Category / Eating & Drinking

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

The Great British Mince Pie-Off: Bettys vs Riverford

Screen shot 2012-12-07 at 20.32.32I never used to eat mince pies. Dense, squidgy, oversweet… in the great list of Christmas desserts I was uninterested in, they ranked just below Christmas pudding (which I’m still so-so about) and just above Stilton (which I’ve totally come round to in my old age). And then my sister moved to Leeds and we developed more than a passing acquaintance with Bettys… and I finally found out what a really, really good mince pie tastes like.

I found myself tweeting about this the other day, and Bettys – doing some excellent monitoring, as I would expect from the team that complements the brilliant Yorkshire Tea feeds – picked this up immediately and followed me. On following back, it turned out I was their 600th follower, and they very kindly offered me some mince pies to review. How on earth could I say no?

The mince pies duly arrived – 12 gleaming beauties in an elegant little box (usually £9.50 and delivered around the UK) – and I managed to eat at least five of them while still giving the vague impression that I was sharing them with other people.

photo 1

And then my Riverford box arrived, and the little weekly insert – one of the highlights of the whole procedure, these proud yet melancholy missives from Guy Watson, with the slightly mud-streaked recipes on the back – was so convincingly effusive about Watson’s brother’s mince pies that I began to wonder if there could possibly be a challenger to the Bettys crown. Plus, in order to be a truly honest review, I felt I needed something to compare them to. Riverford’s pies are award-winning and the company is beset by offers to mass-produce, which are declined so that they continue to be made by hand; one of the chosen testimonials celebrated their ‘wonkiness’ and how they were the best bet for faking it if you didn’t have time to bake!  I was sold and hit the button to buy a £4.95 box of six.

And now… the verdict.

Bettys

Screen shot 2012-12-07 at 20.32.04What makes these mince pies such Christmas classics? Well, for one, they constantly tread the perfect line between elegant and twee: pretty but not fussy, generously deep but not oversized. I also love that they’re not sealed, so there isn’t an overwhelming mouthful of butter to plough through.

But my very favourite thing about them is their filling; it’s quite a soft mixture – a delicately spiced liquid studded with fruit rather than a dense raisin sludge.

Finished with a little icing sugar and a star-shaped shortcrust topping, these are outstandingly moreish, and thoroughly delicious.

Riverford

photo 2Even at first glance, these are quite clearly a different beast. Almost oversized, flat and fully sealed in quite thick pastry dusted with granulated sugar, they really do look pleasingly hand made.

The filling is rich, densely packed and slightly more heavily spiced. The pastry can only be described as unctuous, being so outstandingly buttery as to be a little overwhelming, especially as they are very large… but I still managed to put away two in a sitting!

Definitely needing a big glass of water or a soothing cuppa, these are incredibly indulgent, and very, very good.

And the winner is…

For me, Bettys just has the edge. It really does come down to personal preference, and the hint of refinement in Bettys’ pies means north takes the crown over south (something this London-born woman doesn’t say that often).

It’s just as well I’m heading to Yorkshire over the Christmas holidays, really.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Making the most of a veg box delivery (and a recipe that makes Brussels sprouts taste ace)

I’ve been meaning to sign up for a weekly vegetable box delivery for, oh, about two years now. The main reasons have been because when I’m actually faced with the rows of veg in the supermarket I tend to go for the same things over and over – regardless of season – and I never really branch out. I’m getting more and more into cooking, and really wanted to challenge myself while at the same time eating plants while they’re actually at their best.

I signed up with Riverford because of a friend’s recommendation, largely (and because last time I checked their box was better value than Abel & Cole’s equivalent, though you should always check these things). I go for the Seasons Veg Box, which is 8-10 varieties of veg, designed to feed 2-3 adults, and never contains potatoes. I have until 10pm two days before delivery to cancel or make any changes or additions to my order.

There are basically two issues with veg boxes:

– What if I don’t like that vegetable?

