yes, yes- let's talk about the weather

We're a hard bunch to please, aren't we? Five months ago, we were lamenting the coldest spring in history. Geese were migrating, it snowed in May, and we all began to wonder if the world was coming to an end. A great deal of us seriously considered moving hemisphere... a lot of us actually did (a worrying chunk of my newsfeed is now a constant stream of photos depicting an Instagramed Sydney Opera House, Bondi Beach and kangaroos). A month later, and we were smug, sunburnt, and yet again wondering if the world was indeed coming to an end, albeit less in a 'Day After Tomorrow' way, more just an 'Actual Global Warming'  fashion. Which is arguably the better way to go, anyway. The delicate constitution of the average Brit simply wasn't designed to endure such scorching climes. We'd forgotten how to dress ourselves properly (if at all), and as a nation, our conversational prowess- already questionable- had all but disappeared. All we seemed able to do was feverishly spout Europe-wide weather comparisons: 'Did you hear? We're hotter than Alicante! ALICANTE!' We were whingeing* about air-con. We were whingeing about lack of air-con. And instead of whingeing about  lack of employment, we had a whinge about having to work in 27 degree heat. Put simply, we're never bloody happy.

Tan lines

Well, I was. My house plants may have died,and my skin might have spent most of the summer bearing more resemblance to a corpulent whisky fiend , but I can honestly say that I loved it. All of it- the sweaty, sleepless nights, the long, hot days, and finally! The idea that, for once, we'd experienced a season easily discernible as summer. So when the colder, darker, altogether more miserable days start to draw in, I get a bit grumpy. Don't get me wrong- I bloody love Christmas. If it weren't for my infinitely more practical (read: spoilsport) husband, I'd have the tree up by mid-November. It's just the awkward, in-betweeny period I detest, where you're not sure whether tights are OK, and after ten minutes on the tube in a coat you feel just about ready to die. In fact, the only thing that really cheers me up is the food. Now there's a surprise ;)

The heavy stews, the richer soups, and the gnarly vegetables all make me think that autumn probably does serve a purpose after all. And my favourite of the bunch? Blackberries.They bridge the gap between summer days, and the first festive frosts of November (after which point I stop feeling miserable, because I'm in full Christmas swing... the cat's been forced into Yuletide head gear, and I'm wearing ridiculous knitwear again). Nothing really beats the unadulterated purity of a naked berry, but when you spend four months gorging on the things, it's nice to do something a bit more interesting with them eventually. Like this:

Blackberry, Cardamom & Tequila Panna Cottas

(You can make these as seasonal as you like by swapping the fruit, and trading the alcohol with whatever comes to hand. You could leave it out entirely, but where's the fun in that...?)

What You Need:

• 325ml full-fat milk
• 400ml double cream
• 75g caster sugar
• 2 vanilla pods, or good quality vanilla bean paste, which can be more economical given that vanilla pods seem to be astronomical these days. I use Taylor and Colledge, where one teaspoon of the paste is one whole vanilla bean. I daresay other products vary.
• 10g of leaf gelatine (approximately 6 sheets)
• 25ml decent quality white tequila. Not because it matters especially, just because life's too short to drink bad tequila- and there will be an awful lot left to drink.
• 250g Blackberries. I think it goes without saying that they should be British ones.
• 3 cardamom pods, lightly crushed.

What You Do:

1. Grab a medium-sized heavy-based pan, and pour in the milk, double cream, 50g of the caster sugar and your vanilla seeds (scraped from the pods) or paste. Place on a medium to high heat until JUST before it reaches boiling point, then turn off. Do not get distracted by your husband asking where his football kit is hiding, wander off for a few minutes and return to a half empty pan and a hob covered in burnt milk. Just saying.

I'm cream. I'm a bastard to get off a hob.

2. Soften your gelatine leaves in cold water for about five minutes, unsticking them from one another if need be. Squeeze out the water, and stir into your cream mixture.

Dinky

3. Fill a large mixing bowl with iced water, and transfer your cream into something that will sit comfortably in it without a) filling with aforementioned iced water, or b) floating on to its side and spilling everything. A jug with a handle that can hook over the edge is ideal, but just improvise. Cool your liquid for about an hour, stirring occasionally.

4.Pour into six fancy glasses. I like the dinky little Duralex affairs, personally. Leave a gap at the top (about two centimetres), and stick in the fridge to set. Overnight is ideal, but I've been known to finish these off in a blind panic at 3pm, in time for a dinner evening for 16 at 7.30. If they were shit, then everyone was polite enough not to mention it to me. But either way, leave a few hours- 5-6 at the least.

Pipe and cigar not required

5.Place your blackberries into a pan with the tequila, cardamom pods and last of the caster sugar. On a very low heat, poach the fruit until softened (but still a loose blackberry shape), and taste. It should be tart enough to cut through the richness of the cream, but not stroke-inducing. Cool in the fridge for an hour or so.

To serve, spoon your fruit mixture haphazardly over the set panna cottas. Try to remove the cardamom pods beforehand, though. They're not great for chewing on. If you have time, knock up a few shortbread thins on the side. If you don't, then just have them alone- they taste good enough.

Happy tequila-drinking,

mrs hunt.x

words and (food) pictures

A photo of meatballs

And so, as if I didn't need reminding that I'm no longer gorging myself silly in Sicily, it's just started raining again. We now find ourselves unmistakably and unequivocally in Autumn- one of my favourite seasons food-wise, most definitely not weather-wise. Whilst the rapidly shortening days and plummeting mercury herald the arrival of some pretty indulgent, tasty comfort foods, for the time being I'm going to stick my head in the sand and fondly reminisce about the glut of pasta, seafood and litre carafes of wine (litre! Italians sell wine by the litre!)  that helped contribute to the extra half a stone that's stubbornly hanging around.

