Halloumi and Mango Salsa

I have acquired a lovely mini deep fat fryer as a new member of kitchen appliance community. Unusually it hadn’t been used before I got it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t pretty old, because it is definitely pretty old. There are no temperature settings – you just turn it on and wait until it’s hot then turn it off again. Also, it came without a plug, but Pete was quite happy to do a spot of rewiring. What a man.

I haven’t used it too much yet, just some mini battered sausages (mixed success), a soft boiled egg which was then bread-crumbed and deep fried (I saw a posh chef do it on Saturday Kitchen; mixed success) and some deep fried camembert (filthy, resounding success).

Halloumi is a great little kitchen standby. It lasts for ages and is really quick and easy to prepare. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I love it. I hadn’t tried deep frying it before and I wanted something nice and clean tasting to go along with it.

The mango salsa is something I’ve used before as a side dish, mainly with something meaty. I thought it would work really well with the saltiness of the cheese, and cut through some of the greasiness as well.

For two people you’ll need:

1 block of halloumi
A little flour
1 mango
1 large finger chilli
2 large sprigs of mint
Salad leaves to serve.

Chop the halloumi into sizeable chunks, dust with flour, and deep fry for 1-2 minutes until golden brown. If you don’t have a deep fat fryer you can deep fry them in a wok, shallow fry them in a pan, or grill them. Let them rest on some kitchen towel to drain the excess oil.

Peel and chop the mango, finely chop the chilli (with or without seeds, however you prefer), and tear the mint. Mix everything together in a bowl and serve on top of salad leaves. Sprinkle the halloumi on top.

I’m a real fan of this salsa. Although the flavours are strong they’re also really good at cleansing the palette, which is perfect for anything salty or greasy. If you have time I’d recommend making it a couple of hours in advance and letting the whole thing macerate.

Sammidges: an addendum

I admit, I have been negligent in my duties. There is simply no way I have the time or space to document all the fine, upstanding sammidges I have known in my time. It has been brought to my attention that I have left out an important member of the Sammidge Hall of Fame, so I will attempt to rectify this here.

Egg mixed up in a cup sandwich. Also known by the acronym EMU.What happens, right, is you take and egg and break it into a cup. Then, using a fork, you mix it up. You have now mixed an egg in a cup.

Now pay attention. You fry the egg (that has been mixed up in a cup) in a little frying pan. Preferably in butter. Then you put it in a sandwich.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that this is basically a fried egg sandwich with a broken yolk. That is absolutely not what this is. First of all, the clue is in the name – this is an egg mixed up in a cup sandwich. Secondly, a fried egg sandwich with a broken yolk just makes crispy yolk that tastes a bit burnt. The EMU (as it is known), tastes more like an omelette, but thinner and crispier like a fried egg. It is the perfect cross between the two, and an excellent sandwich filling.

I will now pause for a moment, as no doubt your minds have just been blown. I know, right? It’s so obvious, it’s like it was staring you in the face the whole time. The EMU is the way forward, people.

Another benefit of the EMU is its affinity to sauces. This is a sandwich you can add a lot of flavour to, as the egg is like a delicious bathroom mat that absorbs any drips of stuff you care to throw in its direction. A notable mention should go to my brother’s personal favourite: Los EMU Diablo. Various chilli sauces and peppers are added until the eating of the sandwich can technically be called an act of self-harm.

I can also verify that the EMU is also excellent with the following additions:

- Cheese (especially Boursin)
- Bacon- Tomato slices
- Tapenade
- Crisps.

As Neil Buchanan would advise: try it yourself.

Sammidges

I have a confession to make. I have been snobbish about what to post on here, as I only considered certain dishes as ‘proper’ cooking. And because I haven’t done much ‘proper’ cooking lately, (apart from a very nice Oxtail and Red Wine stew, which I will do separate post on), it’s ended up a little quiet round these parts.

