First bite of the Apple

Well I wasn’t going to, but I was at my wits end with my elderly mobile phone having constantly drained its battery whenever I whipped it out of my handbag to make an important call. I sidled into my local mobile phone shop and whilst the telephonic vendors were otherwise engaged I had a little look at the gleaming new Apple iPhone 3GS. Hmmm it was very intriguing, it could do all manner of things I’d never realised were missing from my life but now I knew I could do such things I felt a sudden need to fill this gap. I’d been deterred from an iPhone previously because of my apparent too long nails for such touch screen manipulation but really it just takes a little getting used to. And it wasn’t long before I’d swapped networks (yes annoying there is only one that an iPhone can communicate over) and found myself a proud possessor of a shiny black iPhone. Then I immediately had to hurtle home to load all my music and see what apps I should adorn my new gadget with. And of course this being a food and travel blog that was one of my themes for app selection. Firstly I could actually access my blog on it, something my BlackBerry hadn’t been able to cope with – too many photographs or something! And within a matter of moments I had furnished myself with a plethora of colourful travel guides, a useful translation app for those tricky menu items, a restaurant locating program, the UK Michelin guide, the huge Epicurious recipe database and even a mobile Ocado app so I could order groceries from wherever I am. I used the Google maps to locate a restaurant we’d forgotten to write the address down of within hours of owning it and the inbuilt camera was also immediately deployed to snap a few of the delicious delights we ate. There’s a great collection of photographic apps so I can recolour photos or rather bizarrely make any picture I take look like a seventies cookbook image. I’ve also got a couple of painting programs so I can while away train journeys both listening to music or an audio book and creating things like the illustrative apple bite picture above, though I don’t feel Van Gogh needs to worry himself too much! I can’t really rationalise my need to have Excel close to me all the time but I blame my inner geek there and now even that desire has been sated. I noticed there was an app to help with grilling meat but feeling I know how to do that task I have managed to resist so far. I’ve also been able to hold myself back from Cooking Mama but I did plump for and am now a big fan of Cooking Quest – a hidden objects game ever so slightly based on the theme of cooking, but still fun nonetheless.
I also have ELLE à table, my French is far from fluent but I have always been fond of the pictures and trying to read the magazine and now that A-A will not be nipping over to Paris regularly it will be harder to get my French recipes magazine fix. And to try and make inroads with my clearly inadequate French I have also uploaded all Michel Thomas’ French lessons CDs. I shouldn’t be too surprised that I have found my little Apple so strangely alluring, I always was a fan of a gadget and this has got to be one of the ultimate ones. This has been my very first foray into the Apple world, I’d been one of those mavericks with another MP3 player not the one that all the boutique hotels in New York provide adapters and chargers for. No I had to be different! And that’s not just because I didn’t fancy white earphones.
As much as I had admired an Apple Mac from a distance I was determined to stick with what I know and what my clients pretty much exclusively have when choosing a new laptop but I can really see the allure.
But for now I am happy to report that I think that I am pretty covered for fruit based communications devices - I have a BlackBerry for work and an Apple for pleasure. Let me know when they bring out an Apricot or even better my favourite RaspBerry but I’ll pass on the Banana as I really don’t like the smell!

