Bread Making and Baking

“Give us this day, our daily bread” – A line we are all familiar with I imagine, perhaps because we had to recite it in assembly every morning for the first ten years of our education, and then in the school chapel thereafter for those of you who attended an institution where either nuns were in charge, or the figures in loco parentis dictated you had to spend the first hour of your day murmuring betwixt the buttresses.

Of course we cannot forget Sir Cliff Richard’s uplifting rendition of ‘The Lord’s Prayer’, which as it was a couple of thousand years out of copyright he decided to rename ‘The Millennium Prayer’ and sang, no, wafted out on Top of the Pops, twice, over a score of predictable orchestral monotony backed up by a gospel choir almost as ethnically diverse as the “save the world” video montage projected behind.

I’m not a cynic; I just don’t like the song and don’t trust someone that doesn’t age at the regular rate. When I was fifteen my mother bought me a Cliff calendar for Christmas, within were various photos of the knight himself be-straddling Harley Davidson motorbikes draped in the Stars and Stripes, most probably taken in his garden in Surrey for a generation of over 70s to swoon over. All credit to the guy, over five decades in the business means his original songs are falling out of copyright, he needs to get his royalties somewhere and if that means shooting a faux-American Gregorian time keeper on his driveway then so be it. Fortunately for me however it has not become an annual tradition in my house, I will hold onto it though, who knows, when Cliff finally pops his clogs in 2090 it may be worth something.

SO, our daily bread, and it is daily. Take sandwiches for instance, far too often we focus on the filling and forget the walls when really they are what locks everything together. A bowl of soup is just baby food without a crusty buttered roll; and toast, what would toast be without bread? Air, that’s what.

Last week I watched the ‘Great British Food Revival’ with Michel Roux Jr, as he implored us to stop buying processed supermarket bread and have a go at baking our own. I was implored, along with my mother, so we went to the local bakers and ordered some fresh yeast having already experimented with the ‘dried active yeast’ they sell at Tesco, which is crap incidentally. It turns out that you need very little yeast to make a loaf of bread, but can only order relatively large amounts from the bakers. Hence a large proportion of yesterday and this week was and will be spent kneading, folding, crumbling, dusting and of course eating - the result pictured is my attempt at Michel’s ‘sweet sandwich loaf’ flavoured with Golden Syrup. A few weeks ago I was loitering around the offices of Eat Me Magazine in east London and was lucky enough to shake hands with the man himself post interview, I’d like to think some of his magic has passed onto me, like Voldemort and Harry, without all the evilness and parcel tongue.

The bread tasted fantastic still warm and smeared in a healthy dollop of salted English butter, give the recipe a go at -

http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/sandwich_bread_loaf_93879

Butter Chicken

I was saddened yet unsurprised to hear that a friend of mine came face to fist this weekend past, as a group of heathen youths stripped him of his mobile phone whilst he entered a night club in Brixton. “Unsurprised” not because he is an easy target or an arsehole, he has his moments, but after watching Britain’s finest making off through the window of ‘Hatworld’ this August carrying, well, hats; I’d say he got off relatively lightly compared to some of the people affected by the mass rioting. Who knows, if he’s lucky his unsavoury assailants may upload a poorly planned viral and lead the fuzz straight to their door. But I doubt it.

My weekend didn’t pass without incident either you’ll be pleased to hear. As I sat on the central line from Ealing Broadway in my very own carriage, a drunken Indian man boarded at North Acton and sat opposite me, at once engaging me in slurred and uninvited conversation which I tried my very hardest to deflect. The solitude which I had walked so far down the platform for had come back to bite me in the behind, hypothetically speaking of course. Or so I thought.

Having originally sat opposite me for his first few questions, the answers to which were: “No, I’m not married”, “Yes, I do have a girlfriend”, and “No, I do not want a sip of your beer”, he moved over and sat beside me, placed his hand on the small of my back and asked for “just one kiss”. As you can imagine my answer was a resounding “NO”, at least, it would have been had I not first jumped up and threatened to knock his fucking lights out if he didn’t get off at the next stop. The portly fellow who had since boarded at the other end of the carriage remained silent, a few more stops down the line and I moved to the next carriage feeling dirty and used, the ambience had been affected.

