A Caesar Salad of Sorts

Supermarket managers vary enormously when it comes to the generosity of price reductions on a Sunday afternoon. I've long thought that whoever is the manager of the Waitrose in Brighton, he (or she) has a slightly sadistic nature meaning they would rather see disappointed bargain hunters return the reduced goods to the shelf and close the doors at the end of Sunday trading having not sold the items, then shift the about-to-be-binned food at lower prices while at the same time giving a little burst of pleasure to the lucky shopper who finds the steal. Not so with the manager of the Lewes branch though. I may well be doing myself out of a potential prize by publicising this, but whoever calls the shots with the reduction gun at the Waitrose there has a devil-may-care attitude that I find very welcome. Recent winners have been; A brick of sausage meat down from £3.50 to 50p, cheese at a quarter of the price (and like cheese goes 'off'!), countless patiserrie ultra-reductions, and last week a tray of marinaded turkey pieces reduced from £4.50 to just 19p. Going there at 3:30pm for the last 'mad' half hour is becoming a habit.

This last Sunday wasn't quite so good though. I think the snow had left them rather understaffed and so there weren't very many of them, any of them in fact, doing that final ten minute dash when they seem to, well, go nuts. I did pick up two double packs of hearts of romaine lettuce for 10p each though.

The lettuce inspired me to make a salad for dinner. Initially the prospect of a salad as a 'main', on a Sunday, induced if not protest from my kids then certainly a discernable air of disappointment, but when it was put before them the lack of faith they'd clearly been feeling was quashed. They loved it, and went on about it afterwards. It was though, I have to admit, a really outstanding, not to mention hearty (of romaine) salad. Probably not strictly a Caesar Salad, but so what.

Serious Caesar Salad (for 5 people)

For The Dressing
1 egg
2 anchovy fillets
1 large clove of garlic
Juice of 1 lemon
1 teaspoon of Dijon Mustard
2 teaspoons of Worcester Sauce
150ml Oil (about three quarters Rapeseed, the rest Olive)
1 teaspoon of sugar
black pepper
40g or so of grated parmesan

To make the dressing put all the ingredients except for the oil and the parmesan into a blender, put the lid on and blend. Once combined, carefully pour the oil through the hole in the lid of the blender in a steady stream. The dressing will turn thick and creamy. Pour it into a bowl and stir in the parmesan.

For The Salad
3 heads of lettuce (I used hearts of romaine, sliced into largish pieces)
3 courgettes (sliced into long disks)
2 Gem Hearts quartered
Raddichio (about a handful)
1 shallot (thinly sliced)
7 or so chestnut mushrooms (thinly sliced)
1 handful baby spinach leaves
half a cucumber (cut into spears)
5 anchovy fillets
lots of parsley
lots of parmesan
lots of lemon
1 lump of halloumi (cut into fingers)
3 slices of good sourdough (cut or torn into crouton sized pieces)
garlic

Put the oven on 200ºC

To make the salad, griddle the courgette slices until they're nicely blackened on both sides and set aside to cool. Drizzle the bread pieces with olive oil and bake for 9 minutes in the oven, take them out, rub them with raw garic and season before setting them aside to cool (though they're nice if a little warm still). Mix the sliced mushrooms with lots of lemon, olive oil, finely chopped garlic, a fair amount of salt and pepper and chopped parsley and set aside. Combine the leaves (except the Gem hearts), shallot and cucumber in a massive bowl. Add the courgette pieces, and about half the dressing (the other half you can keep in the fridge for another day) and thoroughly mix it with your hands to get it all well covered.

Assemble the salad onto large plates. Scatter over the mushrooms, torn up anchovy and the croutons.

Finally griddle the Gem hearts and the halloumi until nicely blackened and arrange them on top of the salads. Give the finished dishes a few more flicks of dressing, a generous seasoning of black pepper, a sprinkle of parsley and a plentiful grating of parmesan.