– What the hell do I do with this?!

(There’s also issue number three, which is “oh my God, what am I going to do with 15 onions?” after you’ve failed to use enough week by week, but honestly they last forever, so don’t worry about it.)

The answer to question one is to be inventive. Disguise it. (More about this, and Brussels sprouts, in a moment.) Or, you think you don’t like it because someone boiled the hell out of it when you were a child, and as a grown up you can approach it again with all thoughts of yellow veg cast aside. Or you can just check what’s in your box early in the week and change / cancel your order to avoid it. That’s not really entering into the spirit, though, and we’ll all be judging you just a little. Sorry.

Question two is partly resolved for me by Riverford recipe sheets that arrive with the box every week, and by their website, which is heaving with recipes. But it’s also a great opportunity to start thinking not just about the elements that go into your food – carbs, protein, fat – but the flavours.

Take Brussels sprouts, for example. I have never really liked Brussels sprouts, though I discovered last Christmas that the rumours are true: if you just, just cook the buggers they taste considerably sweeter and more pleasant than if you have those crossed-and-boiled-to-oblivion cabbage-y bullets people usually put on the festive table. The key is timing – just three or four minutes for small sprouts, up to six for bigguns – and also ensuring that you plunge them in some cold / ice water afterwards to stop the cooking process so they stay beautifully bright green and crunchy. You also don’t need to cross them; they will cook to the centre anyway. They’re not like the Earth; there are no layers of crust and magma to breach.

So, this week we got the dread mini-cabbages and I wanted to think of a way to cook them that would be not just edible, but actually yummy. Other vegetables to hand were a rather teeny Romanesco cauliflower (looks like an alien crystal, tastes like a cross between cauli and broccoli) and two week-0ld leeks. I also had a ridiculous amount of cheese – there was a 3 for 2; don’t judge me – and a 500g bag of wholemeal fusilli. All it needed was bacon lardons… you can skip to the end here, if you like.

The point, of course, is that I never would have set out to make this particular dish. But it’s huge – at least six adult-sized portions came out of it – and utterly delicious. Though veg boxes seem quite expensive, it’s a fair bet that you will use everything in them and design dishes that will last for several meals. And when you know several days earlier what you’ll be getting, it’s easy to search for recipes and make sure you have everything else you’ll be needing well in advance. You’ll also probably find that you have more meat-free or low-meat days just by virtue of the fact that there’s so much veg you’re happy for it to take centre stage.

So, here are my tips:

– Take advantage of knowing what’s coming to menu plan. One week I wrote out an entire grid of meals and stuck to it, meaning I had several fresh, quick and interesting dinners and a week’s worth of lunches with no fuss.

– Keep a good stock of staple carbs, which can be the basis for practically anything. With onions, sweet Ramiro peppers and earthy portobello mushrooms making a regular appearance at the moment, I know having garlic and cous cous to hand means a super fast meal when I’m tired and ravenous. Pasta is the other obvious helpful staple, and a can of chopped tomatoes is always handy too.

– Get your pretend MasterChef hat on, and think about nicely complementing flavours. Brussels seem a bit unpleasant? Not with cheese and bacon. Beetroot a bit stodgy and dull? Not with apples and walnuts (okay, and more cheese). Lots of root vegetables? Throw in a few sprigs of rosemary, turn up the oven and get happy with the olive oil and you have a Mediterranean feast on your hands.

Cheesy Pasta Bake with Brussels Sprouts, Bacon and Leeks

Ingredients  (you’ll notice there are vague amounts because I improvised desperately. Google is your friend here.)