Easy like a Sunday lunchtime

As we are staying ‘next the sea’ this weekend when we surface on Sunday morning we sally forth for a final burst of the bright lights and seaside air of Hunstanton. But of course this is English summer so it quickly transforms from persistent drizzle to torrential downpour so a paddle in the sea is pretty much out of the question, not that I think we ever really considered it. So we have to resort to the other seaside activity when the deckchairs are packed away and the donkeys trot to shelter and that’s the amusement arcades. We run into the tawdry lighted hut nearest the car park, shaking off our wet tresses we change some notes into buckets of tuppences and hit the machines. When frequenting these gaudy establishments as a little girl when my grandmother would take me on a day trip to Southport or Blackpool, or even Buxton (you’ve got to love that miniature train) I used to be drawn to the one armed bandits but the fruit machines have been replaced by way more complicated ones now. So D and I eschewed those incredibly noisy things and stuck to the old fashioned 2p slot machines, the ones where the 2 pence pieces drop and hopefully knock some of their coppery friends into the waiting retrieval slot below. Though frankly the coins are considerably more likely to slip down the side and into the bowels of the machine, an action which sadly makes all the right noises but doesn’t give up the goods. But despite the terribly unlikely odds D and I are determined to stick to these machines and inexplicably put untold effort into procuring a little plastic skeleton. One slipped out of D’s grasps and committed suicide down the side of the machine but after further 2 pences were rained into the slot she succeeded in winning one, why this pleased us so excessively is hard to explain perhaps it’s a memory of all the times these machines robbed us of our pennies as children, especially those giant hooks that would tantalisingly hover over a vaguely desirable toy but evade all attempts to grab said item and deliver into our eager hands. Ha, revenge is sweet!
With our vast winnings of a plastic skeleton, 2 lollipops and still with 50 pence in the kitty we felt we could now tackle lunch so much to MC’s relief we head over to Titchwell Manor. As soon as N heard I was off to this neck of the woods for a weekend she said I should check out Titchwell Manor and we were immediately inspired to add it to our culinary destinations list. It’s still raining when we arrive but we have to explore and are very taken by their cottagey looking rooms aptly named Rosemary, Basil, Tarragon etcetera encircling a neat herb garden. D is particularly taken by the Potting Shed a little wooden house with a deck to sit out and catch a few rays over breakfast – sadly not today though.
Soon we are sat cosily in the conservatory watching the torrential seaside rain lash the glass roof and the lush secret garden beyond, grateful for the Sunday roast smells wafting enticingly from the kitchen and the fact we had abandoned thoughts of coastal pursuits in favour of a good feed up. The worse an English summer can fling at you can certainly be tempered by a good hunk of beef. And it looked like the finest of beasts were on offer particularly in the form of one of the set lunches of Roast rib of 28 day matured beef, Yorkshire pudding, duck fat potatoes, red wine gravy - there was also Roast loin of Berkshire pork on offer but I didn't spot as many eager takers. It seemed all around us were appreciative noises coming from contented diners forking beef and Yorkshires.
I was very intrigued by undeniably the largest Yorkshire pudding I've ever seen and spotting a handy baby at a neighbouring table I can vouch for the interesting fact that these giants of the Yorkshire pudding world are as big as a baby's head. But to be honest I'm not as wildly excited by these batter behemoths, I wouldn't say "no" if one turned up on my plate but I don't hanker for them particularly so I opted to explore the menu further and was considerably enamoured by the thought of Organic Red Poll Sirloin (Royal Sandringham Estate don’t you know) with horseradish risotto, pea and oxtail. I know John and Gregg from Master Chef would be yelling "don't you know that risotto is a dish in it's own right, it's not an accompaniment to the main feature" but occasionally I've thought that as delicious as a particular risotto is I'd quite like to move on to another flavour.
But before our beefy loveliness we had the small matter of the starters. D and MC had both opted for the Sunday lunch menu so they had Hobson's choice of local asparagus, duck egg dressing, parsley - not I hasten to add a bad thing but having a wider menu to select from I was determined to eke out the seaside theme and plump for the Brancaster cockles with white wine, shallots, cream and soft herbs. It took me many years to appreciate the joy of the fruits of the sea and I remember the first time I decided to try mussels whilst holidaying in Dijon and became an instant convert. Oysters I conquered on my first visit to Normandy. I think my natural aversion to mussels especially had been a frequent juxtaposition of the black glistening bivalves with the dreaded tomato. Michel the chef in Dijon made a special ‘sans tomates’ version for me and I saw the light. The only throwback to those seafood dodging times is a big preference for my seafood not being fridge cold. The oysters I preferred were the ones we'd topped with slivers of chorizo and grilled rather than just shucked and swallowed and I normally leave the prawns to everyone else unless they are warm. A fat prawn wrapped in a little Parma ham, skewered and then grilled is a very interesting proposition whereas a cold and slightly flaccid one lying there suspiciously close to a tomato laced Marie Rose sauce fills me with total dread.
But the clams were tasty - fiddly I have to admit, more work than mussels but with undeniably pretty shells, albeit a lot of them.
After our starters were polished off it was the turn of the beef, bring on the beasts! D and MC’s plates were a towering glory of beef crowned with the gargantuan Yorkshire puddings which they consumed with gusto.
Mine was the more elegant organic sirloin with horseradish risotto and added peas and oxtail. It is stylish, hearty and utterly delicious. There is a yummy breaded nugget of oxtail nestling in some gorgeous risotto with three slices of pink, juicy beef – this is Sunday lunch heaven!
To accompany all our beef we have a wonderfully verdant bowl of spring greens and another of broccoli gratin which seems incredibly apt when surrounded by all glistening greenery through the glass.
With the benefit of hindsight I should have chosen the hot Valrhona chocolate fondant but wanting to go against type I chose the elderflower and lemon tart with Italian meringue and raspberries. It certainly looked pretty and summery, topped with little elderflowers and tasted okay but just not outstanding. The lemon just wasn’t tart enough, it was just a tad bland but then the main course had been a lot to live up to.
D has selected the dessert with her name all over it, the apricot consommé with almond sorbet, marzipan and basil. Not my idea of a good time but then it wasn’t my name all over it! She was extremely happy claiming it to be one of the best desserts she’d ever had. Hmm I think I may have to return to this place and go for the chocolate fondant as it clearly had my name all over it but I chose to ignore the signs.
MC went for the rhubarb and liquorice sorbet with meringue and compressed fruits; he seemed to enjoy his unusual combination.
The conservatory at Titchwell Manor is an oasis of culinary calm from the delights of the June weather outside. We all decide that we’ve eaten enough to sink a small battleship but bizarrely we still want to check out the opening of the Yurt restaurant at Drove Orchards. Though the proviso is that we don’t eat anything no matter how many delicious plates of intriguing nibbles they wave in front of us. However truth be told I did succumb to a small wedge of a Scotch egg. A proper home-made Scotch egg is a wonderful thing and if this is indicative with the Yurt has to offer on future occasions I think another visit is definitely in order. Though not today as that sliver of breaded egg nearly pushed me over the edge.
Titchwell Manor was a fabulous recommendation by N and I am definitely drawn to the place perhaps even for a visit sometime. Perhaps I can surrender to that fabulous Valrhona chocolate fondant and then give them that third fork. Not that it was lacking as truly the memory of that succulent beef will linger for a long time, I know that D would definitely not concur but I didn’t end on a high. Hmmm, I wonder if they’re free next Sunday.

