before dressing, so it doesn't become too oily.

Fish fragrant aubergines

3 medium aubergines

Salt

Cooking oil, for deep-frying - about 400ml if you are using a round-bottomed wok

1 1/2 tbsp Sichuan pickled chilli paste (I used sambal oelek)

2tbsp vegetable oil

1 tbsp finely chopped ginger

1 tbsp finely chopped garlic

150ml chicken stock

2 tsp sugar

3/4 tsp potato flour (or cornflour) mixed with one tbsp cold water

2 tsp Chinkiang brown rice vinegar

4 tbsp finely sliced spring onion greens

Cut the aubergine lengthways into three thick slices, then cut these into evenly sized batons. Sprinkle them with salt, mix well and leave in a colander for at least 30 minutes to drain.

In a wok, heat the oil to 180˚C. Add the aubergine in batches and deep-fry for three to four minutes until slightly golden on the outside and soft and buttery within. Remove and drain on paper towels.

Drain the oil from the wok and rinse if necessary, then return it to a medium heat. When the wok is hot again, add 2 tbsp of oil. Add the chilli bean paste and stir-fry until the oil is red and fragrant, then add the ginger and garlic and continue to stir-fry for a minute or two.

Add the stock, vinegar and sugar and mix well. Season with salt to taste if necessary. Add the fried aubergine and the vinegar to the sauce. Stir the potato flour and water mixture, pour it over the aubergine and stir in gently to thicken the sauce. Tip into a serving dish and garnish with spring onions.

Next was one of my favourites, cold dressed chicken with a spicy Sichuanese sauce; which is very similar to another famous Sichuan cold chicken dish, 'mouth-watering' chicken. Sometimes known as the less successfully translated 'saliva' chicken. Here poached, or leftover roast, chicken is shredded and mixed with a simple spicy sauce before being garnished with sliced spring onion and sesame seeds.

Cold Chicken with a Spicy Sichuanese Sauce (Liang Ban Ji)

About 400g cold, cooked boneless chicken, shredded

3 spring onions

1/4 tsp salt

1 tbsp sesame seeds (optional)

For the Sauce

2 tablespoons light soy sauce

1 1/2 teaspoons Chinkiang (brown rice) vinegar

1 1/2 teaspoons sugar

2 tbsp chilli oil

1/2 tsp ground Sichuan pepper

Cut or tear the chicken as evenly as possible into bite-sized strips or slivers and place them in a deep bowl. Cut the spring onions at a steep angle into thin slices. Mix them and the salt with the chicken.

Combine all the sauce ingredients in a small bowl.

When you are ready to eat, pour the sauce over the chicken, and mix well with chopsticks.

Arrange on a serving dish and sprinkle with sesame seeds, if desired.

The last cucumber that we harvested from the plant that was 'allowed' to grow in our living room - I was under the firm impression it was going out onto the patio once it started to bear fruit. But apparently it was more delicate than I am, and never actually made it - was celebrated by being turned into, the now ubiquitous, 'smacked' cucumber. 

After gently bashing the whole cucumber with a rolling pin until it softens and splits (helping it soak up the dressing), chop diagonally into chunks, place in a colander with a tablespoon of salt and leave over the sink for 15 minutes to allow some of the excess water to drain away. Rinse any excess salt off the cucumber, dry briefly and place in to a bowl. then toss with chilli oil, brown rice vinegar, light soy sauce, a clove of crushed garlic (the recipe specifies three, so add more if you want a very garlicky hit, Perfect if you are working at home right now), a pinch of Sichuan peeper and a little caster sugar to taste.  A very fitting ending for our final curcubit.

The dish I was most excited about was the stir-fried potato slivers with chilli and Sichuan pepper. The raw potato is shredded very finely before being stir-fried and served, as a revelation to most westerners, while it still has a slight bite. In Sichuan cuisine this is the most popular way of treating a tuber, and while I'd seen it several times on menus before, the predictable big hitters always got the nod over the humble spud.

While cutting the potatoes (homegrown, dug fresh from the allotment, natch) so finely was something of a labour of love, there was also something rather soothing about it. And the rest of the dish was a cinch to throw together - heat some oil in a wok, toss in dried chillies and Sichuan peppercorns, then add the spuds (I used four medium-sized waxy ones that I had sliced and then soaked in cold water to remove some of the starch) and stir fry until the potatoes have a slight bite. Season to taste and try to serve while hot. While juggling all your other dishes. Hopefully while still keeping your sanity. 

week 29 - The Barbecue Bible - Steven Raichlen

Apart from briefly developing a dangerous online shopping habit - natural wine, posh hand cream and boxes of British cheeses being delivered to the door seemed pretty essential purchases when you can only leave the house once a day - our one big purchase over the summer was a new gas barbecue grill. 

Bought after our summer holiday was cancelled (as it turns out at a greater expense than our return flights...) after the Ewing pointed out that if we were going to be at home for the foreseeable future, we might as well give ourselves an incentive to enjoy being here. She also pointed out my ambivalent attitude towards cleaning the previous two crappy charcoal barbecues (although I did manage to painstakingly smoke some ribs and brisket while using one) and gas might be an easier option.

