pork: the trilogy

Red wine obligatory

All the best things come in threes...Coppola's The Godfather, Tolkein's Lord of the Rings, fun-sized 90's boyband 911 ('Bodyshaking' anyone?)... and my pork, which gave every indication of being never ending. But a trilogy it is- for this is my third and final austerity cook, pulled-pork recipe. You have my word. This recipe will finish off any of the leftovers, and can be stuck at the back of the freezer until you feel ready to face the remnants of your pork shoulder once more.

And so in a bid to see away the last of my meat, I turned to that reliable bastion of leftovers- the humble pie. You could, I suppose, just chuck a clump of leftover meat into a pie dish, cover with a layer of shortcrust, and I daresay it would still taste perfectly lovely. A lot of blood, sweat and (I admit...) tears went into that joint of pork, and its leftovers won't fail you. But what this blog might lack in imagination name-wise, it makes up for in its cooking- if I may say so myself, anyway.

So, I present to you all...

Swine-Herders Pie

Arguably not the most sophisticated sounding of dishes, but since it's essentially a bastardized shepherds pie with pork, it seemed fitting enough.

What You Need:

• As you'd imagine, you'll be needing a pie dish. I used a 24cm stoneware Le Creuset one, as it distributes the heat nicely (so no scorched bottoms), and it looks pretty enough to serve at the table. Mine is purple, if you care to know.
• Enough leftover pork to fill your pie dish 2/3 of the way to the brim.
• Oil for cooking
• 3 juniper berries. It may not sound like much, but more and you'll feel like you've spiked the dish with bathtub gin. Which is no bad thing, I suppose.
• 1 tsp cumin seeds
• 1 tsp fennel seeds
• 1 tsp chilli flakes
• 1/2 tsp bashed-up cloves
• 2 tsp cinnamon powder
• 2 diced shallots
• 2  garlic cloves, finely chopped
• 200ml cider. Something slightly sweeter works well with this.
• 1 pint good quality beef stock
• 1 pinch of cayenne pepper
• 4 sweet potatoes
• 1 tbsp mango chutney
• Soy sauce
• Juice and zest of two limes
• 1 egg, beaten (optional, but nice- omit if egg intolerant, or you've forgotten to buy eggs)
• Sesame seeds
• Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• Coriander, to garnish

This looks like a fairly hefty list of ingredients for something that's just using up leftovers, but most of this should be in your store cupboard. If it isn't, put it there and I promise you'll use it up eventually.

What You Do:

Mash things. Except there's only one
 lime there. You need two. Sorry.

1.Preheat your oven to 200 degrees fan-assisted, hotter if not. Whack in your sweet potatoes just as they are. Take them out an hour later, or once the skin starts to pucker, puff, and char slightly. Leave them to cool on the side, and turn your oven down to 190 degrees.

2. About an hour into the potato cooking time, heat a couple of tablespoons of oil (nothing too flavoursome- just olive, or plain old veg) in a large, heavy-bottomed pan, over a medium heat. Add your three juniper berries, the cumin seeds, chilli flakes and bashed-up cloves.

3. Give these a few minutes to infuse the oil, and then chuck in your chopped garlic and shallots. Turn the heat down, and stir fairly regularly to make sure they don't catch- you should know how I feel about burnt allium by now. Soften for a few minutes.

4. Now add your pork and stir to heat through, breaking up any big chunks with a wooden spoon. Once hot, add your cinnamon, cider, beef stock and cayenne. Allow to bubble away for at least twenty minutes on a low heat, stirring occasionally. You want the liquid to reduce enough that your pie has a decent gravy, but won't be swimming in it.

An unnecessary photo of a potato masher.

5. While that's simmering, start peeling your potatoes- you should be able just to rip the skin away. It really is worth waiting until they've cooled a bit before attempting this. Hot potatoes are hot. Pop them into a large bowl, and mash up with the mango chutney, lime juice and zest, soy sauce and lots of pepper. This is the Jamie Oliver version of sweet potato mash, and I've never looked back- it's amazing. Check whether the soy sauce has added enough salt- if not, use sea salt. You don't want your pie topping to look like mud, after all.

6. Check on your pork filling- tweak any spices to taste, and season. If you happen to have any leftover cooked veg hanging around the fridge, feel free to throw that in now. Take your pan off the heat, and allow to cool slightly.

7. Pour or ladle the filling into your pie dish of choice, and top with the mashed sweet potato. You want it to look nice and rustic- ploughed, almost. The peaks catch in the oven and give the whole dish a good bit of colour. Brush lightly all over with your beaten egg for a bit of a crust once it's cooked, and then sprinkle all with your sesame seeds and a last twist of salt and pepper.

8. Place in the middle of your oven, and cook for 35 minutes. You might hear a bit of hissing and spluttering as the gravy seeps up over the crust and inevitably trashes your oven, but don't be alarmed. Just coerce a grateful pie-recipient into cleaning it later. Once it's out, garnish lavishly with coriander leaves, and serve with salad, crusty bread, and a bottle of your favourite hot sauce.

