Positive Money, at play.

I know this group. I like this group. They're trying to change the world! Positive Money. Young (mainly!), earnest and fiercely smart social campaigners. I went to a 'retreat' in Ambleside with them in August; not for tree hugging or primal screaming (there may have been some of that) but for a weekend of radical economics. Positive Money, a non-party-political group, campaign for a change in the relationship between the banks and the money supply; a change that should make for a much fairer society. I believe them, which is why I'm setting up an Enfield branch in 2016.

But I'm here to blog food not finance so...

This was my first vegan meal, something I'll cover in more detail in another post. Like many serious, professional people they play hard too, usually with the assistance of games-instructor Dora. Mainly this involved paper, pen and personal revelation although things did get a little more physical. I did have to wrestle a garden broom from her hands at one point, despite protests of 'limbo!'. 

One thing that should be noted (by Roxanne) is we had our second and largest human pyramid; this was a  4:3:1 affair.

Enough with the words, on with the show.

That's Ben (in blue) who started the group five years ago.

Graham has just eviscerated a vegan and finds they're made of mainly paper.

You'll notice the pen, not a fork but a pen.

Sylviane, who organised the evening

During the evening, Mira was attacked by a flying mint.

Mira reports the recent chocolate related crime.

Pens and pads: essential equipment for a Positive Money party.

Ben takes a nap, or maybe receives divine instruction.

And finally... the Positive Money Pyramid. It's probably a metaphor for the banking system.
Atop, Mira was laughing too much so she's headless.

French gnocchi in a smoked tomato vinaigrette

Why do we like the taste of smoke? We all understand the reasons why salt, fat and sugar are so delicious but ash? Think though: cheese, bacon, ham, sausage, oysters, duck, fish (haddock!), chicken, garlic - all improved with smoke. Unsmoked bacon should be an actual sin in my book. I think it could be that if food is smoked it's probably easier to digest and it's safer to eat; the smoke inhibits microbial action, so our ancestors developed a taste for the brown stuff. Damn that's a sexy sentence. Who's hungry now?

I usually use French gnocchi - nothing like the Italian, these are made with a choux pastry base - as a spring starter with lardons and broad beans but I wanted a different gig, specifically an un-pork gig; something savoury, smokey and salty to replace the bacon's umami spike. I fancied tomatoes in a smoked vinaigrette - I still had a litre of oak smoked water from my summer trip to Halen Môn in North Wales.

I coupled the toms and crispy gnocchi with some local curd cheese from the lovely Phil and Keith at Wildes. I normally buy straight from their 'urban dairy', a mile or so from my house. Was pleased to see they've moved to bigger premises. They have a reception area now. It's a good sign. This time next year, chaps!

The dish would be finished by a scattering of that chef's favourite (and mine): the micro herb. I have a dealer now: an executive chef in the city. I visit his house under darkness, thrusting notes into his hand in exchange for fresh boxes of wonderful little leaves. Here I used aromatic micro basil and peppery nasturtium. If we were a proper restaurant I would have placed the leaves individually, nicely. But we're not. I wish the supermarkets sold them. They are very useful and not at all poncey (how dare you!).

But gah! I'd run out of my favourite pulp vinegar. L'Olivier make the best, the deepest, most flavoursome vinegars in the world. This was a good excuse to make my now annual order from Upton Smokery. And look at what they included as a freebie - it's as if they knew.





I made the vinaigrette with a mix of the tomato and red pepper vinegars (about a tablespoon of each), along with a dash of the plain old red wine variety for added pep. this was mixed about 1:3 with groundnut oil, seasoning, a dash of the Cotswold Gold above and a teaspoon of the smoked water; it's powerful stuff.



As I was serving these with cheese I omitted the Gruyere from the usual recipe, replacing with just a tad of grated parmesan. These were better than I remembered. Or maybe I'm getting better. There's a thought. 

Used alone,  the gnocchi would be great for (I have to say it) Christmas nibbles. They'd do well in the place of their cousins: the cheese gougère... along with some nuts and a glass of white Burgundy. I don't do Champagne, even at Christmas.

And here's the happy recipient of the new dish: Shelley, behind a mountain of oddly shaped Yorkshires.

Parlour games and barn storming

Watching Wayne

Kalia and Grant

No, not barnstorming, let's manage that expectation right away. There was a barn and I was in it... and there was a storm and it encircled us: Clodagh. More on that later.

But first... ladies and gents, boys and girls... before your very eyes... the wonderful Mr Wayne Fox! 

Wayne came with Kalia and Grant. I know I say this too often but this was a memorable evening. Wayne's not just quite good, he's a member of the Magic INNER Circle. It's like the cool kids' common room at Hogwarts or something. 

