The Fantastic Festive 'Fieldshires' Turkey

This time just over a year ago I was sat on my sofa mulling over the past annum, broke but happy, watching the marginally better festive TV line up and peregrinating around the caverns of my mind in search of a Cash Cow to pay for my forthcoming travels.

A year later and sure as eggs is eggs I found myself back on the same sofa, in the same room, with the same emaciated cats and Labrador that’s convinced he’s a Jack Russell and subsequently climbs all over your face, still broke, and still happy. The money I’d managed to scrape together pre-vagrancy had been blown, quite literally in some cases, on everything from curries to coca leaves. I needed a nice little earner.

Cue Facebook, (which continues to supply me with paying jobs through no effort of my own and by complete accident), a message from my elder sister pinged into my inbox instructing me at once to get in touch with Charlie Pyper, the founder, owner, manager and festive farmer responsible for what can only be described as some of the best breasts on a bird I’ve sliced with my Sabatier. The next two days were spent driving round London and the South East delivering Turkeys of all shapes and sizes to places as far fetched as Ilford, where a man identical to Winston Churchill tipped me £6, and Croydon, home of Kate Moss. I even dropped a bird off in a fictional place called Epsom, which up until now I thought was a make of printer.

After two days, 20 birds, 300 and something miles and a Thermos of Heinz chicken soup, I was on the home stretch with a single lonesome Turkey left in the boot of my car. Now I have a confession to make, in my eagerness to get home I navigated a roundabout rather too aggressively and out flew the bird, thumping with biblical force into the side of the car before rolling to a rest on it’s back, I felt the car snake from the sheer force of the blow and struggled to regain control of the back end as under steer took hold. By the time I managed to pull over my load had collected a fair amount of dirt from the floor of the boot, I brushed it off and stuffed it back in its box, and like a mischievous delinquent swore I’d never tell. Alas, my conscience has got the better of me only a week after my foul faux pas, so I am using this here web to purge my guilt ridden soul.

Fortunately for me my mother can’t work her mobile phone, let alone a computer, so the chances of her reading this and uncovering the truth about our Christmas lunch are slim to none. Not that it made any difference to the meat however; Fieldshires Turkeys are reared ranging free, they have a healthy diet and plenty of sun (Essex is statistically the driest county in Britain), pound for pound they are fantastic value and I can guarantee you wont find a better tasting bird in Britain.

Check out the Fieldshires website @ www.fieldshires.com and buy your Turkey for 2012. 

Top Tip: 

Get the dog to help with the sprouts.

Broccoli, Spinach and Stilton Soup

On the 25^th of October this year, the day after my birthday, and Wayne Rooney’s, in an enclave of Leicestershire that would be of no relevance in particular should it not be for its proximity to Britain’s ‘Rural Capital of Food’ Melton Mowbray, a world record breaking lump of Stilton cheese tipped the scales at 140kg.

To make ‘The Beast’ as it has become affectionately known, The ‘Long Clawson Dairy’ used 824 litres of full fat milk, 1.8kg of salt, 190ml of vegetarian rennet (a naturally occurring substance that acts as a coagulant), and 0.0003g of dairy cultures, a form of bacteria. After 12 weeks of maturing it was ready to be sliced open and enjoyed on a massive Carr’s water biscuit.

A few years ago I was on a beach in the north east of Greece about 100km east of Thessaloniki, in a peculiar camp site not entirely unlike a run down Baltic Butlins filled with large Greek families headed by portly patriarchs and matriarchs serving up saganaki. This wasn’t that unusual; the fact that a trance festival was going on around them in the same site however certainly made for some interesting observations and conversations. It was certainly a reality check on a few occasions for wasted revellers, myself included, as we encountered holidaying families and their children playing on a beach in blissful sobriety, seemingly unaware of the goings on around them. There was a point when I got a few strange looks as I marched to the beach and began stuffing rocks into a rucksack to take them back to my campsite, in order to make a border for an elaborate network of pathways that a friend and me had created to pass the time whilst waiting for our friends to arrive from the airport.