For some post-pie viewing- enjoy this on me...

mrs hunt.x

eating madrid

I'm having a pork-hiatus. That is to say, the idea of a third consecutive pork-post is just too much to bear. And since it's a  cold, snowy, depressingly English day, I thought I'd perk myself up with a post about Madrid, following a hedonistic, fun- (and food... and drink...) filled sojourn there last October. But never fear- the pork will return for its third and final re-incarnation next week.

Possibly the only image I possess from Madrid that isn't food or alcohol...

So… what can one do with sixty-eight hours in Madrid? A great deal, I imagine. Explore the Prado, perhaps, or enjoy a leisurely amble through the Retiro. Maybe even have a peek inside the Palacio Real. Well, I didn’t manage any of these. I visited Madrid on an Eating Holiday, and I was dedicated to the cause. I’d packed my stretchiest, most forgiving wardrobe, and there was a blanket ban on anything more active than the walk between tapas bars - unless you count a night spent Salsa dancing with geriatric Spanish couples (which I do).  Until my arrival, all thoughts of the recession were far from my mind; my fabric softener is more expensive, and I probably won’t get a mortgage until my mid-thirties, but other than that, luckily I can say it’s had negligible impact on my day-to-day existence. Spain, however, is an entirely different kettle of fish; next to Greece, it’s had the roughest ride in Europe over the last five years. Don’t get me wrong- Madrid is a stunning city. Cleaner than London and more stylish than Paris (the children all look as though they’ve just stepped off a Petit-Filous advert…), there’s very little on the surface to suggest it’s still in the midst of the worst recession since the Wall Street Crash. If the Madrilenos are good at anything, it’s keeping up appearances.  But if you strain your ears and prick your eyes, you’ll start to notice the signs: the queue for Spain’s National Lottery reaches over 300 feet, there are ten anti-austerity marches in the city centre every day, and there’s a notable increase in the number of both street performers and sex workers lining the boulevards, leaning casually against the trees. If you listen carefully to the hubbub in the bars and restaurants, all talk is of ‘la crisis.’ Well, that or Real Madrid. But what of the bars? Are they being shunned, in favour of saving a penny or two? Of course not- this is Madrid. Whether it’s another case of ‘keeping up appearances,’ or else just a means of drowning sorrows, the bars and restaurants are packed. And if you follow a savvy Madrileno, you’ll probably find the best food you’ll ever eat.

The grilled-foie. Guilt-laden, and good

Txirimiri on Calle del General Diaz (one of four across the city) is a tiny Basque tapas bar specialising in pintxos. It’s small, nothing special to look at, and some football match or other will inevitably be blaring from the wall-mounted television. But the food- oh, the food! Eating the grilled foie was like consuming tiny droplets of velvet that evaporated on my tongue. The solomillo had the texture of butter, and the rabo de toro (sandwiched oxtail stew) was cooked to perfection. I finished with a tatin de manza- and how something so inauspiciously named can taste so good is, frankly, beyond me. Cinnamon-stewed hunks of apple in a light sponge were dusted with icing sugar and almonds, and encased in a shortcrust party base of such daintiness that Mary Berry would be hanging up her apron in defeat, should she try it. After this, we made the (thankfully) short crawl over to Taberna Degusta, where we ate eggs. Now the Spanish are fond of an egg or two it seems, and Madrilenos in the know would argue that this is the place to get them. Try the huevos rotos de corral con trufa (or ‘broken eggs with truffle, to you and me) and huevos con iberico y salmonejo (eggs with iberico ham and gazpacho), and your dippy egg and soldiers will never taste the same again.

                  If Hemmingway truly frequented every bar that lays claim to his name, then it’s little wonder he had such a prolific drink problem. Nevertheless, if the state of the floor is anything to go by (and in Spain it is- the dirtier, the better) then Carvecierci Alemana is tapas gold. A bustling, well-known establishment, this isn’t exactly one of Madrid’s hidden gems, but it’s definitely worth a visit. Pop in for a chilled Tio Pepe, and fill up on the accompanying anchovies, Iberico and olives.  Once you’re sated, start heading over to La Latina- (especially if it’s a Sunday, in which case hit the El Rastro flea market en route) then commence the eating, drinking and merry-making. Apparently, even if they do have a job to go to the next morning,  sleep is of little concern to true Madrilenos, who party just as hard on a Sunday as any day of the week.  At the top of cobbled and winding Costanilla San Andres sits La Gorda, a Peruvian bar and restaurant. This might seem an odd recommendation to make, but it forms part of a subtle change in Madrid’s attitude to food. No longer are all Spaniards staunchly xenophobic in their culinary approach; indeed, many cities (Madrid at the fore) are embracing their changing demographic. The upshot of this? Some bloody fantastic Peruvian resaturants. La Gorda- literally, ‘The Fat Woman,’ had me the moment I spotted shot glasses brimming with Bloody Mary adorning the bar top, which I pounced upon immediately (almost choking on the cockles hidden at the bottom in the process).We had every intention of popping in for a pisco sour and pintxo before moving on… needless to say, four hours, several piscos and a lot of ceviche later, we were still going strong. It’s also probably worth mentioning that the pisco was responsible for the mother-of-all hangovers the following morning- don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Bitesize Bloody Mary. Notice
 you  can't see the cockle...