By the time I reached Old Street I was in reasonable spirits and ready to divulge my experience to my friends, I left the station with the spring back in my step and came across ‘young professional’ who was giving his phone a whack on the metal railing outside. I misread his facial expression and made a jovial remark in passing and was met with at least four fingers and a barrage of abuse laced with pure hatred.

They say that bad things happen in threes, so far I had been both sexually and verbally abused, my guard was up.

Strike three came at around 1am when after disembarking the tube with a friend I had bumped into to go to a party that didn’t exist, Natwest decided once again to cancel my card, something I wasn’t banking on. The tubes were shut and I had not a penny to my name, the ensuing phone call to my to my sleeping girlfriend and her piggy bank were received surprisingly well and I managed to make it home for £30 of her money.

I would like to dedicate this dish to Lachie, who took one on the chin for the rest of us. To my girlfriend, for having cash and patience. To the people at ‘Hatworld’, just because. And finally, to myself, for being felt up and talking about it.

Ingredients: (Serves 4)

5 chicken breasts cut into 2” chunks

1 large red onion, very finely sliced

2 cans chopped tomatoes

2 large cloves garlic, crushed into paste

2cm fresh root ginger, crushed into paste

½ cup of water

40g salted butter

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1 tspn cumin seeds

1 tspn medium chilli powder

1 tspn cinnamon powder

1 tspn turmeric powder

1 tspn dried fenugreek leaves

1 tspn of curry leaves

2 tspns garam masala

4 green cardamoms, crushed

2 black cardamoms, crushed

1 bay leaf

Salt

Rice to serve

Method:

1. Poach the chicken for 10 minutes in boiling water, or until cooked through, strain and set aside.

2. In a thick-bottomed frying pan/skillet heat the vegetable oil and fry the cumin seeds and curry leaves till brown and aromatic, add the ginger and garlic, the turmeric, chilli powder, ½ cup of water, pinch of salt and garam masala, stir over a high heat. After a minute throw in the cardamoms, cinnamon, fenugreek leaves, bay leaf and butter, melt it in and stir continuously, throw in the onions and toss to coat.

3. After a couple more minutes of stirring you should have a thick brown and seriously smelly sauce, in a good way. Now pour in the chopped tomatoes and stir thoroughly, turn down the heat and simmer for another 5 minutes so all the flavours get right into the tomato. Finally put the cooked chicken in and cover it in tastiness, simmer for another 5 minutes and serve piping hot with rice.

The Big Apple Crumble

For years I have fantasised about following the puritans, Italians, and hungry Irish over the North Atlantic in search of liberty, large portions, and more currently Amber Heard and medicinal marijuana to cure my lust and toothache respectively. So it was with gusto and anticipation that I barged onto the plane at Heathrow last week to embark on my first notable journey to the US of A (Disney World and Minneapolis don’t count in my mind, although Epcot was pretty informative and ‘The Mall of America’ is surely something to behold).

We arrived at Newark airport around lunchtime and after explaining my reasons for entering the land of opportunity to the surprisingly amiable customs official, we were on our way.

New York city is a phenomenal place, far more exciting than Old York that’s for sure, not that the Shambles are without charm and York Minster an eye sore, but ‘le grand pomme’ is truly a city that never sleeps. As ethnically diverse as London but all crammed into the relatively small Manhattan Island, the city has an energy which is truly unlike anywhere on earth, and because of its aquatic limits in the Hudson and East River’s the only way is up, and up they went. I spent a great deal of the week bumping into people as I craned my neck in a vain attempt to take everything in; The Rockefeller Centre, The Empire State, The Flatiron, the replacement building adjacent to the incredibly moving and tasteful World Trade memorial. We walked for days around the various districts, taking in NoLita, the Lower East Side, Midtown, the super trendy Meatpacking district (see Standard Hotel for ping pong and bratwurst), visited Lady Liberty and Ellis Island, and even managed to squeeze in the Flight of the Concords walking tour. New York is all you could possibly imagine and much, much more.