Journey to the bottom of the sea

So just to ensure this weekend was pretty much about food, and perhaps a bit of shopping, we stopped off on the way back to the cottage to secure at table at Titchwell Manor for Sunday lunch. That done we then we got ready to come out to our much anticipated meal at the Neptune Inn. I’d done my usual trick of forgetting that a trip to the English Seaside even in a month that purports to be ‘summer’ will probably require some warm layers and sadly possibly various garments of rain protection. I was working on that age old premise that ‘I’m on holiday’ and therefore will dress accordingly, but this is Norfolk, it is June and they say the wind is very lazy around these parts – i.e. it doesn’t go around you, it goes right through you! Fortunately our trip to Holt meant that I had manage to procure a useful extra cover up and though my new wrap will be forever referred to as my ‘furry fairy wings’, though not some device to advertise being out with my like-minded attired girlfriends on the razzle on a hen night I hasten to add but I will concur that the design on the back did seem to conjure up a glamorous bat at rest. But at least I was warm!
The restaurant was one of those neutral modern places, cappuccino walls and high back stripy chairs with linen clad tables. If I was being hyper critical then I would say it was a little gloomy, but some places just want to hamper my recording of their culinary delights and then ending up looking a little murky on this blog despite my best Photoshop efforts. Maybe I will have to resort to the miner’s helmet I was thinking of deploying for restaurant visiting! How fabulous would that look with my new wrap?
Our little amuse bouche was a perfect little crunchy fish finger served in a little Marie Rose sauce (so one end of mine joined D’s) but that was exactly how a fish finger should taste, Fish fingers sandwiches anyone?
To continue the fishy theme D and I immediately opt for the Norfolk Lobster and Five Spice Mousse, Pea Purée and Lobster Salad. We could have also tucked into grilled mackerel with crab salad or seared tuna with black olive dressing. But I think D and I chose very well, the vibrant green soupy purée with that little ‘je ne sais quoi’ hit of five spice and the sweet collops of plump lobster tail partially submerged in the verdant depths. The lot was crowned with the garnish du jour – pea shoots. If I was being critical I thought that that the purée to lobster ratio was a little off but maybe I just wolfed down my lobster too quickly!
MC plumped for the pretty looking Courtyard Farm Ham and Mozzarella Terrine Poached Quail Egg. Oooh do I spy some more micro cress?
We all eschew the fish theme for our main course so instead of the pan fried brill of the red mullet MC and D have the Sedgeford Leg of Lamb, Lamb Sweetbreads, Broad Beans, Potato Purée. I can’t vouch for the lamb but I tasted the potato purée and it was pretty good. The plates were wiped clean to I guess that’s a good sign.
I enjoy the Loin of English Veal, Cauliflower Purée, Deep Fried Veal Tongue, Wild Mushroom Sauce instead and am reminded how much I enjoy a beautiful hunk of English rosé veal. So much tastier than the veal I recall from the first Italian restaurants I ever ate in, way before I’d heard the word ‘provenance’ and understood why we should eat our ethically reared British veal or else calves are culled or shipped off in crates to other countries where they do not have any sort of albeit brief life. I particularly enjoyed the little cylinders of deep fried tongue and the smooth, creamy cauliflower purée.
Our little interlude before the dessert is an Earl Grey jelly topped with milk foam in cute porcelain cups.
True to form we each find a dessert with our name on, I choose the Milk Chocolate Mousse, Ras El Hanout Caramel, Chocolate Sorbet – lots of chocolaty goodness.
D has the light, zesty elegant plate of Poached Peach, Peach Mousse, Mango Sorbet, Raspberry Sauce and Macaroons.
Our resident mouse MC enjoys a Selection of British and French Cheeses, Biscuits and Grape Chutney.
And just when we thought we couldn’t eat another thing they produce a little pot of chocolate with some sugary doughnut sticks to dip into it with a chaser of chocolate truffles. D and MC indulged in these on their last visit so D was able to resist. Even though I don’t normally get excited by doughnuts these sweet twiglets were rather fine. And obviously chocolate sauce is always a good thing!
The Neptune Inn deserves its recently awarded Michelin star; it manages to capture that breezy seaside feel without resorting to hokey lobster pots and nets strewn about the place but with monochrome coastal images and an oyster colour palette. Two forks for the Neptune, I know D and MC and planning a weekend there in August and I am sure they’ll have a truly fabulous time. I am just madly jealous that I have other holiday commitments planned and can’t gatecrash!

Shopping and eating...actually mainly shopping!