Of course, I now have every excuse to make a return trip. After all, I can’t really say I’ve seen Madrid- I’ve just eaten it. So I’ll be back. I’ll have to pop into La Gorda, obviously. And check the tapa is still up to scratch in the Plaza Major. I daresay I’ll visit La Latina for some late-night revelry again, too. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll squeeze in the Prado. We’ll see.

pork: the sequel

Fun Fact: every year, we Brits chuck away 18 million tons of edible food.

So, I lied. There was nothing particularly 'fun' about that fact, but it seemed worth mentioning. On a relatively serious note though, let's just try envisioning what 18 million tons of food actually looks like- it's ridiculous. And also a little bit sad, given the number of people who go to bed hungry every night.

Me again.

But let's not get too preachy, eh? I made a resolution this year- a new one. Because I daresay I won't have the time to learn Cantonese, and given the occupational hazards of being a food blogger, any weightloss ambitions are, sadly, unrealistic. So this year, I'm vowing to throw away less food, and be more inventive with my leftovers (and not just postpone their inevitable binning by chucking them into the cavernous depths of the freezer without another thought).

Last week, I promised you I'd do something imaginative with your leftover pork. Now, when I saw just how much leftover pork that recipe... well, leftover, I don't mind admitting that I was intimidated. Had I just got a tad carried away in the fervour of festive eating, and bankrupted myself for a joint that I could NEVER FINISH? Were these delicious scraps of meat destined to languish in clingfilm until I gave in, and turned to the bin in defeat? Not on my watch. So here we have it- Pulled Pork Reincarnation #1:

Jerk Patties

It's imperative that you consider the flavours used in the original cook when conjuring up inspired leftovers, otherwise you risk ending up with something that tastes confused and jarring. Given the Jerk leanings of the slow cook recipe, I wanted to come up with a mid-week friendly, Caribbean-inspired patty. And here it is.

What You Need:

• 2 average-sized potatoes- whatever variety you have to hand.
• Roughly half the volume of potato (once grated) in your leftover pork. Remove from the fridge an hour or so before you start your patty-making, if you can.
• A handful of fresh coriander, chopped.
• 1-2 fresh red chillis depending, as always, on how hot you fancy.
• 1.5 tsp of fennel seeds
• 1.5 tsp of allspice
• 1.5 tsp of mixed spice
• The zest of two limes, and juice of one.
• A sprinkling of fresh thyme leaves (dry will do, in a pinch).
• A thumb of fresh ginger, grated.
• 1 egg from a happy chicken
• Plain flour. Enough of it.
• Sea Salt
• Black Pepper
• Cayenne Pepper
• Oil for cooking.

What Yo Do:

1. Peel and grate your potatoes, and squeeze them gently in your hands over some kitchen towel to dry them out a bit. Don't clench them to a pulp, but do try your best to get some of the excess moisture out, or your patty will disintegrate, and look rather woebegone.

2. Lightly bash your fennel seeds, chop your chilli and coriander, grate your ginger (having peeled it first, ideally), and give it all a decent mix with the allspice, cumin, mixed spice, lime zest, lime juice, salt and pepper. This isn't really the sort of thing you want to check by thrusting a finger in and licking it, so give it a good sniff (not too hard- ingesting chilli and allspice through your nose is, surprisingly enough, quite unpleasant). It should smell sweet, earthy, and zingy, with no one ingredient dominating. If it does, tweak. Trust your nose.

3. Now tackle your pork. Getting it out of the fridge in advance should make it easier to handle, as you need to shred it a little more finely than you probably did originally. It should be roughly the same cut as your potato. Some excess fat will have congealed during refrigeration, so try to pick off any obvious-looking lumps, and don't worry about the rest.

Melge

4. In a big bowl, mix your potato, pork and spices. Crack an egg into a small glass or bowl, and whisk very lightly with a fork. Add this to the mix gradually until it all starts to melge* together- too much and it will turn out soggy, not to mention distinctly egg-flavoured.

5. In a shallow dish, pour in some plain flour, and season enthusiastically with sea salt, fresh black pepper and a good pinch of cayenne.

6. Start shaping your patties, but first- decide what you're using them for. They make good party nibbles (and sure beat a prawn ring or pallid frozen 'tikka bite'...), so think along the flattened golf-ball lines for that. For a solid main dish, think generic fish-cake size, and for a nice little starter, somewhere in between the two. Give them a good final squeeze as you're doing this, just to triple-check they aren't still oozing water. Dust them lightly but thoroughly in the flour, and set aside.