Two Loaves Of Bread

My friend Ben has just taken delivery of a new mixer after being bitten by the bread bug. I was going to send him the two bread recipes that I do the most and thought it might be better to put them both up here on the blog for everyone. The first is one I do pretty much every other day. It's a slightly bastardised version of a loaf from the Ottolenghi Cookbook using Campaillou flour. The second is the classic Cranks wholemeal recipe.

Campaillou Loaf

Biga Starter
1lb 5.25oz Campillou Flour
10oz Water
1 desert spoon dried yeast

Loaf
1.5oz Campillou Flour
4 teaspoons coarse polenta
3 teaspoons soft brown sugar
7 oz water
2 teaspoons salt

The night before, make the Biga Starter. Mix the yeast in the water. There's no need to wait for it to froth up at all, just make sure that the grains have dissolved. Next, put all the Biga ingredients into the mixer and set it to knead until they're well combined. I've let it knead for too long before and the dough becomes extremely stiff. As a result I've managed to break four kenwood chefs in as many years, one of them literally tore apart. So, watch it and as soon as it's come together and looks a bit like a head of cauliflower, turn the mixer off and push the dough together by hand. Cover the bowl tightly with clingfilm and leave it until the morning.

The next day take the dough out and roughly chop it up with a knife into 1 inch or so pieces and put it back in the bowl with the added loaf ingredients. Cover the mixer with a tea towel because initially it'll be super sloppy and splash all over the place (if it's really bad you might want to combine the ingredients a bit with a spoon or something - depends on the maths of the mixer I suppose but with my kenwood chef it makes a bit of a mess) and turn it on low for a couple of minutes. When you take the towel off it'll look like a porridgy mess that will seemingly never come together as a dough. Be patient, it will. When it's reasonably well combined turn the mixer up high and watch it. It'll take about five minutes but in time the mess will transform into a super silky stretchy dough that when you turn the mixer off will seemingly have a mind of it's own as it oozes back into the bowl. Keep mixing until it is pulling itself off the now clean bowl, give it another thirty seconds or so and then turn it off.

I put it in a new bowl, but it's still so liquid that I use and oiled spatula to do so and make sure the bowl it's going into is well oiled also. Then I can clean the mixer and put it away as it's job is done.

Once in the new oiled bowl turn the dough over so it's covered in a film of oil, then cover the bowl and leave it until it's risen to about double its size or just under. And put the oven on, as high as it will go.

After it's risen (should take forty minutes or so if it's warm) you want to knead it, but follow this method which I'm going to copy pretty much word for word from the Ottolenghi Cookbook...

Wet your hands with a little olive oil. Whilst it is still in the bowl, pick the dough up from one edge and stretch it. Fold the stretched edge on top. Repeat this, stretching and folding the dough from all sides of the bowl. In the end you will get a few 'flaps' gathered together on top of the dough. Now, turn the dough over in the bowl so the flaps are underneath.

Leave it again for another ten minutes or so, and if you're backing one loaf, very carefully place it into a
well floured proving basket until it's double the size it was when you started (before it rose at all, it'll be bigger now as the gentle kneading won't have knocked all the air out). What I'm doing these days though is making it into two smaller loaves. You just seem to get a more open crumb - lovely impressive big holes inside that make people say 'wow' or 'did you make that?'. So what I do is turn the dough into a really floury table. Fold it a couple of times like before when it was in the bowl. Cut it in half with a dough scraper, seal the cut edges by pinching them together, flour again and turn the two loaves so the cut sides are underneath. It really looks better if they're not too neat I think. I then let them rise of a piece of bakers linen with a folded 'wall' of linen between then and a piece of floured clingfilm just resting on the top, for another twenty minutes or so.

I then pour a cup of so of water from the kettle onto the tray at the bottom of the oven and put the loaves in with the peel dusted with polenta to stop it sticking, (and after a couple of slashes are made on top), next to each other, and shut the door for twelve minutes (at 250 degrees), then I rotate them and drop the temperature to about 210 degrees for another 18-20 minutes.

The photo below is of one I made that I didn't cut into two.