Kalia and Grant arrived about 30 minutes early and after I freaked out (I always do) that nothing was ready, we stood and laughed until magician Wayne arrived and then we laughed some more. I forgot my timings and burnt the bread - this is why I freak out when people are anti-tardy. There are lots of timings just before people arrive: nuts, bread, soup, pancetta, roasting potatoes, resting meat. It doesn't mix well with guests.

Wayne's been before, wowing with his close up magic. It's maybe easy to be sniffy about parlour tricks but we all find our childish wonder when things suddenly disappear. Wayne is a hugely accomplished finder of cards in the most unlikely of places. He does it with wit and warmth too.

Yup. That'll be the card.

The following day was my turn... to do a turn. Emma Lundie had asked me to do a food demo at the inaugural Enfield Food Festival. Of course I said yes. This part of North London is sadly, bizarrely, lacking in food events. I was very happy to support this new venture in Forty Hall. Emma's day job is bringing together producers and customers so this was a logical extension in many ways.

Image courtesy of Forty Hall Farm

I'd decided to do a crowd pleasing joint of simple pork shoulder. A stress free roast, perfect for Boxing Day was the pitch. I needed two, one to show and one 'I prepared earlier'. To accompany the pork I did some sweet and sour red cabbage. This was to be prepped and cooked 'live'.

The pork was supplied, boned and rolled, by Forty Hall Farm (thanks Kate); a rare breed cross cross. No, that's not a typo. This was a Berkshire-Saddleback cross that was bred with a large White - a more commercial animal. Apparently the amount of fat on a pure rare breed is no longer desirable; full of flavour of course but intimidating to our calorie conscious diners. The pork was good, I didn't notice much difference in flavour, maybe it was darker with a more pronounced grain? Mind, I do normally use very good meat from F. Normans.

So Ros dropped off two 4.25kg (just over 9 lbs - a pork baby!) on Saturday. One went in the fridge, the other into the oven. The first half hour at 240°C and then overnight at 90°C. You can leave the joint in the oven until you need it the next day. About an hour before you eat, turn the oven up to 180°C to crisp up the crackling. That's it. There's no secret to this, no byzantine methodology. Tender meat and glassy crackling needs good pig to be cooked slowly.  Well, hot-sloooooooow-hot.

I meant to Tweet the pork's progress but forgot. This is the last shot I managed: a big foil slipper.

Of course... OF COURSE... my 'stress free' joint was anything but. Not because it was difficult but because if you big up your crackling all over Twitter and Facebook and then present something more like biltong... one loses face. The problem with food panic is you start to intervene when you shouldn't. So, yes, I confess I did turn ovens up and down as I prevaricated and I probably pin cushioned the joint with my thermopen... but I think my actions cancelled themselves out. Cooking is all about confidence and mine was tested that day.

Here practising my look of bafflement wearing, it seems, an S handled pot on my head. Thanks to Urvashi for the pic.
That might be the baby Jesus descending above me, just in time for Christmas.

The pork had to be transported to the barn at Forty Hall and sat under foil and a towel for an hour. But any fears I had (many and varied!) that this would compromise my crackling were unfounded. A quick blast in the oven restored everything to shrapnel sharpness.

The event was hosted by Urvashi of Great British Bake Off fame (series 2). She did a great job of keeping me focussed on the audience. It's easy to drift, especially when chopping cabbage with your sharpest knife.

The actual PORK!
Pic from Urvashi again. I think she must be using one of those FatCams that adds a couple of stone.
In real life, I'm actually svelte and tenderloin lean.

Er... the pork. Was.

I'd decided to take Etien with me. I'm not a chef and didn't want to present as one. The dining club is all about the feel: family, warmth, relaxation and, critically, a lack of pretension. Having an eyebrow arching, giggling 15 year old at your shoulder quickly removes any sense of pretentiousness.  But Et delivered in other ways. He really is my right hand man. After witnessing many sweary hours at home, he usually knows what I need now when I stamp around, irritatedly demanding to know who's moved 'thingy'. (It's usually under the oven glove where I left it BTW).

Storm Clodagh, a deep depression over Scotland, threatened to blow the day away with her 70mph gusts. I witnessed more than one multi-gazebo lift: bakers, BBQers and cheese-makers clung to poles while the wind wailed, like a modern day Odysseus. I was lucky to be in the barn, which buckled and cracked like a galleon. The demo seemed to go well. The audience forgave me my humour and occasional sweary slip. No one said I looked like a pirate or shouted 'fraud'. The crackling crackled, the meat was pleasingly lubricious and flavourful. Pork and cabbage disappeared as fast as Wayne's cards. Luckily, unlike the Jack of hearts or the seven of diamonds, none reappeared at any point! 

An entirely unrelated pork pic (this is belly, not shoulder) presented here as a lame attempt to divert attention away from my photographic incompetence.