... and dust

7. If you want to freeze these for Credit Card Statement Day (or any other occasion you find yourself in need of a cheap dinner), then place them onto a clingfilmed baking sheet, and pop them in. Once they're hard, transfer them into something more practical (I heart Tupperware). Defrost thoroughly for at least twelve hours before heating. If you're cooking them there and then, leave them in the fridge for an hour or so to firm them up, if you have time.

8. To cook, heat some oil in a non-stick pan over a medium heat. The 'non-stick' element is quite important here- you risk skinning your patties in the pan if it's some dodgy old thing, which is always a bummer. You may notice Le Creuset cookware features a lot in my blog photos, and it's because everything they produce is amazing, and well worth every penny... so you've got a whole year to behave, and bag some from Santa for next Christmas. Anyway- once the oil is hot, place them in carefully using a spatula or some kind of burger-flipping-device. Cook dinner-sized ones for about four minutes each side, and the smaller ones for 2-3 minutes each side. Please do check they are piping hot all the way through- I still don't have the legalities of blogging quite figured out yet. I'd be awfully miffed if I got sued...

It's worth nothing that, seeing as your pork is already a couple of days old, you should either cook or freeze your patties on the day.

Serve with salad, and obligatory hot sauce.

Granny-plate optional

Don't fret- Pulled Pork Reincarnation #2 will follow soon. God, I hope you like pork...

mrs hunt.x

* I though 'melge' was a real word- it turns out that's not the case. I'm sure we understand one another.

austerity cooking

Ah, Christmas. A time for ill-advised knitwear, lying to children, and dodgy office parties. Oh, and shameless gluttony of course. It's as though December provides the perfect black hole for calories and cash- it's Christmas, so it would be rude not to buy/eat/drink everything in sight, even if we know all too well that feeling of dread and self loathing that hits us once January rolls around. But for now, it's December, and the festive season is in full swing. So without further ado, lets talk about food.

My own ill-advised knitwear. Well- it is Christmas...

For all you Christmas purists out there, there's turkey, 'nuff said. Luckily, due to a combination of a great mother and mother-in-law, I've managed to escape the delights of this dry, over priced and over-rated bird for most of my festive dinners. Frankly, I just don't understand why people invest so much time and effort in what is essentially an oversized chicken on Christmas Day. But, I'm not here to court controversy; instead I'm here to share a recipe that's perfect for the POST Christmas period- you know, those iffy few days between the Big Day itself and New Years. Or, it's great as a relatively fuss-free New Year's Day dinner, and it's a meal that can stretch to as many distant relatives as may deign to rock up on your doorstep over the festive season, providing brilliantly versatile leftovers that I will follow up on with not one, but TWO recipes over the coming week. Which is where the 'austerity' part of this cooking comes in- the cut, due in part to it's size, isn't exactly cheap, but remember- it is Christmas. And the reincarnated leftover dishes freeze perfectly, which will be a relief come January's credit card bill...

I'm not afraid to admit that this is a bastardized Jamie Oliver recipe. Now that's not to say there was anything wrong with the original, it's just that I do enjoy tinkering with things. I also believe that with any recipe, there's always the opportunity to put your own stamp on something- so long as you're not screwing with any basic chemistry at work (so no tampering with Mary Berry's sponge, please).

It's also worth mentioning that this takes a Very. Long. Time. But, it's worth it, and you can prattle around the house while it's cooking- maybe take the time to pair up all those nice new socks you seem to have acquired...

Jerk-Roasted Pulled Pork For The Masses

What You Need:

• 5kg boned and rolled pork shoulder, but ask your butcher nicely if they still have the bone hanging around. I also bought a nice little rack of ribs for the meat to rest on while it's cooking- the meat's delicious after a few hours in the oven.
• 1 x bottle of good quality cider- I really like the slightly medicinal taste of Hecks in this dish. You are, of course, permitted a cheeky swig for yourself every once in a while...
• 1 x can of Coca Cola (other 'cola' brands are available, but let's face it- they're shit. So just buy the real stuff)
• A handful of fresh thyme, leaves ripped off
• 1 tbsp ground cumin
• 1 tbsp fennel seeds, lightly bashed with anything solid you have to hand
• A liberal grating of fresh nutmeg
• Maldon Sea Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• Olive oil
• 3 x scotch bonnet chillis. More if you like it really hot, less if you're a bit of a whimp.
• 2 tbsp dark muscavado sugar
• A large knob of fresh ginger, grated
• 1/2 tbsp allspice
• 1/2 tbsp cloves
• 5-6 cloves of garlic, mashed with salt in a pestle and mortar
• Juice and zest of three limes
• A bunch of healthy-looking coriander

What You Do:

MEAT

1. Preheat your oven to its hottest setting- I was quite impressed to discover that ours manages 260 degrees. If your butcher hasn't already, score the skin of your pork and rub all over with the fresh thyme, ground cumin, fennel seeds, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Do this dry at first, and then follow with a hefty glug of olive oil to lubricate things nicely.