Well no longer. After some serious deep thoughts on the nature of everything, I have come to the conclusion that sandwiches are worth talking about. OK, so you don’t actually ‘cook’ a sandwich (apart from toasties), but there’s loads of things that you don’t have to heat up to consider it ‘proper’. Why not sandwiches? A really first rate sandwich involves a lot of consideration. It’s minimalist. You have a finite number of ingredients that can be used as a filling, pragmatically encased by the bread that provides texture, taste and structural integrity. A sandwich is basically a haiku. You are limited by your slices, but that forces you to think hard about what you want this lunch to really communicate. You might want to combine different flavours, textures, temperatures, or all of the above. Can you tell I did an Arts degree?

While Pete favours sandwiches that pack a punch with a lot of big flavours (a filling of haggis, salsa and olives springs to mind), I enjoy combining soft bread with something crunchy. Lettuce is the traditional sandwich texture-provider, but I would like to propose an alternative. Crisps. I'll say that again in case you missed it. Crisps. Everyone has put crisps in a sandwich before (I am happy both to generalise and call you a liar if you deny it), but I would like to make it a more mainstream sandwich filling choice.

Crisp Sandwich of choice: Pork sausages on white bloomer bread with salt and vinegar crisps.

This is the traditional lunch for the day following an evening of sausages. The sausages should be cold, cut in half lengthways and put on top of a slice of white buttered bread. Place the crisps on top of the sausages, and press the remaining slice down on top of it so the bread compresses and the crisps crack into shards.

Toasties are another beast. They already provide crunch through their toasted exterior, so you really just need to find a filling that works well at high temperatures.

Toasties are an odd little phenomenon. Most people seem to follow a cycle of enthusiasm and obliviousness. It seems that everyone periodically forgets that they exist, and need to be reminded every so often. The most toastie-heavy periods of my life have always been either when a student or unemployed. When you haven’t got much to do and you end up just twiddling your thumbs at home, you sometimes end up being a little more experimental with your toastie fillings. The downside is that when, say, your partner comes home and asks how your day was, it seems a little underwhelming to say ‘I just discovered the most fucking AMAZING toastie’. But you really can’t underestimate this joy.

Toastie of choice: Wensleydale, mozarella and pesto.

Butter the outside of the bread (as is traditional), spread the inside with a thin layer of pesto, lay on slices of wensleydale and shredded mozzarella. Make the toastie in the traditional way. The end result has long stringy strands of melted mozzarella combined with the salty crumbliness of wensleydale. I consider the pesto optional, but it adds a nice extra element of flavour.

I’ve never been much of a fan of sauces on sandwiches, although I know a lot of people would cry blasphemy if they witnessed by refusal of brown sauce or ketchup on a bacon sarnie. But since I particularly like the way that butter melts and interacts with a hot filling I find that sauces just interfere with this process. So just shut up, ok.

There are exceptions. At a meal out recently I had a pot of aioli with bread to dip in it. Apparently it was to share, so I suppose I should apologise. Anyway, it was delicious. Because life is too short to make it myself I’ve made a cheats version by softening a little smoked garlic (from Leamington Food Festival, but also available in Richard Clarke’s) in olive oil and whisking it into mayonnaise.

The first thing I thought of when faced with my new favourite spread was ‘chips’. Nothing unusual about that, to be honest I’m probably thinking about chips 78% of the time anyway, so it may have just been a coincidence. If so it was a very fortunate coincidence, as this would be lovely on your standard chip butty. My plans, however, were a little more outlandish. I started thinking… bigger.

Wrap of choice: Chips and aioli.

Spread the garlic mayonnaise over your wrap. Add pre-salt and vinegared chips, and roll up. Apply liberally to your mouth.

Get in.

Let’s get interactive – what’s your favourite sandwich? Show your workings.

Rabbit in Beer

This is a recipe my mum used to make back in the pub. Not exactly a standard weeknight dinner, but well worth a if you can get your hands on some rabbit. If you haven't tried rabbit before I would say it's more like a game bird than anything (you know, like Barbara Windsor. Ooh matron, etc, etc). It can be a bit tough so it suits stews like this very well. Don't be scared by the beer. The end product is quite mellow and savoury rather than beery.

Ingredients
1/2 large or 1 small rabbit, jointed.
Seasoned flour
Veg oil and a little chilli oil
Dried thyme
1 large carrot
1 large onion
1-2 garlic cloves
1/2 pint beer (I used Pedigree)
1 pint beef stock
1 large handful of ready to eat prunes.

