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.