Another thing one does at these festivals after constructing the ultimate ergonomic camping area, is experiment with mind altering substances. Never one to shy away from a new experience I recalled an article I’d read detailing the effects of ingesting excessive amounts of blue cheese on the mind, and thought I’d give it a go. 500g of cheese later and I certainly felt very different, delirious in fact, not helped by the forty degree heat, however if you can get past these initial side effects I'm sure it'll make a far nicer tipple than the so called 'Meow Meow' or even those horse tranquilisers some people seem to be snorting. In fact, I may start dealing Stilton. 

The answer then is, like many things in life, moderation. You don’t need 140kg of Long Clawson stilton, 1 will be quite enough for this recipe, and to last you and your water biscuits into the new year.

Ingredients: (Serves 6)

1 large white onion

1 large bag of spinach

1 head of broccoli

1 tablespoon plain flour

Healthy knob of butter

Salt and Pepper

2.5 litres of vegetable stock

150g stilton

Double cream to garnish

Method:

1. In a large saucepan heat the butter and cook the onions until soft but not brown, chuck in the flour and stir through. Add the vegetable stock and broccoli and bring to the boil, turn the heat down and simmer for 6 minutes. Add the spinach and stir in so it wilts, simmer for another few minutes until the broccoli is cooked.

2. Take the saucepan off the heat and blend the contents either in a processor or with a hand held blender, the latter is far easier. Add a slug of double cream and stir it through, crumble up lumps of stilton into the soup and stir so they melt, season, serve.

Brazilian Seafood Vatapa

I do love a Brazilian; well kept, directive, hygienic, hard working, great sense of humour, a love of psy trance, and now thanks to untapped natural resources and all the above it's a pretty good place to be drilling for the crude.

In 2007 I found myself upon Ipanema beach in Rio de Janeiro buying the country’s flagship tipple the Caipirinha, for 4 Brazilian reais, which at the time equated to just under a pound for a fairly healthy slug of rum that would get you whistling. Four years came to pass and once again I was lying, suggestively perhaps, on the very same beach sipping from the same Brazilian cup, staring out at the same iconic view surrounded by the same humbling physiques, but something had changed. After a short period of mulling it hit me right in the groin; inflation.

Whilst the rest of the world has been nose diving into the worst recession in decades, Brazil has been steadily growing into one of the world’s fastest developing economies, a brick state in an otherwise faltering fiscal environment. Great for the Brazilians but not for the discerning/tight fisted and frugal traveller hoping for a cheap ride; my 2011 Caipirinha came in at almost double the cost of the previous one that I’d ingested only four years earlier.

I’m not here to moan about money, lord know there’s enough of that going on at the moment without me adding to the mix, and although the prices over there are rising they still don’t hold a candle to the cost of a pint in London at the moment (maybe a little moan). I walked into the Earl of Lonsdale last week, a Sam Smiths pub and subsequently the cheapest option in town for beers, to be met with the new price of £3.05, up from the £2.45 I’d paid there a couple of weeks earlier. An outrage, it would almost be cheaper to get pissed on Petrol, although from experience I can tell you that’s not a good idea; not a ‘Withnail and I’ moment I hasten to add, I simply misjudged the ferocity with which to suck on the hosepipe whilst attempting to siphon fuel from my Dad’s tank in order to get to a party a few years ago. Desperate times.

I would like to suggest then, that if you find yourself bent over your flower bed regurgitating any form of distilled fossil fuel after a last ditch attempt to get to a party to drown your sorrows, don’t go. Save the fuel, sell it, along with whatever belongings and dignity you have left, and make for Brazil, the promised land, where you will find beaches paved with sand and bodies paved with gold, more petrol than you could dream of swallowing and an economy booming like a bass bin. Live vicariously, if only for a week or two, I guarantee it’ll put a smile back on your face.