Since my last post reached almost epic proportions, I'm going to allow the pictures to do most of the talking for this one. It would be a shame to let them go unseen, seeing as they were the cause of several marital disputes abroad (Husband: 'Seriously? It's a meatball. Stop taking photos of a meatball and talk to me. You look like a tourist.') Well, readers, I was a tourist, and unashamedly papped a few hundred photos of my favourite meals and markets. And cats too, but I'll spare you those...  

Grilled mystery fish. It could have been bream. Who knows.

These didn't last long...

Now if our glowing white pallor didn't immediately give us away as Brits, then my blustering attempts at Italian certainly did. Needless to say, we did eventually end up with an assortment of traditional Sicilian anitpasti at our first restaurant that went down rather well. Caponata, found in abundance across Sicily, would most aptly be described as an aubergine, caper and celery relish- that is if if you want to be very British about things and completely strip it of any allure. It's generally a given that most things sound infintely more tempting in Italian. We guzzled that down alongside some arancinette (deep-fried risotto balls flavoured with saffron) and polpette di sarde. Now it took my exhausted, Ryanair-flight frazzled brain a while to translate this into sardine meatball, when intitally I had been convincing myself it was something to do with octopus ('polpo', if anyone cares...). But sardine meatball it was, and 'delicious' doesn't quite do it justice. Paired with mint, pinenuts and just the tiniest hint of aniseed, it's a far more summery alternative to the standard pork or lamb variety.

Sicillian culture has been subject to
countless influences over the centuries, owing largely to its indefensible position bang in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. However, it seems being conquered time and time again by hordes of knife-wielding men from boats can do funny things to a country, and in the case of Sardinia- Italy's largest island- it's resulted in quite an inherent mistrust of anything that comes from the sea. Like fish. Luckily, Sicilians are far more laid back, and embrace anything they can catch. Sicillian sea urchins are harvested in 'cooler' weather, so I was a bit late (or early, I suppose) for linguine di riccio. Needless to say, there was an abundance of seafood around, and the Sicilians adore a simply grilled fish (see above left- but don't ask me what fish it was, since to this day I can't tell you). And then there's the shellfish: mussels are everywhere. A packed-out backstreet trattoria served me an amazing  zuppa di cozze- a glass bowl of huge mussels in a translucent broth. Unlike the richer Belgian or French moules frites, this was an incredibly simple starter dish- just fish stock, lemon, more pepper than you would ever dare to use yourself, and the tiniest sniff of garlic. Perfect for when you're planning on a marathon six course dinner.

Despite not being native to Italy, tomatoes
have done a darn good job of cementing
 themselves firmly in Italian cuisine.

Letting me loose in Ballaro Market, Palermo's biggest outdoor food market, proved very much akin to allowing a child free reign in Hamleys at Christmas- I demonstrated a complete lack of regard for money, practicality or personal welfare, and had to be reminded on several occasions that marrows were unlikely to survive Ryanair's draconian excess baggage policy, and a lot of the spices on offer would look incredibly suspicious under x-ray scrutiny. Regardless, I still saw fit to purchase a kilo of ripe nectarines, and ate them all more out of spite than hunger. But when you experience a market like this- where everything is so fresh, cheap and seasonal, you can see why Tesco are yet to try extending their reach into mainland Europe. The idea of polypropene containers, Peruvian asparagus and Birdseye fish fingers is quite laughable when you see the local fare on offer.

It was like Christmas had come early...

A vivid display of some seasonal Sicillian veg-
and I didn't even  need to use Instagram.

Now I would be remiss in waxing lyrical about the wonders of Italian produce if I failed to mention street food. Sadly, we live in a country where street food is synonymous with overpriced, cremated sausages bought in a state of utter inebriation, somewhere along Oxford street at 3am, or else scraps of indefinable grey-coloured meat that does little justice to the middle-eastern kebab. But in Sicily, street food is a way of life; at around 9pm, families come out into squares in their hordes, and mill around food stands and plastic tables with arancini, panelle (deep-fried chickpea fritters) and guasteddi. Now, I'm fairly brazen with my eating, and am yet to come across a food I won't sample. That said, I was a little dubious about devouring what is essentially a role filled with calf spleen, lungs and lard. But I did, and it was good, if a rather interesting texture.

Guasteddi- tastes good,
 looks... well... not good.

Genovesi Ericine

       










I suppose the reason I get so giddy in Italy is because I feel very safe in the knowledge that I can be reckless with my food choices- you know that chances are, you're going to get something damn good, even if it does come under the dubious heading of 'chef's meat special.' A restaurant that looks as ropey as hell from the outside is just as (or perhaps even more) likely to serve you the best meal of your life as the one with the linen napkins and 120EU bill. Good coffee is ubiquitous (no skinny decaff soya lattes or Nescafe here, thank you very much), and one of the best things I put into my mouth came from a dodgy-looking food stand in a train station. Genovesi Ericine- sugar dusted, lemon custard filled Sicillian pastries-served up warm with a cup of strong espresso, made our three-train, two-bus trip to the airport bearable.

But now, back to reality. It's still cold, it's still raining, and I'm definitely in need of some comfort food. So I'm off to make some pumpkin soup, and dream of the sunshine....

mrs hunt.x