We had barely parked the car in picturesque Holt when we found the first ‘must have’ purchase. Holt is awash with little independent shops and artisans with a myriad of alluring wares calling to us from attractive window displays. In a short space of time D was clutching amongst other things a china cup for Piggle, a moon-gazing hare, a whizzy salad dressing whisk and aromatic oils. A drawer knife for shaving the ends of broom handles (yes, it’s a mystery to me also) had caught the eye of MC, he’d been able to indulge in an array of wine tasting and he had also befriended a woodturner’s wife with a definite date to return to meet the woodturner himself. My ample bags were stuffed with a pair of fetching stoles (well it had turned rather nippy), a large French ‘bol’ style cup for soup, not only the same whisk as D but a heart shaped larger sauce whisk and last but not least ‘another’ picnic hamper. D and MC insisted on referring to it as ‘another’ picnic hamper as they think I have sufficient hampers already. Sufficient, is that possible? Anyone who’s read my blog possibly knows how unfeasibly excited I get when the weighty Fortnum & Mason, Selfridges and Harvey Nichols hamper catalogues satisfyingly thump my doormat each festive season. But a hamper is not just for Christmas as I can succumb to ‘hamper porn’ any season! This new one has an attractive linen lining, limed washed exterior, proper glassware strapped to the inner lid and is a perfect basket for two or an opulent one for solo picnicking! It has acceptable white square plates but would be even better with my strawberries and vines china picnic plates and some crisp linen. Let’s hopes the weather holds out this summer so I can indulge.
Actually the final flourish would be one of the gorgeous linen napkins courtesy of the fine styling of Thornback and Peel. And as luck would have a little present of one of their bunny napkins was awaiting me when I arrived at the cottage, I think it was meant to be!
If you haven’t come across the gorgeous wares of Thornback and Peel I urge you to have a look. D had fallen in love with one of their deckchairs in the style section of the Sunday papers and had introduced me to them. In fact exploring Holt we fair tripped over their goldfish or ladybird adorned table mats and pigeon and raspberry jelly strewn cushions (frankly only the second time I’ve liked a pigeon, the first being when a wood pigeon has discarded its plump breast in my salad). Looking at their website I must admit that I am taken with the canvas bags featuring the aforementioned pigeons and pink jellies. And talking of hampers I also got one of their lobster (aka Pinchy) tea towels in my Christmas hamper from D&MC.
We’ve had a bit of a seafood/lobster theme for the last few years and though we are late this year with the annual Cambridge seafood festival there is still time to get out the new crustacean themed napery and tuck into some suitable crabby delight. In fact we’re in the perfect place for a spot of crab but thinking that most of our meals are sewn up we avoid the enticing delis and crab sandwich purveyors.
In the lovely shop selling Alessi hedgehogs, expanding pan stands and my utterly favourites heart shaped spoons, the owner was keen to point out her friend’s gallery as a must in Holt and then to head forth for Wiverton Hall Café for a spot of afternoon tea as it was in her words ‘truly bonkers’! “Bonkers food in a bonkers and colourful place with bonkers but jolly service.” Well mindful of the delights of the Neptune that lay ahead we were determined to see how it could be quite so bonkers and once we couldn’t carry another thing we thought we’d check it out before going home to change.
It turned out to be a pick your own fruit farm with a café attached. It was a vibrant place, there were lots of children running around and the place seemed pretty packed. The counter was festooned with cupcakes, scones, flapjakes, chocolate cake and a Victoria sponge which seemed the most popular as every moment another hefty wodge was carved off.
D and MC had a cheese scone and I had an unfeasibly large slice of the chocolate cake. The bits with the chocolate butter cream was okay but the rest was a tad dry but that was fine, I wasn’t that hungry and mainly wanted a sit down, a nice cup of tea and to see how bonkers this place could be! It was certainly colourful, there was a plethora of spotty and heart adorned Emma Bridgewater crockery to serve our selections on. The tables had various wipe clean clashing patterned tablecloths and with the leaflets, menus and now obligatory fairy dusted cupcakes the whole effect was certainly a cacophony of riotous colour. The staff were also preparing for a new offering of evening tapas so there was a flurry of chorizo chopping and decanting olives into bowls.
I particularly like the promotional graphics they use on the menus and aprons wrapped round the waists of the servers designed by Annabel Grey. The theme seemed to be strawberries and pigs which seemed a good combination to me, I was nearly tempted to add to be burgeoning tea towel collection but opted for the postcards instead.
Holt will definitely be revisited, there is still plenty to explore and if on our next visit we fancy cake, tapas or a barbeque we know a bonkers place we can go afterwards!

Next-the-sea?