The wholemeal loaf I make is very different, much more cakey as in the original recipe there's no knocking back and barely any kneading. Sometimes I make it with a proving and knocking back and it's a bit more stretchy, but I rather like the worthy cakeyness of the original. Here's the recipe from the Cracks Recipe Book published in 1982.


Cranks Wholemeal Bread

1lb 100% Stoneground Wholemeal Flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon dried yeast
1 teaspoon brown sugar
400 ml warm water

I mix the water yeast and sugar together until the dry things have dissolved and then add that to the flour and salt. The mixture is kneaded enough to combine it, no more, and then shaped and placed in a loaf buttered or oiled loaf tin and left to rise until it's double it's size. It's then either floured again, or in the case of the two loaves in the photograph, glazed with milk, covered in something (pumpkin seeds on one, poppy seeds on the other) and glazed again before baking at 200 degrees for about 35-40 minutes.

As I said, sometimes I give it a good kneading and knock it back after rising before shaping. If it's done like this it won't 'pancake' and so won't necessarily need a tin, and it'll be more bready and stretchy.

New Years Pie

As narrow minded, or narrow-paletted as it might seem, I’m still going to do it and write my fourth blog entry about a subject that I wrote about in my second blog entry. The pie.

It’s not even as if I eat much pastry. I don’t. Having a wife who follows a reasonably restrictive diet and three children who I don’t want to spherise, I’d say we have pastry less often than once a month, at home certainly. What they eat when they’re in town with their friends, from at best The Real Patisserie, and at worst Greggs is another matter altogether.

There’s a majesty when it comes to pies though, a sense of occasion, especially if the pie is a big one that’s going to be shared, and then even more so if it’s the solid type that you cut like a savoury birthday cake. That’s the sort I made. It was about seven inches in diameter and about four and a half inches tall, straight sided, leaf pattern on top, and glazed with egg, and anyway there was a sense of occasion, because it was Christmas or to be precise, just after.

This year, for Christmas dinner we opted for a chicken but the one we got was absolutely massive. So big that we, I particularly, kept opening the fridge door and marvelling at it, or insisting that my family or guests marvelled at it with me. And after feeding five adults and three children (all whom have a healthy appetite, especially when it comes to chicken) I still had at least half the flesh on the bird left. )I told you it was huge). The meat sat in the fridge for a couple of days while I wondered what to do with it, soup? noodles? pasties?, when I happened upon a picture of a pie of Mr Toad-like pomposity and decadence that my mind was instantly made up. I built it (there’s no other word for it), on December 27th and we cut into it on December 30th. It was made with a slightly altered recipe from the River Cottage Meat Book for the pastry (I only had dripping, not lard), and then filled with a mixture of the fore-mentioned leftover chicken, sausagemeat, and a long and slow cooked mixture of onions, leeks and asparagus, all piled up in six layers, two of each ingredient (the veg together counting as one) and when it came out of the oven it was filled with the most intense dark-amber sweet rich jellied chicken stock I think I have ever made. 

It was served cold, in big wedges, mostly on the evening of the 30th December with one wedge leftover to be secreted into my pocket on a New Year’s Eve walk.

A Pie Of Mr. Toad-Like Decadence

For The Pastry:

13oz Plain Flour

2.25oz Beef Dripping

2.25oz Butter

2 small Eggs

1 teaspoon salt

135ml water

For The Filling:

The cooked meat from half a massive chicken (or all the meat from a chicken and a half)

The meat from six large good sausages

2 x onions

2 x leeks

1 x bunch of asparagus

1 x pint of very good dark chicken stock

4 x leaves gelatin

I made the pastry according to the River Cottage Meat Book, but substituting the lard for dripping. I put the dripping, butter and water in a saucepan and heat gently until melted (but don't let it boil). The flour and salt went in a mixing bowl then the eggs in a well in the centre, stirred around until they're mixed a bit and then the fat and water mixed in until it forms a dough (you can a dd a bit more water if it's too dry).The pastry went in the fridge to chill for at least an hour or it's too sot and liquid.