Now to the real reason I was there, dressed in tweed and being very English: the wedding of my girlfriends’ cousin Emmy to her fiancé David. I have only had the pleasure of attending one wedding before so have very little to compare my experience to, however I fear henceforth and forthwith I may be let down by every one I ever go to. The bar has well and truly been raised, nay, hoisted into the stratosphere by the incredible food, venue, scotch, music, people, family, wine, scotch, cocktails, setting, angels on horseback, church, scotch. I could go on, but instead I shall merely close by saying thank you very much for having me to the wonderful Maynes family, cheers Uncle Rich for the spread, and I wish all the very best to Mr and Mrs David Wardrop for the future.

U S A . U S A . U S A . U S A . U S A

P.s. I’ll see you in Cali Andy, gotta come get my meds.

Ingredients: (Serves 4)

150g caster sugar

150g salted butter, room temperature, small cubes

150g plain flour

4 large cooking apples, peeled, cored and cut into wedges

1 tablespoon Demerara sugar

2 tspns ground cinnamon

Crème fraiche to serve.

Method:

Preheat the oven to 220ºC.

1. In a blender whiz the butter, flour and caster sugar so it takes on the appearance of breadcrumbs.

2. Place the apple wedges in an ovenproof pie dish, sprinkle with the Demerara sugar and cinnamon evenly. Pour the blended mixture over the top and put in the over for 35 / 40 minutes until lightly browned, serve with crème fraiche.

Crab, Cockle and Mussel Bruschetta with Grilled Mangalica Sausage, Roasted Sweet Soy Tomatoes and a Watercress and Samphire Salad

There were very few lessons that I actually looked forward to at school, being forced to sit through Latin for instance was torturous, whilst surviving a Deutsch double was an achievement paramount to completing a marathon, or swimming the channel. Getting through a Chemistry lesson without event was almost unthinkable, and to that end it rarely actually happened; I recall our teacher (a goth by weekend who re-enacted medieval battles) shouting at my neighbour and close friend Tom. Tom’s answer was to simply stand on his chair and shout back incoherently to cancel out the original directive. Another popular party trick was that of my friend Sam, a Ghanaian of descent and endowed accordingly, who would wait for a quiet moment and thwack the aptly named “Mr Stretchy” against the desk to emanate the sound of a door knocking. Sure enough teach would open the portal to supposed learning to find an empty corridor in front of him and a class of sniggering juveniles behind.

Yours truly wasn’t entirely exempt from the cantankery, and I can assure you that sitting in the second master’s office trying to explain why you mounted a desk, brushed aside a Bunsen and began making vigorous pumping movements with a giant glass gas syringe, is no mean feat. In hindsight I feel rather sorry for the weekly ordeal we inflicted on our professor, trying to explain that to a room of baying fourteen year olds however would be null and void.

I digress. The point which I am trying to make is that the reason we covered so many subjects, which I know now, is so that we are able to home in on things that firstly we are good at, and secondly, and more importantly in my opinion, that we enjoy. Eleven years later and I am still trying to throw myself into new experiences to perhaps find something I will excel at, and if not then just another thing I can tick of my life list.

So it was with intrepidation that I attended the first addition of ‘Supper in a Pear Tree’ hosted by the Partridge sisters; Annabel and Charlotte, in the beautiful studio they work from in Lavender Hill. The evening began with an hour’s lesson in life drawing taught by Charlotte, a fantastic artist and sculptor, followed by a delicious meal cooked by Annabel, who works as sous chef at the Michelin starred ‘Petersham Nurseries’ where I was lucky enough to do a week’s intense work experience. The food was delicious; veal and pork meatballs on polenta in a tomato sauce, along with some delicious fine beans tossed in the signature lemon, olive oil and Tipico cheese that is the staple of the Petersham kitchen.

The evening on the whole was a great success and I imagine will go from strength to strength with the next two months fully booked already, it conspires however that I am not an artist by any stretch of the imagination, I just about managed to get the gender of my figure right after an hour of scribbling and covering myself in charcoal. Hey ho, another vocation expunged from my depleting list of career opportunities.