2. Pop your joint into a snug-fitting oven tray, resting on the bones. Pour half of the cider and half of the coke into the BOTTOM of the tray, taking care to leave the skin completely dry. If it gets even the tiniest bit soggy, your crackling will be abysmal (and we all know legendary crackling is the benchmark of all good pork). Place in the middle of your swelteringly hot oven for half an hour.

3. After the 30-minute mark, turn the oven down to 130 degrees, and add the rest of the cider and coke to the oven tray. You're afforded a bit of faffing-time doing this, as you'll need to have the door open for a moment to cool the oven down anyway.

4. Set your timer for three and a half hours. Commence sock organising.

5. Once it's up, cover your joint with a layer of foil. Set the timer for a further three and a half hours. Write a short play, or learn a language.

6. And, we're done! Well, nearly. Once your timer has sounded, pull the joint carefully out of the oven. Move to a large plate, and leave to rest with the foil on. Skim the fat from the top of the oven tray (do not chuck this carelessly down your sink. Not only will it probably bugger up your drain, it's also a shameful waste of excellent fat that would much rather be used on a potato one day), and pour all the remaining juices into your favourite bowl.

7. Finely chop your scotch bonnets, and avoid all eye-scratching, tooth-picking and baby-cuddling pursuits until you've thoroughly washed your hands. In your nice bowl, start concocting what is essentially a Jerk seasoning-mix the sugar, grated ginger, ginger powder, allspice, cloves, mashed garlic, lime juice and zest. Don't worry too much about being exact with the quantities, tweak according to your own palate. It needs to taste a lot stronger than you'd think, as it has a rather large heap of meat to cover.

8. Remove the layer of crackling from the pork. If it isn't quite up to scratch, pop it under a hot grill for a few minutes. Scrape off the white, flobbery layer of fat from underneath, and discard. Now, start the shredding- the meat should fall 'aaahhh-' inducingly apart- in slow motion, just like a Marks and Spencer advert. Pull it all apart with two forks, and then toss in the jerk seasoning. 

Pile onto your favourite serving plate, and let everyone dig in. It's best served with something that can mop up the juices adequately, so I tend to do mine with sweet potato mash and lots of hot greens. As I mentioned, unless you really are feeding the five thousand there should be a fair bit of meat leftover. Just cover this up and stick it in the fridge to await further instructions...!

Merry Christmas/Happy Hannukah/Jolly New Year and all that malarkey...

mrs hunt.x

the not-so tough cookie

This post could be considered a bit of a follow-on from last week's chocolate prattlings- but no rants this time, just recipes. Or one, at least- my gruff, manly chocolate cookie recipe. Cookies might not be the most gastronomically exciting foodstuff, but there's something quite comforting about baking a batch every once in a while. These ones have a 'hero' ingredient- Green and Blacks Mayan Chocolate. It can be substituted for any other interesting variety of chocolate you might prefer (it works well with the chilli-infused stuff too) but the orange zest and spices in this particular bar are fairly distinctive, and fittingly festive to boot.

As you might have picked up from last week's post (which had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, I'm sure), I'm brazenly snobbish when it comes to chocolate. Now I know Green and Black's can hardly be considered 'artisan' anymore, but it's bloody nice, and a reasonable price for its calibre. Some purists would argue that its dark varieties aren't, strictly speaking, 'dark', since they list milk solids amongst the ingredients. However, after a bit of nosing, I gather this is for allergy reasons and nothing else; they do not use milk solids in the recipe, if you cared. Plus, they're Fair Trade, which is nice.

So, without further ado, my recipe for...

Vaguely Festive Chocolate Cookies:

What You Need:

• 125g dark chocolate
• 150g plain flour
• 30g cocoa, sifted
• 1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
• 1 tsp ground allspice
• 1tsp cinnamon
• A grating of nutmeg- enough that you can taste it, not so much that you start hallucinating.
• 125g butter (see below...)
• 1/2 tsp salt (or use salted butter), at room temeperature if possible.
• 100g light brown sugar
• 25g muscavado sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla extract (NOT essence. Horrible stuff)
• 1 free-range egg- cold from the fridge.
• 200g Green & Blacks Maya Gold chocolate, chipped.

What You Do:

1. Preheat your oven to 150 degrees if you're using a fan oven. Crank it up to 170 degrees if you're not. Pop an inch (no more) of water into a pan, and place on a low heat. Break up your dark chocolate, and melt it in a snug-fitting bowl over the barely simmering water. If the bowl gets too hot, or the water touches the bottom, your chocolate will suddenly transform into a grainy mess that you'll be forced to eat while you try again.

2.Place the flour, bicarbonate of soda, cocoa, allspice, cinnamon, nutmeg and, if you're using it, the salt, into a large bowl and mix well.