Dust the jointed meat in seasoned flour and sear it in hot oil. The dash of chilli oil is optional, but I like the little kick it gives. Remove the meat and keep to one side.

Add the garlic and chopped onion to the oil, then the peeled chopped carrot and thyme. Pour in the beer, stirring thoroughly to deglaze the bottom of the pan. Add the meat and enough stock to cover it, then the handful of prunes. These work really well with rabbit, and meld with the other vegetables so they don't taste too sweet. Simmer on a low heat for about 45 minutes with the lid on, and a further 15 with the lid off.
Rabbits. They're cute AND delicious.

Scavenger's Booze

It is pretty seriously Autumn now. Don't even try to deny it, can't be done. But there are a few things that make Autumn fairly worthwhile. Apple and Blackberry pie is one of them, partly because it is an awesome pie, and partly for the ritual of collecting the blackberries.

Obviously you should never buy blackberries, and there should never be a need for you to buy blackberries. The month of September provides so many blackberries in so many places that there really isn't any excuse. You pick your spot; the roadside, the hedge by the train station, or the shrubs behind your work where your boss comes out to have a crafty cigarette and doesn't realise your there until you're right behind him - all are good places. You get out your little tupperware pot or old ice cream tub, and you pick and you pick until your hands are itchy and purple. Despite the thorns, there is something very satisfying about this experience. You are hoarding fruits for the cold nights ahead, you are collecting the harvest, you are using the hedgerow bounties that would otherwise have been wasted. You also sound phenomenally pretentious, but it doesn't matter as you've got a full tub of blackberries to look forward to when you get home.

Well, blackberries have been picked and the weather has turned. Unless you have been clever and frozen some, pie season is over. But there are still a few things you can forage and put to good use. Last year when walking back from CJ's car boot sale along the Kenilworth Road, I spotted some sloes.
I hadn't seen sloes since I was a child, but I remembered that the adult population at the time had used them for sloe gin. Naturally that did not appeal to me so much back then, but thankfully I have now matured, and my understanding of gin and gin affiliates has broadened remarkably.

It seemed a shame to waste them, so I went back with friends and carrier bags and we picked as many as we could get our hands on. I didn't have a recipe, but I did have half a bottle of gin at home, so I added sloes until the bottle was full and sprinkled in a little sugar to boot. I tasted it regularly until I figured it was about ready after 3 months, then strained it into another bottle. It quickly became one of my favourite tipples, but I don't think I made quite enough of it. That was not a mistake I intended to make again. That same sloe spot is now on my cycle route home from work, so once they started appearing again this year I began to stop off fairly regularly and managed to collect a sizeable amount. They are now all bottled up and all I need to do is wait. I'll let you know how it turns out in a few months time.

And yet I was not satisfied. Cycling home with a pot full of sloes I also saw trees laden down with elderberries, and my foraging instincts kicked in again.

I can't say I've ever been a big fan of elderberries as a fruit. Elderberry jam is undeniably rich and aromatic, but not particularly flavoursome. So what to do with them? Well, I mulled this over as I was peddling back, and decided that if gin could do things to sloes (which themselves aren't particularly tasty on their own), then vodka might do something for elderberries. And so it came to pass that elderberries were scrumped and vodka was obtained and Elderberry Vodka was made. As elderberries are much juicier than sloes they only took about a week or two to macerate, and now I have a big ole bottle of elderberry vodka for what was really very little effort. If you plan on making any flavoured spirits I would aim to fill any given bottle about half full of fruit and top with the spirit you want to use. Add sugar to taste if necessary; I've found that it isn't needed so much with elderberries as it is with sloes.

Here's a few ideas for cocktails using elderberry vodka:

Hedgerow Royale
1 measure elderberry vodka
Sparkling white wine

Put the vodka in a champagne flute or wine glass and top with the wine. If you chill both the wine and vodka beforehand then th liquids won't mix so much and you'll get a lovely graduated effect in the glass.

Elderberry Martini
1 1/2 measure elderberry vodka
1 measure vermouth

Shake over ice and serve in a martini glass

Autumn Mule
2 measures elderberry vodka
1 Tbsp frozen red berrries / fruits of the forest
Ginger ale

Put the frozen fruits in a tumbler. Pour the vodka over the fruits and muddle slightly. Top with ginger ale.