Butter – around 30g
Flour – plain, around 30g
Cheese  – really, whatever you’ve got to hand. Different types of strong cheese are nice; I used small blocks of Red Leicester, Double Gloucester, Cheddar and Wensleydale; around 120g, with more for grating on top
Cream cheese (I had half-fat; with all the butter it was fine) – around three heaped tbsps
Milk – around a pint
500g pasta
A packet of bacon lardons
2 leeks, cut into medium-thin slices
Brussels sprouts – I used a net of small ones – would probably make slightly fewer next time, as it can get a bit unbalanced.
Some sort of brassica – in my case, a small Romanesco cauliflower

1. First, deal with the ingredients that need boiling. Cook the pasta until nicely al dente, and drain. Put aside. Then quickly boil the sprouts and make sure they’re plunged into cold / ice water after. Do the same with the cauli; it should only need five minutes to be just soft enough. Preheat the oven to 200-210 (fan assisted).

2. Now, the cheese sauce. Melt the butter, and stir in the flour until you have a thick paste, then gradually add milk, stirring constantly. My hand slipped, a great big slosh went in and I ended up with roughly one million lumps; that’s fine – if you stir like your life depends on it and have patience, they will melt eventually. Let the sauce thicken a bit. Add the cream cheese and crumbled lumps or grated cheese and make sure they’re thoroughly melted in. Taste and adjust, with more milk or cheese as needed. This is just enough sauce to coat the pasta but doesn’t make a thick, macaroni cheese type sauce – you’ll need more (and a decent recipe) for that. I also don’t add salt; between the cheese and the bacon, God knows there’s enough of it.

3. Fry the bacon lardons until slightly browned and then add the leeks. I didn’t add fat to the lardons because I felt vaguely guilty about the massive cheese content, but you’ll get a nicer brown if you do. Make your peace with it as you will. Let the leeks wilt and brown but retain some crunch, and then toss the bacon and leeks, sprouts and brassica in with the pasta. Put them all in a large, deep casserole / roasting dish and pour on the sauce, mixing thoroughly. Top with grated cheese / small cheese chunks in as much abundance as you can cope with.

4. Pop in the oven for 12-25 minutes until the cheese has melted and it’s as browned and crisp at the edges as appeals to you.

5. Eat three bowls of it and wonder why you can’t move anymore.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Eating my way through November…

Well, I eat my way through every month. Because, well, I like being alive and I’m really lucky to have access to all sorts of excellent food. But it’s been a particularly foodie month because:

  • I’m watching ludicrous amounts of food TV in the two hours a day I’m not working, cooking and / or spending time with Ramona
  • I’ve been re-reading the astonishing Health at Every Size for the fourth time, and this time actually following some of the recommendations
  • I’ve started an organic box delivery which is forcing me to consider cooking things I haven’t done before
  • I got free tickets for the BBC Good Food Show and had a lovely morning there trying all sorts of nibbly bits, including my first ever taste of black pudding, which is amaze.

Now, not to worry. I’m not going to suddenly go evangelically vegan or anything (obviously; I just ate pig blood and liked it), or stop eating cake, but I am enjoying making sure I’m getting my veggies, and having more vegetarian or veg-heavy meals. There’s still plenty of olive oil and cheese in there. Mmmm… cheese.

Also occasionally bacon.

Anyway, here are some things wot I ate.

Bircher Muesli

I used a variation* on Hugh Footely-Pootely’s** recipe for this.

Mine, as you can see, was considerably runnier. I think the lack of wheat flakes wasn’t quite balanced out by extra oats, and therefore the apple added more moisture. That in turn meant some of the orange juice wasn’t absorbed. Don’t get me wrong – it was / is delicious. But you will need to judge the liquid content and do some experimentation if you don’t want to have to strain it before eating or just put up with slightly watery yogurt. Best made the night before.

*No wheat flakes as I didn’t have any (added extra oats), walnuts and almonds for the nuts, sunflower and pumpkin seeds, dried apricots, dried dates, Tesco value porridge oats. Yeo Valley fat free yogurt is gorgeous.

**That’s what he’s known as in our house, so thus he shall remain.

Beetroot, Apple, Feta and Walnut Salad

We got three raw beetroots in our veg box, and, lacking a mandolin and the will to clean up spattered oil, crisps were out. I could have shreddded them raw, but I wanted something a bit more wintery.