D and MC had suggested I joined them in Norfolk at the cottage they were renting off D’s friend H. I didn’t ask where it was but I did know though that it was somewhere near to King’s Lynn as that was the train station they’d fetch me from. I figured that it would be near Hunstanton, the seaside resort of their youth that I’d been introduced to a couple of years ago which was almost right but to be precise the cottage is actually in the quaintly named village of Holme-next-the-Sea. The premise seemed to be that it was very close to the sea but not on the coast, Holme-near-the-Sea if you will. I kept wanting to say “next-to-the” but apparently that’s not the local way!
The weekend of ‘fruits de mer’ dining delights was kicked off with a visit to their favourite fish and chip shop in Hunstanton knowing full well that fish and chips always taste better with salt in the air and the distinctive call of an occasional seagull circling overhead. Even Heston agrees hence the deployment of iPods preloaded with the prerequisite aural delights of waves crashing and gulls crying as you savour his taste of the sea!
Feeling determined to honour my Northern roots I persuaded D to let me get some sliced white bread and butter to ensure the treat was complete.
As it turned out this was just the first meal we were to enjoy. We had already secured a table at the delightful Neptune for Saturday night and were fairly sure that the day would start with a big breakfast and it did because we headed for Deepdale Café in Burnham as soon as we surfaced. Nothing would persuade MC to alter his intention to tuck into ‘The Big Breakfast’ but D and I had set our little epicurean hearts on Eggs Benedict and when we were thwarted when it transpired that they don’t do that with eggs we plumped for an omelette of locally smoked haddock and Parmesan instead. It was suitably plump and held fat flakes of soft tasty smoked haddock in its depths and set up it fine for the day ahead. We’d had to wait a while for a table as the popularity of this café had got many a family, party of soon to be surfers and visitors heading for their extensive breakfast menu. As we queued D had furnished herself with a pile of local information pamphlets and magazines and on leafing through them some intriguing and attractive items apparently available in the market town of Holt soon decided our next port of call.

A C-food diet

F and I went to school together and on our long, meandering walk home every day we developed complex games, peculiar songs and elaborate schemes. We see each other very rarely now, in fact until this year where I've spent a disproportionate amount of my time travelling back and forth between London and Manchester it had been about 5 years since we’d met up. But she wanted to come round and cheer me up and I offered in turn to cook us some supper. I'm pleased to say that F can still turn her inventive mind to a cunning plan. Her idea was born from watching friends and colleagues incessantly count things when out dining with them. They might be counting calories, points, carbs or some other unit designed to make you feel a little guiltier and enjoy your dinner less. Feeling left out she decided to devise a plan so that she could count her chosen units and modify her consumption accordingly. I hasten to add that her scheme has no nutritional value and has the unusual goal to accumulate as many points as possible, and points of course mean prizes! So how does one win points in her undeniably unique 'maintaining your C-level' diet? Well you may have guessed it; it is all about the letter 'C'! So the optimum foodstuffs are chicken, cheese, cream, chips, chocolate and cake (double points for chocolate cake!) In addition, if you are eating food not based around the letter 'C' then the knack is to add more food to top up your C-level and if all else fails resort to suitable adjectives and/or foreign languages. This brilliant regime wasn't explained to me until after I had cooked a restorative supper for us tonight but inadvertently I had not done too badly. The starter of salmon and leaves didn’t really work but I chose better for the main and dessert.
It's almost May and the English asparagus is just perfect but unbeknownst to me I had opted to turn a distinctly un C-level food round by anointing the spears in a soupçon of cheesy cream sauce. The fat bronzed happy chicken was a winner already. The Jersey Royal potatoes didn't really cut it but if I'd been forewarned I would have sautéed them and cut them differently and then described them as crispy cubes of potatoes to get those all important points.
We couldn't really go wrong with a gooey wedge of Gü chocolate tart but of course I would have achieved a higher score if I'd gone for a chocolate cake instead! And rather luckily I had some cocoa-dusted chocolate truffles to hand to wrap up the meal.
The drinks are another consideration, now a C-leveller is confined to drinking Chablis, Chardonnay and Champagne. I certainly don't mind a glass of bubbly but I prefer my wine redder so we decided that if I'd prepared I would have procured a bottle of Chianti Classico or a full-bodied ‘Cab Sav’ to follow a Champagne cocktail and for those who like that sort of thing you can finish with coffee. As I would favour an occasional tea I would from now on have to refer to it as a 'cup a char'! I can’t really think how to justify water unless I’d conveniently got some Cotswold, Chiltern Hills or Caledonian Spring. But again with curious foresight I’d served it in crystal glasses, does that count?
Showing that I haven’t lost my knack for such bizarre stratagems either I explained to F that for the bloggers’ choice blog party last year I had chosen the letter ‘J’. But I suspect that a diet based on Jaffa cakes, jacket potatoes, jam and jelly babies is sadly not really sustainable. We pondered whether it would viable for an F-plan but again I doubt that a menu of fish fingers, fennel and fudge would really work. So ‘C’ it is I guess!
Now that I am in the know I will plan my C-food menu very carefully next time. But I am so torn (I can so see why F chose C now). Firstly there would be crab on little croutes for a little nibble to accompany the Champagne and Chambord aperitif. Then the starter would be scallops cunningly in the form of coquilles Saint Jacques or perhaps Carpaccio drizzled with a little crème fraîche or even maybe a bowl of Cullen Skink. The main event could be the obvious chicken but it could be cod wrapped in crispy coppa (which is the pork shoulder or neck version of Prosciutto), served rather incongruously with cauliflower cheese, a pile of curly courgette ribbons and Chantenay carrots. I was trying to think how I could incorporate some potatoes without resorting to chips; a suggestion would be to add spring onions to mash potatoes to conjure up some delicious champ. This would be followed by a cheese course of sliver of Camembert on a cracker maybe. And if there was any room after that, a little pot of chocolate cream.
F envisages herself as a “maintaining the C-level” guru, desperate diners could contact her and ask for help with their culinary dilemmas. Imagine you really fancy Shepherd’s Pie tonight and the easy solution of opting for Cottage Pie is not what you want. So F would suggest adding carrot cubes and a little celery to the lamb and a crumbly Cheddar cheese to the potato topping, perhaps even rustling up some crunchy cabbage to go on the side.
Thank you F, the meal tonight definitely had the desired effect and cheered me up as I haven’t laughed so much for ages. I’ve been distracted from all the arrangements I need to organise and now have a new obsession – C-food!
And strange as it may seem, it just may catch on!