I'm also planning on making some chilli vodka which should be a nice warming winter tipple. I have a plan to muddle it with mint and serve it over ice for a temperature scrambling shot of crazy.

Mmmm, Pie

All hail the Pie Queen. That’s me. I am the Pie Queen. This week I have been successfully making a series of the best pies ever, and have therefore crowned myself Queen of Pies.

But you don’t get to be Pie Queen all by yourself. Any potential Pie Queen (Pie Princess, if you will), needs a dedicated team of Pie Courtiers to inspire her and push her towards the Pie Crown. In my case I would like to thank:
Mrs Z, for giving me the blackberries that made me want to make a pie for the first time in years
Anna C. Sloan, for giving me some excellent pastry tips (she is also a Pie Queen, but of a different province)
Pete, for being a willing audience and eater of pies, and encouraging the making and eating of further pies.

All hail Bronwen, Queen of Pies.

But I digress. Let us get to the recipe. This pie is the first pie I made recently, which is an Apple and Blackberry Pie.

Pastry:
200g plain flour
100g butter
1 tbsp icing sugar
Small amount of chilled water

Filling:
1 large cooking apple
Handful blackberries (Zborowski brand blackberries are preferred, but not essential)
Sugar
Butter

The reason I have not made pies for so long is the pastry. My Nan can make amazing pastry, but it has long been a source of consternation to both myself and my mother that it seems almost impossible to replicate. We do all the right things; half fat to flour, rub into breadcrumbs, add water to bind it, leave it to rest, try to keep it as cold as possible. And yet my pastry remained functional but unimpressive. The revelation occurred after speaking to Anna, fellow queen, who focuses on the cold. I usually kept the pastry chilled, but rubbing the fat into the flour necessitates some level of heat. Aha, says, Anna, but I combine them with knives! Knives, say I, well how about that. I see your knives and raise you (dun dun DUN) a food processor! How do like them apples?! Cooked in a pie most likely!

To conclude, I have developed my own method. It is as follows.

Weigh out 100g chilled butter, and cut it into fairly small pieces while trying not to touch it. Dust it with a little flour and stick it in the freezer. Also pour a little water into a mug and stick that in the freezer too. Weigh out 200g flour and sift straight into a food processor along with the icing sugar. By the time you’re done with that the butter should be quite hard. Stick that in the processor as well, and start it up on the lowest setting. As soon as the mix starts looking suitably lumpy (and BEFORE it has completely turned to breadcrumbs) start pouring in the water, a little bit at a time, until the mixture binds and forms a ball. This ensures that the dough has some large bits of butter in, which makes the pastry nice and flaky. Scoop it out and wrap in cling-film, then leave it in the fridge to rest. I tend to make pastry quite late in the evening, and leave assembling the pie to the next day.

Once the pastry is chilled and rested, cut the dough in half. Dust the work surface and rolling pin with flour, but try to keep adding any more to a minimum – the pastry will absorb it and become tough. Roll the pastry until it’s large enough to cover the bottom of your pie dish (which should be well buttered). Prick the bottom with a fork, and blind bake it by filling the base with rice in baking parchment. This will stop the pastry from puffing up. Put in a preheated oven at 200 or Gas Mark 6 for 15 min, then take out the rice and leave for a further 10 min. While it is cooking roll out the pie lid, leave on a plate and stick back in the fridge.

Now for a tip: I was concerned that as the pastry was quite thin the filling might make the bottom soggy. I wanted something at the bottom to soak up the juice. Flour would turn into a paste, and breadcrumbs would be too soft. I’ve heard that semolina works, but I don’t have any semolina. What I did have was cous-cous. The cous-cous grains themselves are too large and I didn’t want them to interfere with the texture of the pie, so I put them through Mr Grindy with a couple of cloves to make a magical, spicy, juice absorbing powder. I sprinkled this on the base of the pie before I added the filling.

The filling itself I didn’t cook, but layered slices of apple on top of each other, sprinkled over a handful of blackberries and some sugar, and dotted little cubes of butter on top. Then I laid the lid over the top of the pie, poked a whole in the top with a knife to let the steam escape, and put back in the oven for 25-30 min until golden brown.