To this and that end, check out my first officially published article in the next edition of ‘Eat Me Magazine’, a city experience of Rio de Janeiro, available in selected W H Smith stores, a number of points of transit, and the big wide web. 

Ingredients: (Serves 6)

20 uncooked king prawns, shells still on

10 Madagascan crevettes, shells still on

500g mussels, de-bearded

110ml coconut milk

70ml coconut cream

440ml fresh fish stock

Chilli oil

1 large white cooking onion, roughly chopped

2 large tomatoes, roughly chopped

30g fresh root ginger, grated

3 large red chillies, seeded and roughly chopped

3 cloves garlic, crushed

1 tablespoon palm sugar

50ml palm oil

Juice of 1 lime

70g roasted peanuts, grinded into powder

60g cashew nuts, grinded into powder

140g fresh white breadcrumbs

Rice for ya plates

Freshly chopped coriander to garnish

Method:

1. Mix the coconut milk and breadcrumbs together in a bowl, set aside and allow to soak for 20 minutes to half an hour before blending it into a smooth paste.

2. Whilst the breadcrumbs are soaking shell the prawns and crevettes and boil the shells in the fish stock, along with the tomatoes, turn the heat down to low and simmer for half an hour. When this is done grab a sieve and strain the liquid into another bowl taking care to push out as much juice from the tomatoes and shells, chuck them away and keep the fishy tomato broth.

3. In a large pan add an inch of water and bring to the boil, throw in the mussels and cover, steam them for a few minutes until they open up, make sure to throw away any that haven’t and put the pan of mussels to one side.

4. In a skillet boil the chopped onion in an inch or so of water till it softens, drain it and chuck it in a food processor along with the chopped chilli. In the same skillet heat a slug of chilli oil and add the blended mixture back into the pan with the palm oil, turn the heat down low and cook for 5 minutes before slamming in the ginger and garlic and cooking for another 3 minutes. Now stir in the finely ground peanuts and cashews and cook for another minute or so.

5. Add the breadcrumb/coconut mix along with the fishy broth and stir well, bringing it to the boil before turning the heat down once more and reducing the liquid to a thick smooth consistency, a bit like your morning oats. Now chuck in the prawns, coconut cream and lime juice and cook for another few minutes till they change from grey to pink, when this happens add the mussels as well. Some in the their shells and others out to give it a nice look whilst avoiding being to shell heavy and frankly annoying to eat.

6. Rice on a plate, bit of coriander, and you’ve got a very tasty supper.

Obviously this one contains nuts and shellfish so be warned. 

Whisky Seared Scallops

We don’t eat nearly enough of our own shellfish in the British Isles, which is a crying shame as we have some of the best in world. Instead it gets shipped twenty miles south to the French who turn it into the sublime, whilst we on home shores make do with cod, haddock, plaice or sole. These are all great fish in their own right, don’t get me wrong, however our general ignorance and frequent stubbornness as a nation of consumers has, over time, channelled us into a rather unadventurous set of fishy doldrums, humoured occasionally by squalls of ‘smoked salmon’ masquerading as faux-swanky-canapés during the small talking foretaste to a dinner party.

‘The Big Fish Fight’ has attempted with some success, to bring back our home grown produce to the tables of Britain, however there is still a long way to go before we are regularly eating mussels for instance. The coast of Britain harvest some of the best in the world yet you’re lucky to find a single bag in Tesco, and if you do they’re more than likely frozen, or worse still ready cooked in a plastic pot. Then there’s the lonesome Cornish clam, Waitrose is the only super market I’ve found that stocks them and even then you quite often have to pre-order.

“But they’re expensive and a hassle”, I hear people say.

Wrong on both counts in fact; you can quite happily feed a family of four with a huge bag of mussels for under a fiver and they cook in five minutes. Cream, leeks, butter, crusty bread, boom. Next question?