To vaguely bring it back to the meal below, this is a not too distant variant on a recipe I made at Petersham that involved Dorset Crab, chorizo and radicchio.

Ingredients: (Serves 4)

Small pot of cooked mussel meat from the deli counter, 20 mussels approx.

Small pot of cooked cockle meat from the deli counter, 20 cockles approx.

Crab meat from 2 small crabs

2 Hungarian Mangalica sausages

3 tablespoons of mayonnaise

Juice of ½ a lemon

Zest of ½ a lemon, leave a little for garnishing

Small handful of fresh chives, finely chopped, save some for garnishing

Chilli oil

Extra virgin olive oil

Salt and Pepper

1 pack fresh samphire

1 pack watercress salad

1 clove garlic, crushed and finely chopped

Small knob of salted butter

12 cherry tomatoes

2 tspns of white sugar

1 tablespoon dark soy sauce

4 slices of fresh brown bread, buy an unsliced Vienna shaped loaf

You’ll need a griddle pan and a frying pan for this one.

Method:

1. Put some tin foil on a baking tray, pierce the cherry tomatoes with a knife to get their juices flowing, sprinkle with the sugar and soy and roast in the top half of the oven for 10 minutes.

2. Pull the skin of the sausages and cut them down the middle lengthways.

3. In a bowl mix the mayonnaise with the lemon juice, zest, chives, a small slug of extra virgin olive oil and the chives, mix together thoroughly with a little seasoning. Add the crab, cockles and mussels to the bowl and stir in well. Set aside. (You can cook the mussels, cockles and crab from scratch, I didn’t because I hadn’t the time).

4. Heat the griddle pan over a medium / high heat and grill the sausages on either side, don’t worry about putting any oil in as the sausages will release their own when they begin to cook. When they are grilled on both sides take them off and keep warm. In the same pan pour in a slug of olive oil and grill the bread on both sides until slightly browned.

5. Whilst the sausages and bread are cooking melt the butter in a frying pan, add the garlic and samphire and fry for 3 minutes over a medium heat. Take off and toss into the watercress with a little more olive oil and a squeeze of lemon juice.

6. To plate up whack a piece of bruschetta on the plate and drizzle a little chilli oil on it, add a spoon or two of the seafood mix and sprinkle a little lemon zest and chives on top. Dump a handful of the salad on the plate and half a grilled sausage, a few tomatoes around and about and you’re ready to go.

Spicy Chapatti Flour Chicken Goujons with Sweet Potato Pakora in an Indian Red Pepper Salsa

It was a scary weekend for several reasons; on Saturday I endured a full seven hours of relentless children’s games in the kids chain of Ralph Lauren on New Bond Street, I hasten to add that I am gainfully employed by a legitimate company to do so and wasn’t simply hanging around. Usually the parties only last two hours and leave you bordering delirium through onset of fatigue, so you can imagine that keeping a hoard of six year olds on a sugar rush engaged and enthused from midday to soirée was somewhat draining. I left at 7pm half the man I was earlier on in the day, my head battered and bruised from a game of “catch the big smelly rat” (me) that turned violent, my wrist nigh on fractured having executed an imperfect “worm”, and my face painted like an evil skeleton for the second time that day having lost the first coat in a round of unsuccessful apple bobbing. I needed a drink.

Picking up a bottle of Vodka en route to a friends I became hot and flustered, this meant disrobing on the tube to a point of public acceptability whilst preventing my face paint from sweating off, I managed this with some dignity and made it to my destination visage intact. That particular bit wasn’t scary, just a contextual precursor as to the geography of the developing yarn, what happened next though was frankly spine chilling. My girlfriend came over to talk to me as I was sifting through music on itunes and completely by accident knocked a glass of the host’s lethal and sticky “Booger” punch all over the host’s laptop, and we’re not talking a £300 colourful little Dell, oh no, it was a brand spanking new 17” Macbook Pro specced up to the nines worth in excess of £2000. It turned itself off. Gulp.