And how did it turn out? Well how do you expect? I am the Pie Queen.

Things I like: Electric Boogaloo

This is a special edition of ‘Things I Like’, where the machines have taken over.

Popcorn Maker

Who on earth needs a popcorn maker? I’ll tell you who: muggins here. I’ve tried making popcorn on the hob but it’s never right. They only half pop, or they burn and stick to the bottom of the pan. So I am very proud to present Old Pops here. He came from Pete’s parents, and I am profoundly grateful. I have been playing around with various flavourings, and my favourite so far has been icing sugar mixed with ground cinnamon, although paprika is also very nice. And colourful. For those of you with more testicular fortitude than I possess, Pete tells me that sprinkling a little wasabi powder on top works very well.

As far as I can tell, there is only one downside. Occasionally a greasy and super-heated unpopped kernel will shoot out at high speed, and if you just so happen to be wearing a low cut top it will fall down your top and burn you under your right boob, and there’s nothing you can do about it. On the plus side, plentiful popcorn will comfort you and distract you from the pain.

Food Processor

I have missed you, old friend. My parents got it for me from a car boot sale a few years ago, and I loved it. It has a few different blades, but I only ever use one. When I moved into my old house, my housemate had a big, super duper food processor. With functions. Mine doesn’t have functions. Look at it. It chops, it chops fast, and it chops very fast. Those are the options. So I decided that I should leave mine in my parents loft, as no one needs two food processors in a house. Fool that I was. Although my housemate’s machine was undoubtedly awesome I could never figure out how to work it. Now I have been reunited with my old buddy, and I couldn’t be happier.

The ‘Machine’

In my mind this has always looked like a cross between the Pixar lamp and the alien from, you know, Alien. Either way, it’s damn cute. I tend to favour instant coffee for convenience sake, but I crack out ‘The Machine’ on special occasions. It makes a couple of strong little espressos, which you can add water to for an Americano, or milk for a Latte. I really can’t think of anything finer in life than waking up a little later than usual on a Saturday morning, having a croissant and a fresh cup of coffee and settling down on a big sofa to watch Saturday Kitchen or some nonsense like that. The Machine makes me happy.

Lemon Sauce Pudding vs. The Scales of Justice

Regular readers may have noticed by now that I am often a little non-specific when it comes to amounts needed in recipes. My standard basic unit of measurement is ‘some’.


Yeah, about that much.

This is not because I am a particularly intuitive cook who simply doesn’t need to measure anything but, sadly, out of necessity. The last pair of scales I owned were so wildly inaccurate that I figured I’d be best off without them, and never bothered replacing them. Mainly I’ve been able to get along more or less ok without, but my baking adventures have definitely taken a hit. I’m fine with biscuits and cakes where I’ve made them so many times I can get away without using scales, but it’s really difficult to follow a new recipe by guesswork alone. Well no longer!

The tables have turned and the Scales of Justice have arrived! (£1 from Save the Children, if you’re curious). I celebrated their arrival by making a pudding that I loved as a child, and demanded my mother make as often as I could without getting glared at. Lemon Sauce Pudding is that creature, and she is a beauty.

The attraction of this pudding is the fact that it separates during cooking to make a light sponge on top and a thick lemony sauce underneath. It is the coolest thing.

Y’all be needin:

2oz Plain flour
2oz butter 4 oz caster sugar
2 eggs, separated
Juice and zest of 1 lemon
8fl oz milk

Cream the butter and sugar together and beat in the egg yolks. Fold in the sifted flour. Add the zest and juice, and slowly mix in the milk. At this point it will look curdled. This is because it has curdled. It will look dreadful. But stick with it, this is what helps it to separate during cooking. Does that sound right? It sounds about right. Yeah, let’s say that’s what it is.

Whisk the egg white until it stands in stiff peaks, and fold into the sloppy, curdled mess. Pour into a greased baking dish and cook for 30-40 min in a moderate oven - About Gas Mark 4, I should say..

I would recommend a deep rather than a shallow dish, as this keeps it from drying out and the sauce stays all... saucy.

Brave New Kitchen

We are go, people. I have run back to the arms of Sweet Lady Internet to tell you all about my kitchen based adventures.