There is really no excuse for being selfish to the shellfish, the furthest geographical point away from the sea in the UK is Church Flats Farm near Coton in the Elms, Derbyshire, and that’s only 70 miles from the bountiful Norfolk Wash. So with the planned raise of the national speed limit from 70 to 80mph, you could stay with Henry and Joyce Blackwell in the evening and try some of their home grown lamb, and the following day scream down to Skeggy for a spot of fishing. Perhaps even stay at Butlins, if that’s your vibe?

I conclude then; when Hugh Grant spoke of Britain being “A great country, a country of Shakespeare, Churchill, The Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter, David Beckham’s right foot, David Beckham’s left foot come to that”, he should have spared a word or two for our mussels, our cockles, our clams and our scallops.

Rule Britannia.

 Ingredients: (Serves 4)

20 British scallops, coral on or off, your choice, I like it

3 British shallots, finely sliced

A slug or two of Scottish whisky

Healthy knob of English butter

Olive oil, European but from one of the colonies

Handful of curly British parsley, finely chopped

Method:

1. Using a sharp knife graze some shallow cross hatching into one side of the scallops. Heat a little oil and butter in a frying pan over a medium high heat and sear the scallops for a minute or so on either side. Throw in a wee drab of whisky and using a match, light the pan, it will flambé instantly and rather vigorously so take care not to set light to yourself. Let it burn for a few seconds, actually 3, then blow it out and take the scallops out of the pan and onto a plate.

2. Return the pan to the heat and add a little more butter and oil, when it’s sizzling chuck in the shallots and fry them till soft. Chuck another wee drab of whisky in and set alight to it, again let it burn off for a few seconds. Now add the cream and mix it in thoroughly whilst still cooking. It’ll make a beautiful golden sauce. After another minute chuck in the parsley, stir it around, take it of the heat, plate up the scallops and pour the sauce on top. I actually returned the scallops to the pan when doing my second lot and tossed them in the sauce before serving. It gave them a real good coating.

Pork Wrapped in Bacon with Super Smash and a Vermouth and Mushroom Sauce

A pig isn’t just for Christmas, you can eat it on Boxing Day too. Sentiments I shared up until a couple of years ago when I found myself driving through Somerset in my 1986 Mercedes 608D, complete with mock oak flooring, tiger print upholstery, 2 hob cooker, Roman tiling, bespoke spice rack, carpeted walls, and of course 1500 watt super sound system. To those of you don’t know what I’m talking about the snub nose 608 is the holy grail of campervans, six and a half tonnes of pure unadulterated metal, a labour of love, and now part of the family. In fact there are so many comparisons between me and my Mercules it is rather uncanny: we were both born in 1986 for starters, and were extremely painful to deliver. We’ve both got a lot of things going on inside, some of questionable taste and none screwed down. Then of course we are a huge drain on resources; in fact having committed to my beloved van I now have a heightened appreciation of my parents and what they did for me in the first 20 years of my life, what they still do for me. The fact is no matter how much care and attention he needs, no matter how much money I have to throw at him to get him around Eastern Europe again so I have a comfy bed to retire to after 24 hours standing in a glorified ditch, listening to the strangely therapeutic roll of a Psychedelic bass line. I will continue to do so, because I love him, and that is the greatest curse a man can be blessed with.

So, as I was saying, me and my Mercules (and my little sister Claudia) were driving through the beautiful rolling hills of Somerset on our way to pick up the latest addition to the ever growing hoard of livestock; a pair of eight week old pedigree Kune Kune piglets. Cute doesn’t even come into it, these two reduced me do a swooning wreck of peculiar noises immediately, and it was all I could do to pay the breeder and sign the ownership papers without joining them both in the mud to see what all the fuss was about.

On the way home the newly named ‘Bangers’ and ‘Mashed’ were good as gold in their box in the back of Mercules, that was until after nearly four hours driving and only a few miles from home they both escaped with a squeal and a snort and joined us up front. It conspires that contrary to popular belief pigs are rather clean and well mannered creatures, of course they appreciate a good wallow, but when it comes to defecation they refuse point blank to pass stool in their sleeping quarters. Poor little Bangers and Mashed were so desperate they simply couldn’t hold on any longer and had staged a daring escape from the confines of their box, in order to crap all over the mock oak floor of my van.