Blackberries, apple and barley... with pork

I can't cook today. I'm in too bad a mood. You hear said you must cook with love. It's true. well, the obverse is certainly true: you shouldn't cook when irritated. I suppose you shouldn't do anything much when irritated. Apart from winding people up. I'm really good at that.

I was at peace when I made this on the weekend. It's possibly the best meal I've served at the supper club. It's seasonal, it's British and it's using everyday ingredients differently: pickled apple, sweet and sour cabbage, blackberry sauce. It looks great: wholesome, robust, Autumnal even, and with a satisgfying interplay of vivid colour. It even sounds good in delivery; clicking and humming with assonance and alliteration: blackberries, barley, apples and pork.

It sounds good at the table too. Some guests actually made that advert noise of appreciation as they introduced hot, slippery, tender pork to mouth. There's invariably a stretch of diminished dialogue just after... but not silence. Instead the slightly coy crunching; embarrassed at the noise. The crackling's like seaside rock.

The meat is pork belly, free range and orchard fed, from Normans in Oakwood. I love my visits to the butchers: bag of beef rib and a bit of banter. Consistently good service and probably the best meat I've bought in the UK. Their pancetta is fantastic too. You can smell it as soon as you open the fridge door.

Inside at F. Normans Butchers, 199 Bramley Road, Oakwood.

Slow roast pork belly on a bed of barley, with micro fennel and blackberry sauce. Served with a picked apple salad and sweet & sour red cabbage.

There are eight elements to this dish. I'll list them all, linking to previous recipes where possible.

1. Red cabbage

2, 3, 4. Pickled apple, salad, dressing

5. Barley

6. Blackberry sauce

7. Micro fennel

8. Slow roast pork belly

Barley. A grain so often ignored in favour of its sexier and much more expensive shelf sharers. A £1 of pearl barley will feed fifteen people. You can't say that of quinoa or couscous. Pearling is the removal of the bran layer off the grain. It has a pleasant flavour; mild and nutty.

It is simple to cook and much more forgiving than rice on reheating. If anything, day old barley is a better eat. You need around 30g per person for a dinner party and maybe 40g per person for a sofa-sat pig-out. You simply cook the grain in about three times the quantity of water. bring to the boil and simmer for twenty minutes. Lid it, remove from heat and leave to rest until needed. 

When you are ready to eat, the nest hour, the next day... add more water to loosen and bring back to the boil. It's a robust grain and won't turn to glue. You might like it al dente or very soft like porridge. All is good.

To add flavour I boiled mine up with some butter fried shallots; just browning. A sprinkle each of dried oregano and thyme too. You could use stock instead of water of course or a handful of fresh herbs. I didn't on this occasion as I wanted a simple, starchy base.

It's not a looker but then neither am I.

Blackberry sauce. I kept this simple, kinda, resisting anway the temptation to add shallots or butter.

I say 'kinda' (and I say that too often) because although I added only two ingredients to the blackberries they are not easy to find. One is my spiced sugar syrup, the other is this esoteric French liquer - creme de pain d'epices; flavoured with French spiced bread. I've made it in the past. I only added the sugar because the berries were really, really, bloody tart. So much for Sainsbury's labelling. Sweet snacking variety apparently. Snacking? Only if one wants to pull, what my mother would have called, a face with a mouth like a cat's arsehole!

Add a tablespoon or more of the liqueur to the blackberries (couple of supermarket punnets) and simmer gently for twenty minutes. You will need to blend these. Unless they were very sweet you'll need to add some sugar suryp. If you've made the spiced variety, so much the better. The syrup will add a glisten too.

Despite the best efforts of my 2.2 horsepower blender, I couldn't destroy the seeds so you'll need to sieve the sauce before serving. Maybe a pinch of salt and a grind of pink pepper.

The pork cooking is detailed here. One thing to add: make sure to ask your butcher to score the skin parralle with the sides of the joint; squares not diamonds. I find it makes serving much easier if you don't have to struggle against crackling geometry.

To assemble:

Reheat the cabbage with the sweet and sour sauce and set aside on a low heat.
Toss the lambs lettuce in the apple dressing and add the small chunks of pickled apple.
place a big spoonful of barley on warmed plates. Top with a chunk of belly. top this with some micro fennel or, if unavailable (probably) some shavings of regular fennel bulbs, preferably with the fronds attatched.
spoon around some blackberry sauce.
Complete the presentational triangle with a spoon of red cabbage and a fat handful of salad.

Increasingly I think about the colours of the final dish. Green and purple seem to feature a lot along brown.
They do say 'eat the rainbow'. Or is that just the Skittles ad?

Trouble with photographing meat joints is they need sunlight to look good, or at least a well lit studio.
I have neither. So here is my brown slab.