First of all, the new kitchen:



That's right, that's a sofa you can see there. The new place has an open place living room/kitchen. You'd think that that might be a negative thing, but I'm loving it. I don't have to pause a film if I fancy a snack, which is really cool. I still need to leave the room if I need a wee, though. I'm not that progressive.

For the past couple of months I had imposed a 'no new stuff' rule to minimise packing, but now I have been able to make the following additions:

- Some lovely oven-proof dinner plates
- Cutlery (living in a shared house I hadn't realised how low my personal supply was)
- Stackable shakers. I don't know the proper name for them, but it's a set of 4 plastic shakers that I have filled with flour, icing sugar, or cocoa powder. I have been using them quite a bit already, and they're in gloriously retro colours.
- Kitchen scales
- Food processor (from my parents loft)
- Popcorn machine (from Pete's parents)

I have also been actually factually cooking. For reals! Posts on various bits and pieces to follow. I don't want to do them all now as you'll get all overexcited. Tune in soon for the next thrilling episode!

I've missed you too, The Internet.

I know, I know. “No blog for a while, Bronners. What’s the deal?” Well I’ll tell you. I have just moved and still have no internet access. And if your mind hasn’t been completely blown by the fact that you’re reading this on the internet right now, I’ll point out that I’m on my lunch break at work, where I am as yet unable to write for long periods or upload photos of tasty treats. This kind of puts paid to the whole ‘writing and pictures’ elements (the canny amongst you may have noticed that those are the only elements). What’s more, I’m still busy enough in the evenings that cooking forays have suffered, so it’s not like I have that much to talk about anyway.

Still, I am very fond of my new kitchen. What was once a homely, beige and cream affair with kitchen tiles that were inexplicably designed to look marked and grubby is now swish beech effect doors and chrome handles. I’ve even got a dishwasher! I don’t even like dishwashers! Inexplicable exclamation mark!

At the moment I’m desperate to stock up on all the kitchen bits that I want/need, as we’re still a little short, and currently improvising kitchenware out of bits and pieces (make do and mend, Blitz spirit and all that). The first dinner party of Casa Bronita made use of a decorative plate as a dinner plate and tea saucers instead of bowls. However, a recent charity shop excursion made a start at accumulating a proper kitchen’s worth of goods, and I also now have the welcome addition of a beautiful set of stoneware Le Creuset cookware that was a very generous house-warming present.

Not that I can show you a picture of it, or anything I’ve done with it. But I will, in time. Oh yes. Then you’ll see. You’ll ALL see.

Normal service shall resume shortly.

Leftovers

There’s an old joke which goes something like ‘when I was young, all our meals were leftovers’. Ah, but how can they all be leftovers when there surely must be something original for them to be left over from, I (for the sake of argument) hear you say. And therein lies the humour. I have, however, found a way to make this epicurean Penrose staircase a reality. The reason I have not blogged so much recently is that I have been mostly eating leftovers.

I will shortly be moving house you see, and must bid adieu to the 70’s style kitchen that I have been calling my own.

Farewell, my ugly.

So I have been systematically emptying the cupboards and keeping the fridge contents to a bare minimum. As practical as this will be come moving weekend, it means that my dinner options this week have been sadly limited.

It has also forced me to be inventive. The main meal of Monday is refried and served as a side dish on Tuesday. Tuesday is thrown in a soup for lunch on Wednesday, while Wednesday evening is rolled up in a fajita for Thursday. And so on and so forth. Leftovers are the ultimate convenience food - what could be more convenient than something you've already cooked?

It is this dedication to the leftover cause that has led me to discover onion pasta.

I wanted some spicy onion relish to go alongside some burgers, so I fried up a Spanish onion in some chilli oil (which is really quite spicy now, by the way) with a little salt and sugar to help it caramelise. The next day I was stuck and only had pasta in the cupboard. So I boiled that up, melted some butter in a pan, added some garlic, thyme and the left over onions. They didn’t need to cook, just warm through. Once the pasta was done I stirred it into the onion mixture.

Reader, it was damn fine eating.