3.In another bowl (or electric mixer, if you have one), beat the butter until it pales. Add the two sugars, and continue to beat for a few minutes until fluffy. Try not to forget about your melting chocolate in the mean time, and once it's smooth and glossy pour this in and stir through.

4. Beat in the vanilla extract, and crack in the egg. Mix in your dry ingredients.

5. Finally, stir in your Mayan chocolate chips. This is also a good time to start eating your batter.

6. Scoop out enough mix to create a cookie-ball in a size that strikes you as appropriate- this recipe makes 12 decent-sized biscuits, depending on how much of the batter you've managed to consume by this point. Place them on a lined baking sheet, about 2-3" apart. Any closer and you'll end up with a cookie sheet, which I suppose is no disaster. But if you're going for the traditional cookie form, then strategic spacing is advisable. DO NOT PAT DOWN! You might have to do a couple of batches, depending on the size of your baking tray.

7. Bake in the middle of your oven for about 18 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean from the middle, not wet with batter. They might still seem very soft, but don't panic. Leave them to firm up on the baking tray for five minutes or so, and then transfer them to a wire rack.

I like my cookies still warm, served with a bit of creme fraiche and orange zest. If they last long enough to merit it worthy, stick them in an  airtight container and they should last a couple of days.


Happy cookie-munching.

mrs hunt x

chocolate: an education

A coffee worth the 60-mile round-trip.
But then, I wasn't driving.

Good coffee is notoriously tricky to find outside of the M25 * (and if any of you are even tempted to mention Starbucks, please, just- don't) and so as ludicrous as it sounds, the Husband and I quite often trek over to DunneFrankowski's Protein in Shoreditch for a decent one. This might seem a bit OTT, but a) we're both unashamedly snobbish when it comes to coffee, and b) we're good friends with Rob (Dunne) and Vic (Frankowski), so the 30-mile mission isn't quite as ridiculous as it might first appear. I've always considered these two to be crusaders of a sort- essentially, they're on a mission to get people drinking proper coffee (not low-fat, toffee nut soya lattes), and I suppose they realised that chocolate suffered the same break- people have long since forgotten what it actually is, how to make it, and how to eat it. And so after chatting to Michael Lowe from chocolatier Paul A Young over a coffee, they asked him to arrange a chocolate tasting (read: re-education) one Sunday. I'm not one to say 'no' to chocolate for breakfast, so that's where we found ourselves.

Sure beats coco pops...

I've already confessed my gender-driven compulsion for shopping, and yes, I do enjoy a crap rom-com every once in a while (especially if Jennifer Anniston pops up somewhere), but really I think it goes without saying that, like most girls, I'm quite fond of a good bit of chocolate. Whilst I'm just as snobbish about it as I am my coffee, I have to admit I'd never given the stuff much thought beyond 'well this stuff's obviously better- it's twice the price, and in nice paper...' which is arguably the same yardstick I apply to a lot of my purchases.  I know the American stuff is shit, the Belgian stuff is good, and Cadburys... well, they're a bit like Starbucks. But that was the extent of my chocolate expertees, so I was quite keen to learn more.

Cocoa nibs. An acquired taste...

Chocolate is the only edible substance to contain more aromatics than coffee. If I'm honest, I thought 'aromatic' was just a flowery term used to describe wine, Thai food or candles, but as it turns out, it's a bona fide scientific measurement of certain compounds. On average, coffee has about 850 aromatics compared to chocolate's 1600- hence why Rob and Vic were so interested in the first place. The similarities between coffee and chocolate don't end there- both are grown in a relatively limited geographical region, both are roasted, and, importantly, both are hugely misunderstood everyday commodities. Paul A Young are one of only three chocolate producers in the UK to buy and roast their own cocoa beans (though admittedly this is no guarantee of quality, as Cadbury are one of the others), and they make everything on site, and by hand, the old-school way. So if this makes for a good chocolate, what makes a bad one? Plenty, apparently. Cocoa beans are fermented and roasted to develop flavour; the levels of each required to get the perfect taste vary hugely bean-by-bean, but if you're a mass-producing chocolate conglomerate, then it's tricky, time consuming and expensive to get a consistent product at the end of the process. Unless, that is, you under-ferment and over-roast your beans. This way everything tastes bad, but at least it tastes consistently bad. And it's OK, because you have emulsifiers, sugar, veg oil and artificial flavourings handy anyway.

Every bean is about 45% cocoa butter, and it's this that is actually the costly part of the bean. A lot of the 'crap' chocolate manufacturers remove the majority of this, sell it (to The BodyShop, presumably...) and replace it with milk solids and veg oil- normally Palm oil. This, in turn, hurts Orangutangs. And trees. Plus, I really feel that if you are extracting the essence of the bean from your chocolate, then it isn't really chocolate. It's fake chocolate.

So let's talk about good chocolate- this is where my breakfast comes in. I tried a few, but I'll run you through three...