I did some online trouble shooting and learnt that spillages are not covered by the Apple warranty, and not only that but there is no way you can feign ignorance or bend the truth of circumstance, as of 2008 Macpro laptops are all fitted with liquid strips below the keyboard that change colour as soon as they come into contact with said substances. Financially this could quite possibly be disaster falling halfway between Greece and Enron, fingers crossed.

The 305^th day of the Gregorian calendar chilled the marrow in my bones further still, as I embarked on a journey to darkest Gloucestershire to conduct another two hour stint of juvenile revelry at the back end of beyond. The party was actually a huge success, the bulk of which I owe to my valiant cohort Tamara and her un-quashable enthusiasm. It was the following trip to Cirencester’s Royal Agricultural College to visit my fresher little sister (see lemon posset and pana cotta) that really sealed the weekends infamy with a big, sloppy, sambuca flavoured kiss. Tunnel vision.

You may fail to see where I am going with this, and to be quite honest so am I, my only logic then is to say that I have been hanging out of my arse all day and desperately needed some comfort food after the two and a half hour journey home. This is what conspired.

Ingredients: (Serves 2)

For the chicken:

2 chicken breasts, cut into strips lengthways

1 bowl breadcrumbs

6 heaped tablespoons of chapatti flour

Semi skimmed milk

3 tspns hot chilli powder

Salt and pepper

1 litre of rapeseed oil for deep frying

For the red pepper salsa:

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 tablespoon chilli oil

1 large red pepper, chopped

1 large onion, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic, crushed

3 tomatoes, chopped

2cm root ginger, peeled and chopped

2 tablespoons of tomato purée

6 curry leaves

1 tspn ground mace

3 tspns medium chilli powder

1 litre of water

For the sweet potato pakora:

1 sweet potato, peeled and grated

1 flat tablespoon of corn flour

1 flat tablespoon of plain flour

3 tspns garam masala powder

A slug of semi skimmed milk

Enough rapeseed oil for shallow frying

Chopped spring onions and cherry tomatoes for garnishing

Handful freshly chopped coriander leaves

Method:

1. Start with the red pepper salsa – heat the olive and chilli oil in a pan and add the onion, pepper and tomato and fry for 5 minutes until softened but not browned. Add the garlic, ginger and tomato purée and stir through for a couple of minutes. Now add the mace, chilli powder and curry leaves, along with the water. Simmer uncovered for 15 – 20 minutes over a low/medium heat, stirring occasionally. Take it off the heat and blend it into a smooth salsa, season to taste and keep warm.

2. Whilst the salsa is simmering mix the grated sweet potato in a bowl with the corn flour, plain flour, garam masala powder, and enough milk to make the mixture sloppy but NOT gooey like dough. Do this by adding a little bit at first and then add more, if the mixture is too thick it will turn out like bread and if it’s too thin it wont hold. Heat 2cm of rapeseed oil in a thick bottomed frying pan till it is very hot (test with a breadcrumb), then add small patties of the mix carefully to the pan. They may feel like they’ll fall apart in your hands but as soon as they hit the oil they will hold. Fry and turn until crispy and brown, remove and drain on kitchen towel, keep warm.

3. Heat 1 litre of rapeseed oil in a deep saucepan until very hot. Whilst the oil heats up mix the flour in a bowl with enough milk to give it the consistency of double cream, then add the chilli powder and mix through. Bring the batter mix and the breadcrumbs up to the cooker and set up a production line, we’re going Henry Ford. Batter – Breadcrumbs – Oil – Draining Plate. Dunk the chicken strips in the batter, coat with breadcrumbs, carefully drop into the oil and deep fry for a few minutes until golden brown and crispy, remove and drain on the plate. When you are done take the oil off the heat, put a lid on it and leave it cool overnight, you can then pick out any bits and return it to the bottle to re-use a couple of times.

4. Mix the salsa in a bowl with the pakora and the chopped coriander and plate up, place the spicy chicken goujons on top and drop some chopped spring onions and cherry tomatoes over the top. Warm and filling.