Meanwhile I got on with the filling. The chicken was already torn up and ready, and the sausagemeat just needed releasing from the skins. The vegetables were very slowly stewed together in olive oil with herbs and seasoning for a good 20 minutes.

When chilled I rolled the pastry out and lined the buttered cake tin with it, leaving it drooping over the sides The tin was seven inches across, oh and lined the bottom with parchment to be on the safe side.

To assemble I packed in half the sausage meat, followed by half the veg mixture, followed by half the chicken, and then repeated. The top was laid on, crimped around the edges, a 1cm hole cut out of the middle and leave decorations added before glazing. The into the oven (at 180 degrees) for 30 minutes. Then the temperature went down to 160 degrees for another one and a half hours.

While the pie cooked I heated up the stock and added the gelatin, then let it cool and once the pie was out and had chilled a little I carefully poured the stock into the hole in the top until it couldn't take any more. The into the fridge and the next morning it was released from the tin. Serious stuff.

Two Breakfasts

I'm sure the prospect of catering for 'special' diets induces a combination of fear, dread and irritation in a lot of cooks and chefs, but I find them quite an inviting challenge. I'm used to them. Solutions have to be found, alternatives sought, sacrifices made and often what ends up on the plate is more interesting and innovative than what would have otherwise been served up had I been allowed to stick to what I know or what a recipe dictates. It used to be wheat-free, but my wife is currently following a diet that is low-fat, vegan (sort-of), but encourages the consumption of fish, allows egg whites, though no yolks, and prohibits the use of any refined oils, so everything has to be cooked with extra virgin olive.

As much as I enjoy the challenge and while I'm pleased with how I manage to rise to it, occasionally it's tricky. When there's been a less than full larder, or when I've had little time and hungry kids to feed who've had to rush off to their numerous extra-curricular activities it's been a case of baked beans on toast (allowed, as long as the bread is homemade and thus unadulterated by the forbidden ingredients, and there's no butter on the bread). We like beans on toast though, so it's fine.

Influenced by a friend at school, and in an attempt to shed a few pounds, one of my children has decided to embark on a diet free of carbohydrate, or as close to free from as possible. It's not surprising how often carbohydrate appears in family meals as pasta, bread, potatoes and such like make such plentiful and cheap ballast to fill growing stomachs. The problem with my daughter is that it's a case of replacement rather than just removal.
'What am I having instead of the bread?' she asked the other evening when I'd made her siblings bean and paprika casserole on toast with fried chorizo sprinkled on top.
'I've grilled you some aubergine' I said, only to be told that the aubergine was replacing the chorizo, not the chorizo and the bread.

When it comes to breakfast, while fruit or porridge can be suggested without protests in the week there's something about a Sunday that demands a little more luxury. She made this herself, with suggestions from me, improvised around what we had (no bacon but a stick of French salami). It looked great, and she assured me it was just as good to eat.

Breakfast Salad with Boiled Egg and Crispy Salami

a handful of mixed salad leaves (bitter ones in there if possible)
1/4 red onion, very thinly sliced
1/2 ripe hass avocado, sliced
some cress
1/4 green pepper, sliced
1 x egg (soft boiled)
a dozen or so slices of a thin french salami
E. V. Rapeseed oil
a squeeze of lemon

It was a just an assembly really. The leaves, pepper, avocado, cress, and onion combined and piled onto the plate after being dressed with a little of the oil and lemon. The egg was soft boiled and balanced on top before being split, the yolk making a lovely rich 'sauce'. The salami was fried until crisp, drained of excess oil and then scattered over the top before a final dressing of rapeseed oil.

Pancakes with Date Syrup and Sesame Seeds

The 'fancy' breakfast above was made all the more necessary since my other daughter (younger sister), after a sleepover with a friend, was having pancakes. Just normal wheat flour, egg and milk batter pancakes topped with all their usual favourites (nutella, lemon and sugar etc.). I allowed myself just the one, and influenced by my purchase of the new Ottolenghi book 'Jerusalem' my wife suggested I try date syrup instead of maple. I did so with a little butter and toasted sesame seeds. It was excellent. The syrup was rich and sweet while earthy and wholesome, and the sesame seeds contributed a dusty nutty taste which gave the whole assembly a feeling of maturity with a hint of the exotic. If the pancakes had been a touch thinner and a tiny bit crisper on the edges it would have been faultless. I'll do this again.