The hardest ever blog post to write

I’ve been absent from the blogging world for a while. Though to be honest I could say I’ve been away from life for a while. The worse of all possible things happened and I lost my dearest M at moments before midnight on April 25th.
Despite her being so ill she was determined to beat the dreaded stomach cancer and being so used to getting her own way - it was such a shock that her incredibly valiant efforts were in vain.
I still can’t believe that she isn’t there anymore and even after a few weeks I have found it immensely difficult to even start to write this post and days to actually finish it. I’m so used to us sharing the minutiae of our daily lives and I still reach out for the phone to relate some snippet I heard or saw and then of course it hits me again and that overwhelming feeling of emptiness descends.
One thing we haven’t been able to share for a long time is a meal. The last time we did was back in September for my birthday meal at Michael Caines @ Abode in Manchester. It was a wonderful tasting menu which I haven’t blogged yet, maybe due to the connotations around that day. At the end of the meal M was feeling very sick and it turned out to be the beginning of all that was to come. She started being sick every day but she thought she knew what ailed her and that she could deal with it by mainlining Gaviscon and hot mocha chocolate drinks. Little did we realise then that it was something much worse, how pervasive it was becoming and how life was never going to be the same again. I now know much more that I ever needed or wanted about enteral feeding, metastatic gastric adenocarcinoma and linitis plastica (words I never dreamt would appear in my blog). I know fascinating facts now for example that stomach cancer is more prevalent in Asian males, may be caused by helicobacter pylori (which is the rabid acid producing stomach bacteria problem M thought had returned) and is generally considered to be exacerbated by a high salt, low vegetable diet. Have I been right all along about all that vegetable dodging?
I really can’t imagine life without her but as that choice has been taken away from me I will just have to find a way to keep smiling. I am lucky I have some amazing friends who’ve been so incredibly supportive, have showered me with beautiful cards and heartfelt messages, who’ve been there when I needed them and left me alone when I yearned to be by myself. And K even sent me a red heart-shaped Le Creuset casserole dish for when I am feeling more inclined to mass catering. Thank you so much, all of you, without you I couldn't have got this far.
I’ve always tried not to live with regrets but I do regret that we didn’t talk more about what was happening to her, our fears and how we really felt about it all. M was going to beat this for sure so what was the point? We would talk about our next holiday – probably that Paris trip we’ve been promising ourselves for way too long or what crab filled treat I would cook her when she could eat again. Maybe that was our way of dealing with it all. She never even read the post I wrote when I was first coming to terms with everything and I wish I’d read it to her whilst I had the chance. I would love to know if she approved of the funeral service I organised, the songs and readings we listened to through the tears, the cascades of our favourite white lilies on a very alternative and green bamboo casket (not the type of bamboo pandas eat though!), whether the specially requested canapés passed muster and if she appreciated the significance of me wearing my red shoes. Though I know for sure that she would have been delighted as I was by how many people came to say goodbye to her.
In the words of Mary Poppins M declared herself to be “practically perfect” and even though I would never admit it before she was possibly right and everything will be a little less perfect without her. Goodbye M, I will always miss you.

Devilishly good!