Many a happy hour was spent playing with the two new family members as they ran through the kitchen squealing, chewing the tails of our confused dogs, and repeatedly falling into the neighbouring duck pond prompting a full scale rescue operation. The stories are true, pigs cannot swim.

Anyway, a year or so went by and contrary to what the breeder told us Bangers and Mashed continued to grow at a rather alarming rate. We weren’t after a micro swine plagued with inbred health conditions to carry around in a handbag, however our kitchen garden was fast resembling the Somme and the chance of the vegetable patch surviving were slim to none. It had got to the point where had Bangers decided to go for an impromptu dip it would’ve taken more than one of us to hoist him to safety. After two years it appeared we would have to part ways after all.

I know what you’re thinking, the recipe is a piggy one, but don’t worry, we didn’t send them off to the abattoir to be strung up. What we actually did was to find a piggy sanctuary not too far away from home where the two of them could live happily ever after, and we could visit them whenever we wanted. Alas Bangers died from a heart attack shortly after he arrived (perhaps his naming pre-ordained his fate), Mashed however lives on happily, burrowing around, snuffling, and doing general piggy things.

This recipe is a celebration of our 45 million year old friends, the wonderful, lovable, and not so dirty pig. 

Ingredients: (Serves 4)

1 pork filet (loin)

16 rashers streaky bacon (2 packs)

Wholegrain mustard

8 large potatoes, Desiree or Maris Piper will do

1 head of brocolli, pulled into medium florettes 

1 leek, chopped finely

2 shallots, chopped finely

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

2 tablespoons of runny honey

2 tspns English mustard

200g chestnut mushrooms, finely sliced

100g butter

1 tablespoon plain flour

400ml vegetable stock 

150ml dry vermouth

Olive Oil

1 egg

50ml double cream

Salt and Pepper

Asparagus to garnish (in season in spring, mine tasted bland)

Method: 

Preheat the oven to 220 degrees centigrade.

1. Lay out the streaky bacon on the work surface slightly overlapping each piece, pat the pork filet dry on kitchen towel and position it in the middle of the bacon. Smother it in wholegrain mustard then wrap the bacon around the filet, place it on a baking tray and put it at the bottom of the oven, cook for 40 minutes. The pork can turn dry if you over cook it so be careful not to overdo it, you want the bacon to be going a little bit crispy on top.

2. Whilst the pork is cooking peel and chop the potatoes into halves, put in a large saucepan with cold water and a pinch of salt. Bring to the boil and cook for 15 minutes until soft, drain in a colander.

3. At the same time as the potatoes are boiling boil the brocolli till soft, strain and set aside. 

4. In a frying pan add a little butter and oil and fry off the leeks until they are soft but not browning, then add a small slug of red wine vinegar and cook it off, take off the heat and set aside. 

5. Mash the potatoes with the double cream, 50g of butter, the egg and lots of seasoning. The heat from the potatoes will cook the raw egg and it will give the mash a great taste and colour.

Now add the leeks, honey, brocolli and English mustard and stir thoroughly until it's all mixed through, this will give you the super smash you want and need.

6. For the sauce melt 50g of butter in a saucepan and add the flour to it, this will become instantly thick and lumpy. Add the stock to it a bit at a time a stir it in, as it absorbs it and becomes thick again you want to continue adding until you reach the right consistency; like double cream. When this happens add the vermouth, mushrooms and shallots, add a little seasoning and simmer until the pork is done. About 20/25 minutes, this will ensure the shrooms and shallots are soft and flavoursome. 

7. When it's all ready dish up the super smash, dump the pork wrapped in bacon on top, surround it  with a pool of the sauce and sling on a couple of steamed asparagus tips (when in season), and you're ready to go.