It's another Tempura Sunrise

Yesterday morning I was dozing off a little when I dreamt that I was walking past a nightclub and met a homeless magician who was upset because his top hat was full of pancake batter and it was so thick and gloopy that he couldn't pull the rabbits out. Naturally, I told him to try tempura instead. Then the landlord of a pub I frequent suddenly appeared and demanded the recipe to tempura batter. I got flustered and started talking about something else. He got angrier and angrier and started shouting at me to tell him how to make tempura. I woke up feeling a little tense.

I now have two options. I can analyse my dream and try to work out what my subconscious is trying to tell me by signalling some hidden anxiety about an unknown issue. Or, I can explain tempura right now so if I am ever confronted like that again I can simply direct them here. No prizes for guessing which option I have taken.

Tempura is a very thin and light batter designed to barely cover something before it is deep fried. It only takes thirty seconds or so to turn the batter golden brown, so it's best used on something that doesn't require much cooking - courgette flowers, herbs, thinly sliced vegetables, or fruit. I mainly use it to make fruit fritters with a mix of apples, bananas, and pineapple if I have any.

The quick version is to mix cornflour and water (sparkling or tonic water if you have it) until you get a paste about the consistency of single cream. Mix your fruit or veg in the paste until mostly covered, and fry. Don't make the paste too smooth - the lumpy bits go all crunchy and are part of the appeal of tempura.

So, unconscious representation of an acquaintance of mine, I hope you're happy.

Euphonic Pea-Broth

Quick one today, I had this for lunch just now.

Yesterday I got a big ole bag of peas in their pods from the greengrocer. I hadn't cooked with fresh peas before so I wanted to something a little more interesting than just peas as a side to a main meal. This, to me, suggested some sort of broth (I say broth rather than soup as I wanted to keep the peas whole and floating in stock rather than blend them. This is probably not the actual difference between a broth and a soup, but it sounds about right).

So today I spent a very repetitive but relaxing ten minutes shelling the peas, then added about a pint of vegetable stock and a couple of chopped spring onions that I had going spare. I also added a bayleaf for good measure but I think this was superfluous. After bringing to the boil I left it to simmer for 5-10 minutes, then added a handful of chopped parsley. I turned off the heat and left it to cool a little. The sun had come out a little so I fancied serving it warm rather than piping hot.

And very nice it was too. Not exactly hearty, but I think this would work very well as a starter. It's also a fantastic bright green colour and feels very fresh and summery.

MORE Things I Like

This is another group of kitchen utensils of which I am inordinately fond.

Murder Pan

This was a birthday present from Pete. It’s a proper cast iron Le Creuset frying pan, and its usefulness is matched only by its potential for death and destruction. This is a seriously heavy pan. It’s absolutely perfect for getting a strong and even heat, and much better than my old cheap pans that are now warped beyond repair. Steaks in particular cook up a treat. More than anything, it’s good to know that you own something that can destroy the brain of any marauding zombie (or other unsavoury character), and then whip up some pancakes. I’m not kidding, this pan could easily kill someone. I have to pick it up with both hands, and I’m hardly frail. I guess this post is part showing off a fancy frying pan, and part warning to anyone who has considered breaking in to my house.

Rabbit Jelly Mould

I don’t imagine I need to describe this as it should have been a necessary feature of all childhoods. Just in case, it’s a jelly mould in the shape of a rabbit. I don’t know why a rabbit was chosen as the representative shape of gelatine based fruit desserts, but it was, and it is, and it shall always be so. I’ve been on a bit a retro jelly kick recently and have had a go at making raspberry, mandarin and cava jelly, and a gin and tonic jelly. Both turned out pretty well. I really like the idea of making boozy ‘adult’ jellies in a traditional rabbit mould, and the moulds themselves are really easy and cheap to get hold of. Get on it, people.

Fancy Schmancy Corkscrew

This is one of those posh, industrial strength corkscrews. It’s a bit intimidating to look at, but easy to use once you figure out what bit goes where. I wanted one for ages, but found them prohibitively expensive. That was until they started cropping up in charity shops everywhere. Honestly, go hunting round some charity shops or car boot sales, I guarantee it won’t take long to find one. It also makes you feel, like, intensely grown-up.

I still have a long list of things in my kitchen that it pleases me to own, so more of these will undoubtedly follow.