The Venezuelan 72%

First up was a Madagascan 50% cocoa. Yes, a milk chocolate, but Galaxy it aint. Creamy just doesn't do it justice- it melted in the mouth, and had none of that chalky texture of the cheap stuff. Then, just to liven up my tastebuds a bit, I nibbled on some cocoa nibs (also referred to as pate or chocolate liquor). This was 100% raw, hand picked, hand dried cocoa from Madagascar. Having not been fermented or roasted, and containing no sugar, it's unsurprisingly pretty bitter. However, it's smoother than you'd expect, and oddly cooling on your tongue. It's also strangely addictive, and apparently great for baking with. However, my favourite of the half a dozen or so I tried was the Venezuelan 72%. Now without sounding like too much of a ponce, it managed to taste floral and earthy at the same time, and wasn't as bitter as many chocolates I've eaten with a lower cocoa content. It's supposed to be quite good for tempering, too.

There we go. I do hope this doesn't all seem like too much of a rant. Yes, good chocolate is more expensive than shit chocolate- if you want to gorge on an entire bar of the stuff in front of X-Factor, then cool- stick to the Cadburys. But if you like real chocolate- the stuff you can still taste two hours later, and has actually seen a cocoa bean, then I'd say it's worth shelling out the extra pennies. The Orangutangs will thank you for it.

* So to make it easier, I'll tell you where to go: any Wyombeites reading this need to visit to The Pantry (@thenewpantry). It's proper coffee, and they pay their tax bill.

mrs hunt.x

An Orangutang. He's happy.

autumn leaves, salad leaves

The leaves are golden, the Coca Cola ad has been sighted, and leaving the house in fewer than four layers is, frankly, silly. What better way to celebrate the onset of the chillier months than a warming, hearty... salad. Yes, stews are comforting, stodgy, and arguably more seasonally appropriate, but if you eat hotpot for dinner every night, you'll have a coronary by Christmas. Besides which, this is a very seasonal salad, and because it's healthy you can follow it up with a sticky toffee pudding (or three) and sleep soundly.

A Winter Salad with Beetroot-Roasted Chicken:

What You Need:

• 4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs, from happy chickens. 
• Raspberry vinegar. I use Womersley because I'm a sucker for a nice-looking bottle, and it's the best tasting I've found.
• Cooked baby beetroot
• Chilli flakes
• A squeeze of lemon juice
• Decent quality olive oil
• Sea salt
• Freshly ground back pepper

• 1 red onion
• Balsamic vinegar
• 1 Apple (I used Pink Lady for a crisper taste than most others)
• A handful of walnuts,  lightly crushed
• 1 medium-soft British goat cheese round, sliced
• Salad leaves (I used baby spinach and rocket)
• Flat leaf parsely, to garnish

What You Do:

1. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees if it's fan assisted, 200 degrees otherwise. In a pestle and mortar (or something to that effect), bash up the beetroot with a hefty pinch of salt, lots of pepper, and chilli flakes. Do so carefully- the beetroot are slippery little buggers.

2. Once mashed to a pulp, add a good glug of olive oil, a touch of raspberry vinegar, and a squeeze of lemon juice. Don't go too crazy with either, since the pickled beetroot will already be quite acidic. The consistency should still be fairly thick, and it should taste sweet, tangy, with a noticeable kick from the chilli.

3. Dice up your chicken thighs. I use this cut because the darker meat is naturally a lot juicier, and develops a stronger taste from being so close to the bone. Breast meat is comparatively bland, dries out very quickly, and is more expensive. Aim for bitesize pieces- it's always nice to have a salad you can eat with just a fork; it feels more refined, somehow. Place these in an ovenproof dish, and rub all over with your beetroot mix. Use gloves if you'd like your hands to remain the colour they are.

4. Give your chicken a final sprinkling of salt and pepper, and pop in the middle of your oven for 20-25 minutes. The meat turns a glorious pink colour, which looks lovely but can disguise undercooked chicken. Check the centre of your largest piece at the 20 minute mark, but don't just panic and cremate the whole thing regardless.

5. While the chicken is in the oven, halve your red onion and slice thinly into slivers. Put a generous knob of butter into a non-stick pan, and cook the onion on the lowest heat possible, stirring regularly and watching like a hawk to ensure it doesn't catch. While you're doing this, put your salad leaves into a nice-looking bowl, crunch your walnut halves, and slice up the apple as thinly as you can manage. Don't do this too early, as it will start to go brown.

6. Slice your goat's cheese, and arrange on a baking tray lined with greaseproof paper. Drizzle with olive oil, season with salt and pepper, and sprinkle over a few more chilli flakes if you enjoy a bit more spice. This only needs about three minutes in the oven, so check on your chicken first.

7. Add a generous splash of balsamic vinegar to your onions, and crank up the heat. They should turn sticky and slightly crisped after a minute or so, but do make sure they're not burning.