Stephanie has designated this month’s blog party as devil’s food, those sinful treats you lust after when you know you shouldn’t. Though we are talking about bite-sized canapés and I’m a great believer of ‘little of what you fancy…’ but nonetheless I should be able to conjure up some wicked delights.
This last month more than ever I’ve been neither here nor there, not often at home and generally packing or unpacking. But in the spirit of ‘the show must go on’, or ‘the blog party must go on’ I started pondering some of my top decadent dishes and how I could miniaturise them whilst making one the many train journeys.
In my usual ‘cart before the horse way’ I decided on the crockery before the actual dishes. My plan was to get out my fabulous Versace Dedalo beauties that M got me for Christmas as they really are show stoppers but as it turned out I produced the eats far from home and without a wisp of Versace in sight so I have to get a little creative. In lieu of my Greek key banded lovelies I procure a black and crystal shiny frame and repurpose that to serve the nibbles on.
I seem to think beef on many of these occasions and surely one of the most wicked and rich beef dishes is Tournedos Rossini. Strictly this demands a sliver or so of foie gras but when I asked for it in the local supermarket they looked at me as if I had two heads – clearly I thought I was in Le Clerc for a moment! So instead of the foie gras I get some smooth duck pâté and sit it on top of round of rare seared beef. I wanted to make some round croûtes to form a base but I didn’t have my usual cutters to hand so instead I managed to deploy a handy metal coffee scoop to make the little discs. These were fried alongside the beef and added the perfect toasty foundations. These may have been a slight stretch to call them Tournedos Rossini but they were a fine interpretation and undeniably devilishly delicious!
Whilst getting the beef I also tried to get some little queen scallops to make my own version of Coquilles Saint Jacques but I had to settle for the larger beasts instead. I figured that M possibly formerly being the largest consumer of mini Coquilles Saint Jacques in the free world would have a surfeit of queen scallop shells but she’s destroyed the evidence. So not have any of my usual canapé spoons I had to go exploring amongst M’s cutlery drawers for suitable alternatives. Lightly searing the scallops, then dousing them with a slug of white wine and cream I then placed them in the bowls of found dessert spoons and topped them with a slick more of the sauce and grated cheese. Fearing that grilling them would mean that they couldn’t be picked up for eager consumption I protected them with foil whilst they got a blast under the grill. I had considered piping mash potato around the scallop before their final anointing but couldn’t find a suitable piping tool and boy that would have been seriously fiddly!
Whilst in the devilishly decadent frame of mind I had been pondering truffled risotto or truffled mash potato but instead opted for cocoa dusted chocolate truffles! Well they are definitely one of my favourite chocolaty nibbles.
I had planned all sorts of Chambord wildness as my wicked drink but in honour of M I opted for our ‘memories of the Cip in Venice’ honeyed dessert wine served in one of my favourite and very appropriate Perrier Jouët Belle Epoque glasses. Well Belle Epoque seriously goes witht he excessive theme and it is the original D's birthday and this was his most favourite Champagne.
The wine complements the scallops and the chocolate but maybe not so the beef! And a deserving nod to Harvey for adding a little luxurious texture to the shot!
So if you believe that 'a little of what you fancy does you good', please help yourself to a devilishly to-die-for morsel and I’ll see you at the party, don't forget your horns!

Rise and Shine!

Thinking about this month’s blog party theme of Brunch got me pondering whether they’d been other attempts to combine two meals into one catchy new meal but I’m fairly sure calling a late tea ‘dea’ or ‘tinner’ won’t catch on and twilight dinner wouldn’t be called a ‘dupper’ or ‘sinner’ – though the latter does rather conjure up visions of a wicked midnight feast!
I think the reason ‘brunch’ as a concept has proved so popular is the slightly decadent connotations, it smacks of a meal you’d have on holiday possibly after a late night carousing and you’re not sure whether a pain au chocolat would really cut it. Or it’s a leisurely weekend meal when you’ve time for something more lavish than a mere snatched bowl of cornflakes or a slice of toast. It’s a time for pancakes, good old British fry ups or the perennial favourite – the proper bacon sarnie. And me being what people refer to in slightly disdainful tones as ‘not a morning person’ find the thought of that sort of culinary wizardry on a ‘school day’ way too taxing. But come the weekend when I haven’t been rudely awakened by an insistent alarm I am a lot more amenable to whisking eggs and breaking out the smoked salmon.
So assembling a miscellany of vaguely brunch-like black and white crockery I started considering what to create for this month's log party offerings.
If I was going out to a restaurant for brunch I would really only have one thing on my mind and that would be Eggs Benedict. A dish designed to include most of my major food groups – a golden yolked poached egg just waiting to erupt over the smoky ham and muffin and the whole enchilada drenched in a creamy smooth buttery hollandaise sauce. Sometimes I fancy a change and opt for the smoked salmon and spinach version but normally it’s the classic – and woe betide the poached egg not being runny enough!
The rather topsy-turvy nature of my life at the moment I should perhaps have plumped for the easy option of fashioning canapés from slices of buttered toast but instead I go straight for the ‘double or nothing’ by choosing to make Miniature Eggs Benedict. It’s quite a feat of timing and tenacity as not only have you got the ever fiddly quail eggs to decapitate and then poach for just shy of 2 minutes there’s the possibility of a temperamental hollandaise to contend with also. But I thought faint hearts and all that and gathered the ingredients. The easy job was getting a round cutter and making bread and ham discs for the base of the Benedict. Next it was the pan of water on for poaching and the careful beheading of the resilient quail egg shells. Thomas Keller in the French Laundry cookbook prepares an awesome egg and bacon amuse gueule and recommends firstly gently removing the more rounded egg of the quail egg shell with a serrated knife – I opted for a steak knife to pierce those tough little shells. Then the topped quail egg should be placed back in the egg box in preparation for poaching. This ‘mis en place’ has top be done first as it is quite tricky, will definitely impede you and mess up the poaching timings if you try the beheading one by one whilst hovering over the simmering water.
With the eggs all lined up back in their box I turned to the hollandaise. I only needed a soupçon to nappé the domes of poached quail eggs so I opted for the ‘almost instant hollandaise’ recipe using my trusty silver Bamix. It uses only a single egg yolk so is the perfect quantity. The final flourish has to be the tiniest flecks of freshly chopped chives. My perfectionist streak kicks in and they have to be uniform little green rings – I’m sure Thomas Keller would be proud!
After my perfect brunch dish it seems odd to try and think beyond that but I do rather have a penchant for my super creamy scrambled eggs. And deploying the never-tainted-by-coffee liquorice Nigella espresso cups seems the perfect vehicle for a spoonful or two of the soft eggy curds and of course topped with a scatter of that verdant dandruff again.
For my final brunch morsel I just had to pounce on one of my favourites what I spotted it in Waitrose’s Authentic French range – the Tarte Flambé. I have waxed lyrically about this little Alsatian treat before. It is like a pizza, but a pizza for those who can’t abide tomato. It has a crème fraîche base and lardons of smoky bacon strewn on top and is very delicious. And this new Waitrose one – sadly not available via Ocado yet is a tasty little snack and if I had a wood fired pizza oven to hand I am sure I would whip up a Tarte Flambé regularly for brunch or other meals.
The obligatory drink that always flummoxes me was an easier choice this month as any foodie diva knows that a decadent brunch deserves a proper White Peach Bellini – just like Harry’s Bar in Venice. And again thanks to Waitrose I could get my hands on the requisite white peach pulp and not have to resort to orange juice as seems to be de rigueur in ‘lesser’ establishments. Well it makes a change from cracking open the Chambord I guess.
Happy brunching…let’s see what everyone else brought to the party…