Winter salad: green beans and roasted cauliflower with hazelnuts and herbs

More often than not I am underwhelmed by my original efforts. OK, there is nothing new in cooking so by 'original' I mean something I've decided to create without reference to a recipe and thereafter cannot find on Google. It's rare that I make something inedible; usually it simply isn't as flavoursome as I'd like. This means either abandoning the project or adding ingredients until I realise I've strayed completely and created something else. However, this winter salad worked first time. It's delicious. And, I dare to say: a little bit unusual. I can't find this combination on the internet anyway. This strange sensation rising in me, might actually be... pride!

It maybe an odd looking combo: beans, mustard, cauli and hazelnuts but it works. It was one of the very few times that a recipe idea came to me and made it to the plate without any change.

But I've been oddly reluctant to commit this recipe to screen (well, it's not a page is it?) And I think I've just realised why. I don't want to come across all Ottolenghi. What? The lovely Yotam!? Look, I take nothing away from the man: his food is accomplished and delicious but the recipes can be a bit... 

Scrambled eggs - take some eggs and butter and then forty six other ingredients, including one that is only available from Invisible Eva who can be found by the rowan tree at Lulworth cove but only on the night of the Dorset Horse Fetishists' Fair. It's more expensive than saffron, she only sells by the quarter ounce and you will need half a kilo for this recipe.

A mustard vinaigrette is key to this recipe but it contains one ingredient you probably don't have and one you definitely don't have, because I'm the only person in the world who does. And yet my cooking philosophy is meant to be 'everyday ingredients done differently'? Yeah there are words for people like me. So let's get this over with.

Fancy schmancy ingredients.

1. L'Olivier lemon and grapefruit vinegar (citron pamplemousse). I've gushed about these previously. They are wonderful and expensive. Hey, it's Christmas soon. Treat yourself. Yes, with vinegar. Pretend it's Champagne or something. I order mine every few months from the Upton Smokery.

2. A spiced and zesty sugar syrup. This is more a commitment of time than money. I have several syrups on the go at once. They take up far too much room in my fridge. I've detailed the making of them here. At least they are cheap. You just have to have needed to start the recipe a few weeks ago.

The real star of the recipe is the roasted cauliflower. Think you don't like cauliflower?  Give this a chance. The roasting, as ever, caramelises the natural sugars and results in a sweet, nutty flavour. It is quite a fragile thing though. I'd hoped to slice it finely - a vegetable filigree to present - but even with my sharpest knife or my mandolin I ended up with cauliflower crumble. So I serve wedges. There's a great contrast of texture, flavour and colour between the golden crusted edge and the soft white interior.

Warm mustard vinaigrette of green beans and roasted cauliflower
Serves eight

First roast your cauliflower. One big one or a couple of small. Remove all the leaves and trim the bottom so it sits flat. Rub in plenty of butter and salt generously. Roast at 200°C until golden brown - about 40 minutes but up to an hour if it's a whopper. You can do this beforehand and reheat in a warm over for ten minutes before serving.

While that's cooking, in a separate tin, add a handful of whole hazelnuts to roast for about eight minutes. They should be a deep brown colour. Crush into chunks.



While that's doing, blanch the green beans. You'll need about 50g per person. This recipe is for eight so we'll need 400g which means two supermarket bags. (God, that's annoying.) Blanch the beans in boiling water for two and a half minutes then place in ice water and set aside.

Fry up a couple of rashers of smoked streaky bacon and cut into fine strips. Obviously this is optional. If you don't do pork, tear up a couple of sun dried tomatoes instead. It's needed for colour and salty contrast.

Make the vinaigrette. The base is two tablespoons of L'Olivier lemon vinegar to four tablespoons of groundnut or rice bran oil. Add: the juice of half a lemon, a splash of spiced sugar syrup, a teaspoon each of English mustard and Dijon mustard, two teaspoons of whole grain mustard, a little finely grated parmesan - I mean a big pinch, a teaspoon of creme fraiche, the fine zest of about a third of a lemon, sea salt and black pepper. Shake really well to mix and emulsify. Taste. Adjust. You may want more wholegrain mustard. If it's all too much for you, add more oil and a little water to dilute. But remember that this is a coating so should be fairly intense.

What you have to remember is my 'recipe' for vinaigrette is me standing in front of my cupboard  combining things until I like it. Taste as you go. Learn what works; what you like. Too sour? Add sugar. Too sweet? Balance with acidity and salt. Use oil to improve mouthfeel and to bind the whole.

To assemble: fry the beans in a little butter for two or three minutes until just soft. Put the beans in a  bowl and toss in the vinaigrette. Arrange on the plates.

Top with a cut wedge of cauliflower. Around the beans sprinkle the hazelnuts and the bacon. Add a few microherbs. Oh, sorry. Didn't mention them did I? That'll teach you to read the recipe first. OK. So maybe some  nipped tips of that Greek basil that all the supermarkets have started selling and some mustard cress. Finally, drizzle over a little more vinaigrette, trying not to splodge it, as I have done in the picture below.