Pies (chicken)

Some two or three birthdays ago my wife bought me a class at a cookery school in Brighton where I learnt how to bone-out a chicken. It was a brilliant lesson and has since become a much used skill. I'm no expert, but I can, in the space of about half an hour take a plucked gutted chicken and divide it into two breast portions, two completely boned out leg portions (and that's boned out so that the drumstick remains 'closed' and is thus stuffable), four wing pieces, a pile of minced chicken meat and a carcass ready to roast and make into stock. Enormously enjoyable and I'd recommend it to anyone. Here's where I did it. And here's the results of my labours (I cut the four portions into eight as there were a number of mouths to feed):

So after a recent burst of re-practising these skills I decided to make some chicken pies.

A couple of years ago, after enjoying a few visits to a great pie shop in Birmingham (Urban Pie) I started looking for some individual pie tins the same height as the ones they used. No joy, so I wrote directly to them (Urban Pie) and explained how I wanted to try and re-create their delicious pastries but hadn't had any luck finding the utensils. What do you know, they sent me a set of eight of their used tins. What a nice company. I've since linked to their shop from my website.

Being so deep, the pie tins they sent me haven't often got used. The pastry needs cutting and shaping into the base, the sides and the top as dropping in a sheet means creases-galore up the sides, but after making the pie mixture last week I thought it'd be worth the effort. It was, and here's the recipe:

Chicken, Bacon and Mushroom Pies

1 x onion

2 x garlic

1 x a big pile of mushrooms

1 x a pile of chicken meat, skinned

1 x a knob of butter

1 x a glug of olive oil

1 x a big spoonful of flour

1 x a slosh of milk

1 x a tub of chicken stock (from the carcass of course)

1 x a load of herbs (thyme, parsley, rosemary, bay)

1 x a slosh of cream

I fried off the onion and garlic in the oil and butter, then added the bacon to crisp it up a bit, then the mushrooms and chicken. After it had all had a good fry I stirred in the flour, and then the milk and stock a little at a time to create a lovely creamy sauce. In went the herbs, the cream and lots of black pepper and I let it simmer for about fifteen minutes on a low heat.

I then let it cool right down before generously filling the pie tins which had been lined with a simple un-measured pastry of about three quarters white to one quarter wholemeal flour, salt and butter. The lids went on, a generous egg wash (just yolks but only because I'd used the whites for my unusual quiche/vegetable pie - watch this space) and then in the oven set to about 180ºC for a good 30-35 minutes. They looked great as you can see. They tasted just as good.

Bread

I open the oven door to check. I don't need to as the loaves have only been in for five minutes, and I shouldn't as I know that it will let some of the precious steam escape and the results won't be quite as perfect as they would be if I were able to resist and patiently wait until the timer goes off. But I can't, every time without exception I open the door for a quick look. I'm like a new father checking on his baby sleeping in their cot. I want to see if they're ok, but I also want to stand back and proudly look at what I've made.

That’s what I love about baking bread. It’s everything you need to feel fulfilled. It’s instant creation and the creation of something which everyone else will smell and see and want there and then while it’s still warm. It’s exercise. It’s the provision of something that sustains. It’s basic, simple, unpretentious and ancient.

I bake as much as I need to, which with five people in my house and three of them hungry children, ends up being roughly every other day. A simple recipe with only four ingredients: flour, water, salt and yeast, but the results are always different.

The bread comes out of the oven and sits on the side ‘singing’. it’s new crust cracks and pops as it adjusts itself to the sudden drop in temperature, as it ‘settles down’.

And then it’s a new waiting game. I’m desperate to cut it in half and see if I’ve achieved what I’m always hoping for; huge air bubbles like a Swiss Emmental cheese, uneven holes which never fail to impress. But I have to wait until it cools down. You can’t slice hot bread without destroying it.