Duck and cover

I was combing an unfamiliar supermarket for inspiration today and espied the butcher’s counter. Ideally I would prefer a nice independent butcher’s but these are almost extinct nowadays. The plump duck breast seemed to be calling me and being a butcher’s counter at least I could purchase a single one.
After the obligatory criss-cross scoring of the skin to allow the roast potato adoring duck fat to render and to crisp up the skin I pop the breast skin-side down into a hot pan. After about 10 minutes I drained off the fat (dreaming of future roasties) and flipped the breast to be flesh-side down in the pan for another 5 minutes. Removing the duck from the pan I added a healthy glug of Balsamic Vinegar and a squirt of runny honey (probably about a tea spoon). After it has reduced the duck was popped back in the pan and turned in the unctuous glaze. Then leaving to rest for a few minutes it was served with creamy leeks with bacon lardons. And it was good!

Living to eat or eating to live

I’ve been terribly delinquent in maintaining my blog for a while now. This is not because I don’t want to do it any more or have nothing to write about but I am just finding the overwhelming numbing effect of dealing with M being ill dulls my creativity and impedes my enjoyment of writing abut food.
It is not just M being ill but the horrible way her illness has manifested itself. M and I have shared so many fabulous foodie experiences, travelling all over Europe and the US, me avoiding her favourite tomatoes and goat cheese and she trying to pack in as much crab as possible and of course potato and vegetable dodging. But the cruellest of fates to befall any foodie diva, a ‘foodie diva en passant’ or a vicarious fine-diner is to not be able to eat any more and me regaling her with tales of feasting seems to be adding to the torment.
Every time I espy a recipe abundant in lobster, scallops or crab I immediately think of whipping it up as a surprise treat on my next visit and then I remember that only one of us is able to consume it.
It is not surprising that my attitude to food when I am with M has changed, I feel almost embarrassed if I enjoy a meal knowing that she can’t share it with me. I couldn’t dream of tucking into her much-loved mini Coquilles St Jacques (see above) whilst she looked on and even watching Masterchef together seem a little like teasing. And any meals I do have I feel it should be consumed furtively keeping the sights and aromas hidden.
I guess we can all be separated into two groups – those who live to eat and those who eat to live. Of course I live to eat, I spend much of my leisure flicking through food magazines and cookbooks, watching food programmes (occasionally contradicting the TV cook à la Gregory’s Girl), planning some future extravagant feast, writing up previously enjoyed banquets and also perusing farmer’s market and food shows, cooking up a storm and of course eating.
Those grabbing food carelessly as a necessary fuel to drive their entirely inedible life are very alien to me, and I feel they must be missing a crucial part of their lives.
So many of my social interactions are around a table, it doesn’t have to be lavish dining as sometimes it’s just sharing a bowl of hot salty chips or literally breaking bread but these times are the lifeblood of my existence. Some of my absolutely favourite memories resonate with glorious food and the wonderful people I enjoyed it with.
I cannot imagine having to be fed via a tube into my intestine and having to come to terms with maybe never being able to enjoy a meal again but M looks on the bright side and says how little of my dreaded washing up there is to do now.
Dearest M, I really hope they can eventually rebuild your stomach bionically and we can sit down at one of our favourite restaurants tables again. And in the mean time I will do my best to try a cultivate other obsessions we can share that you aren’t excluded from. But I also know you like hearing about my culinary exploits so when you're feeling stronger I hope you'll find plenty of tasty things to read - I better start hitting my blog again!