While the principled chef in me put up a half-hearted objection, I remember having a gas grill at home growing up, and the ease with which my dad would get home from work, stick it on, down a cold 33 lager, and then cook a butterflied leg of lamb or some fresh mackerel for dinner on most days during the summer. Living in England I have fond memories of him clutching a golf umbrella on several occasions, as the heavens opened just after the food hit the grill.

While some recipes demand low and slow smoking, most barbecue recipes can easily be adapted to gas, without a discernible difference in taste and much less mess and fuss (spoken by someone who has just spent the weekend camping, charring lumps of beef on a fire while on a camping trip). This adaptability extends to many of the recipes in Steven Raichlen's Barbecue Bible - a tome I'm petty sure I acquired when I didn't even have a garden, much less a barbecue; and which, despite it's brash looking cover, contains a plethora of ideas for things you can stick on the coals from all around the world.

I wanted something that would allow me to use my new flat skewers (bought in another mini-online frenzy along with various metal scouring brushes and special cleaning sprays. Which I can report I have actually used...) I also knew I had some local minced lamb in the freezer, from yet another over-excited visit to the farmer's market, and some pistachios in the cupboard from when the Ewing had randomly bought me a bag home as a present. And so Gaziantep kebabs, a kofte style kebab with pistachio nuts - which the Gaziantep area in Turkey, after which they are named, is famous for - made the perfect choice.

Alongside the lamb kebabs I made some quick flatbread dough and placed the thinly rolled discs of the dough directly on the barbecue grate. As they puffed up, they were brushed liberally on both sides with the Ewing's wild garlic butter - made from greens the Ewing had foraged at the dog end of spring, chopped and mixed with softened salted butter, rolled into a log and then frozen. And then covered with a clean tea towel so they remained soft until needed. The perfect base for the perfect kebab.

Lamb and pistachio kebabs

Adapted from the Barbecue Bible by Steven Raichlen

500g minced lamb

100g shelled pistachio nuts, coarsely chopped 

1 clove garlic, finely chopped

1 teaspoon Aleppo pepper or chilli powder

½ teaspoon ground cumin

Salt and freshly ground black pepper, or more to taste

4 flat, wide, long metal skewers

Flatbreads or pitta, yogurt and salad to serve

Combine the lamb, pistachios, onion, garlic, salt, chilli pepper, cumin, and black pepper in a large bowl. Mix with your hands until thoroughly blended.

I never usually bother, but if you want to test the mixture for seasoning, cook a small amount in a nonstick pan until cooked through, then taste, adding more salt and/or black pepper to the remaining mixture as necessary. 

Cover and refrigerate the meat mixture for an hour or two.

Divide the meat mixture into four equal portions. Lightly wet your hands with cold water and mould each portion of the meat mixture around a skewer to form a flattish sausage about 20 cms inches long and 2 cms wide. 

Place each finished kebab on a baking sheet.

Switch on your gas grill and preheat to high (you can also grill over charcoal)

When ready to cook, arrange the kebabs on the grill and turn with tongs until nicely browned and cooked through, 6 to 8 minutes in all. 

The fat in the meat and pistachios mean the kebabs may flare up, so it's handy to have a spray bottle of wather handy to douse any flames as needed

Using a flatbread to protect your hand, slide each kebab off its skewer onto a serving plate. Serve at with flat breads or pitta, yoghurt, tomatoes, red onion, flat leaf parsley and pomegranate seeds

week 28 - Jamie's Italian - Jamie Oliver

While it's easy to focus on the all things we had to stop doing, it's also nice to experience some 'firsts' as lockdown has eased. First draft pint beer; first brunch out; first train journey; first time back in the office (who thought that would ever be welcomed). And, best of all, first time seeing family since Christmas; when my aunt, uncle and cousin came down South for a stay.

In a bittersweet twist, it also coincided with the dates when my sister and family were supposed to be visiting from Oz. But while they couldn't be here, we could at least toast them with a couple of bottles of wine from the vineyard she and my brother-in-law got married in - just outside Sienna - one of which has been under the stairs for the last eight years. Stowed away we managed to get it home intact in our suitcase after celebrating the big day.

To go with the wine I wanted some big Tuscan flavours, and peposo, or hunters stew, made with huge amounts of fresh black pepper and more wine, While took the recipe from Jamie's Italian, a book I first remember first getting when I worked as a bookseller, many moons ago, and living with a vegetarian. Needless to say I never made this, although the recipe I always really wanted to make was the turkey tetrazzini - a kind of retro pasta bake made with spaghetti in a creamy mushroom sauce - perhaps one for next time.

As well as the black pepper the beef stew is bolstered by garlic; which coincided with the first main crop harvest from the allotment. And we also welcome bit of sunshine that allowed the Ewing to finally dry it out on the patio. 

The rest of the supporting cast was made up of herbs - bay and rosemary, both from the front garden - a tin of tomatoes (absent in Jamie's recipe but, I think, a welcome addition) and a while bottle of decent (ish) red wine. Italian of course.