8. Once the goat's cheese has melted slightly, remove from the oven with the chicken. Dress your salad with some olive oil, a touch of the raspberry vinegar and seasoning, and toss with the apple and walnuts. Then arrange your chicken, and place the melting goat's cheese slice on top. Spoon over the red onion, and garnish with parsley.

This can be served with whatever you fancy- toasted sourdough bread and butter is always nice, as are sweet potato chips. This served two of us, but with a bit of tweaking could stretch as far as you like.

And don't forget the sticky toffee puddings, eh?

mrs hunt.x

two small aubergines

So as always, I'm a bit late: October the 8th-14th was National Curry Week. But seeing as a good curry is as close to our hearts as queuing and roast dinners, I don't suppose I need an excuse to bring it up. With the 'Birmingham Balti' currently fighting for protected status, and the roots of the humble (if arguably terrible...) Chicken Tikka Masala allegedly lying somewhere in central Glasgow, the curry is about as close to our national dish as one could get.  We all know that for every good one out there there are a hundred or more bad ones, but that's done little to dampen our love affair. In reality, most of the dishes to be found on your average 'Bombay Dreams' or 'Taj Mahal' menus are so far removed from their cultural and geographical roots that you'd be hard pushed to call them Indian, Bangladeshi or anything other than inherently British.

Fortunately, I've been pretty lucky where curries are concerned: my Dad spent the bulk of his childhood living in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) and India, travelling with my Grandad while he lectured physics. The upshot of this? My Nan cooks a mean curry. And we're not talking that Uncle Ben's crap here, either. We're talking two solid days preparing and simmering half a dozen brightly coloured dishes, served with fragrant and authentic sundries to a twenty-strong horde of hungry family members. Personally, I think the key to a memorable curry is keeping it seasonal, and close to its roots: Indian cuisine, for instance, has as many regional influences as Italy does. The following curry has its roots in my kitchen, in October. I can't vouch for its authenticity, but let's face it- this is what we Brits do. We take something foreign and- for better or worse- we put our stamp all over it. Hopefully, this was for better. At least, I enjoyed it.

A winging it, made-up lamb shoulder curry:

• 750g good quality lamb shoulder, boneless and trimmed

For the marinade:

• 2 tbsp tumeric
• 2 tbsp ground coriander
• 2 tbsp ground ginger
• 2 tbsp Garam Masala
• 5 cloves of garlic, mashed
• Mild oil

For the cooking oil:

• 2 tsp Kalonji (black onion seeds)
• 1 tsp cloves
• 1 tbsp coriander seeds
• 1 tbsp cumin seeds

And for the rest...

• 5 banana shallots, diced
• 1 large Spanish onion, diced (sweeter than a normal one, but either works)
• 2-3 green chillis, according to taste.
• 2 tins of plum tomatoes
• 1 tbsp tomato puree
• Coriander leaves, to garnish
• Sea salt and ground black pepper, to taste

1) Dice the lamb shoulder into 3/4" chunks, and place in a bowl with the tumeric, ground coriander, ground ginger, Garam Masala and mashed garlic. Add enough oil to get the meat covered, and 'massage' it for a couple of minutes. As feeble as it may sound, rubber cloves are heavily advised; tumeric has a knack for transforming your fingers into those of a 60-a-day smoker. Not hot. Set aside to marinate- the longer the better. If you have time for an overnight session then pop it in the fridge, taking it out two hours before you cook it off so it has time to come slowly to room temperature.

A large, non-stick heavy bottomed saucepan. Something
EVERYONE should own.

2) Heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a large, non-stick heavy bottomed saucepan, on a medium heat. The non-stick part is quite important- nothing pervades the taste of a dish quite as successfully as burnt onions. Add the onion seeds, cloves, and cumin and coriander seeds.

3) Once they start to pop and sizzle, add the chilli, onion and banana shallots. Make sure there's enough room in the pan, and add splashes of water if you feel anything is starting to catch. Cook until soft, translucent and smelling sweet.

4) Add the lamb with all the marinade ingredients, and turn up the heat to brown it nicely. Again, there needs to be plenty of room, otherwise it will sweat when you want to be sealing in the moisture, not boiling it out.

5) Once it reaches a lovely golden brown colour (and not before), add the tomato puree, the tinned tomatoes, and plenty of seasoning. Leave to simmer gently over a medium heat for an hour and a half, stirring now and then to make sure nothing catches. Serve garnished with heaps of fresh coriander.

When I cooked this a couple of weeks ago, I served it alongside some oven-roasted butternut squash, aubergine and pumpkin cubes that I'd tossed in some ground cumin, chilli flakes and oil, which I popped in the oven at 180 degrees for just under an hour. It made the meal taste deliciously autumnal, with the added bonus of bulking it up to feed six of us with the pilau rice, chapatis and salad. Another thing to note- sliced banana with curry is really very nice. Try it.

Happy (belated) curry week!

mrs hunt.x