Of course, the beef is the real star of the show. Jamie uses slices of bone in shin, but I went with beef ribs. I think bones always add an extra unctousness when making slow cooked stews, but I also found recipes when I was researching that used boneless chunks of chuck, flank or neck. Just make sure it's not too lean.

The execution could not have been simpler. Everything in the pot, and then into the oven to slow cook until the meat falls from the bone and the gravy is rich and glossy. I didn't even brown the meat. Like most stews, this is better the day after. Which also means you can just put it back on the hob to reheat, giving you more time to sit and drink wine with your guests. 

Peposo - Tuscan beef and black pepper stew

Adapted from Jamie's Italy

2kg beef on the bone (ribs, or shin) 

1 bulb of garlic, unpeeled and broken into cloves

1 tbsp whole peppercorns

1 tsp sea salt

a good grinding of coarsely ground black pepper

one bottle of red wine, preferably Italian, nothing too fancy

3 bay leaves

a couple of sprigs of fresh rosemary

1 tin chopped tomatoes

Pre-heat the oven to 150c

Place the ribs in a large pot, add all the remaining ingredients, making sure the meat is covered. Put the lid on and place in the oven for about three hours, stirring every half an hour or so, or until the meat is falling from the bones.

Take the meat from the pot and leave to cool.

If the gravy is looking thin, place the pot on the hob and reduce until thickened.

When the meat is cool enough to handle, shred from the bones, removing any pieces of fat or cartilage.

Add the meat back to the thickened gravy.

Best reheated the next day and served with cannelini beans, polenta, mash or crusty bread. Good wine and great company.

week 27 - Ice Cream Book - Humphry Slocombe

2020: another week; another ecancelled event; this time Wimbledon. And, although I wouldn't have been queuing in my tent in SW19 to sit on Henman Hill, there's nothing like getting home from work and watching several hours of sweaty sportsmen while sipping Pimms in your pants. To be fair, I don't need the tennis on TV to do that, but you get my point.

While there might not have been any sport to watch, there were still strawberries to eat. Apparently approximately 27,000 kilos of strawberries are eaten during the Wimbledon Championships, together with 7,000 litres of cream - with many English strawberries grown specifically to be perfectly ripe for those two weeks at the end of June. And I didn't want any to go to waste.

Ie cream may not be the first strawberry desert I would normally think of, and it appears that San Francisco-based frozen desert specalists Humphry Slocombe - whose shop we visited on our honeymoon, many moons ago -  feel the same. Demonstated by the fact heir plain strawberry ice cream is named 'here's your damn strawberry ice cream' and only was only offered for sale in their shop on one occasion, when they had leftovers after making sundaes for SF Pride.

While the original recipe has made it into their book, they also offer two alternative, and far jazzier, versions. One with candied black olives and one with candied jalapenos. Although the recipe includes a method to to candy your own chillies I had picked up a jar from our local farmer's market (our favourite place to hang on a Saturday during a pandemic) made locally by the Salsa King. Sweet but with a decent capsaicin kick.

Unlike the majority of their recipes this is a no cook, no trouble method that uses simply pureed fruit, double cream and condensed milk The sweetness balanced, like a good fish supper, with a touch of salt and vinegar. It also tastes of berries, rather than the odd chemicals that strawberry ice cream often tastes of.

By pureeing the fruit, as per the recipe, you won't get the mottled appearance of the ice cream in the book, but the chunks of candied chilli add a little extra colour that stops the churning mixture appear quite as disturbing similar to the pink goo that, according to urban legend, McDonald's chicken nuggets are made from. 

Best enjoyed heaped in a sugar cone while reclining under a parasol, licking rivulets of melted ice cream as they drip down your wrists in the heat. Or, if you're in England, inside with your nose pressed against the window, dreaming of sunnier afternoons while waiting for the drizzle to stop.

Here’s Your Damn Strawberry Ice Cream with candied jalapenos

Adapted from the Humphry Slocombe Ice Cream Book

500g fresh ripe strawberries, hulled and halved

1 1/2 cups double cream 

1/2 cup whole milk

1/2 cup sweetened condensed milk

3/4 cup granulated sugar

1 tsp salt

1 tbsp red wine vinegar

1 tbsp chopped candied jalapenos

Place the strawberries in a blender or food processor and process to a smooth puree. Strain into a bowl using a fine mesh strainer to remove the seeds (you can also leave it unstrained, but your strawberry ice cream won't be as smooth).

Once the strawberry puree has been strained into the bowl, add the double cream, milk, condensed milk, sugar, salt, and red wine vinegar and whisk together until the sugar has dissolved. 

Place the mixture in the fridge for at least an hour, or until throughout chilled (this helps the ice creamy freeze quicker when churning, giving a better texture).

Transfer the chilled mixture to an ice cream maker and spin according to the manufacturer's instructions. 

Just before the ice cream is ready, add the pickled jalepenos and stir through thoroughly.

Eat immediately, or transfer into an airtight container and place in the freezer until fully frozen if you prefer a firmer texture.