I roasted them using these instructions for about an hour, along with three large garlic cloves and a generous slosh of olive oil, and then peeled them while they were far too hot like an idiot let them cool a bit before donning Marigolds and peeling / slicing. I then layered them up with slices from about half a medium sized apple, some chopped walnuts left over from the muesli and about half a small pack of feta crumbled over the top. Ash thought it needed more cheese, I thought it needed a whole apple. For the dressing, I used the oil from the roasting with the innards of the baked garlic squeezed out into it (I discarded the remaining bits) plus a glug of balsamic. I could have done with a bit more oil, so I’ll be more generous next time.

I also baked some wholemeal bread to go with it which I didn’t knead properly so it ended up like a doughy brick with a wonderfully crunchy crust. I turns out Ash likes bread dough and I like crusts, so with some butter that worked out… but I might be a little more careful about the actual recipe next time.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Recipe: Baked Salmon with Fennel and Lemons

Somehow, despite Ash and I being together for nearly six years and married for almost four, I’d never really cooked for my in-laws properly before. The odd cake or cookies here or there, but never a proper sit-down meal. I finally got the opportunity to do so this weekend, and wanted to make sure it was good enough to make up for years of insufficient hospitality (I’m Greek. they’re Jewish; food is love).

I had a side of salmon – skinless and boneless – weighing in at almost 2kg in the fridge, and had thoughts about poaching it, and lemons and working fennel in somewhere. Then I considered baking and did some Googling.

I ended up taking elements from this Gordon Ramsey recipe for salmon with caramelised lemons and adapting it for a) what I felt like eating and b) what I had available. This was the final recipe:

1 x side of salmon (would also work with the whole salmon).
2 x lemons, sliced thickly (about four per lemon)
1 x fennel, in medium slices (fronds reserved and chopped up)
A small bunch of dill, chopped
A small bunch of lemon thyme, whole
4 x garlic cloves
A handful of peppercorns
Salt
Olive oil

Preheat the oven to around 170 (fan assisted) or equivalent.

I laid the salmon in a roasting tin lined with foil, and seasoned it with a little salt and the peppercorns.

I put a generous glug of olive oil in a deep frying pan and added the fennel and garlic when hot, frying until they were nicely browned. You have to be a little patient, but also watchful, as it turns rather quickly (I had to fish the garlic cloves out first). I then added the lemons, but you do have to be really careful here, as hot oil and watery lemons make for a spitting pan. The lemons need just a minute or so on each side to brown beautifully.

I placed the fennel, garlic and lemons on top of the salmon, then added a generous handful of chopped dill with the fennel fronds, and threw over a generous bundle of lemon thyme twigs.

A slosh of oil completes the topping, and then the package can be closed up into a foil tent, which doesn’t really have any gaps but does allow a moderate amount of height for steam to develop inside.

The salmon baked for 30-35 minutes; it helps to let it sit for a while after and, in fact, can be served at any temperature – so is an excellent make-in-advance recipe to have up your sleeve. Although it means a little faffing at the beginning, and probably some splattery oil mess, it’s also very, very easy for such impressive-looking results. The frying-then-baking takes some of the acrid intensity away from the fennel, but leaves a beautiful aniseed aroma, so that Ash, who is no great fan of raw fennel – or, indeed, aniseed – hoovered it up. Even Ramona enthusiastically chewed on a lemon slice, as it becomes densely chewy and more-ish, despite retaining plenty of lip-curling acidity.

I served it with simple sides – new potatoes, carrots, peas and beans – since salmon is so rich and oily, but it’s meaty enough to stand up to more indulgent treatment if you want to push the boat out.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Great British Chefs: Summertime, Action Against Hunger and Blogging!

I’m really very excited, as my very first post for Great British Chefs has appeared on their blog today! Being me, I managed to combine social media and food in a post, asking about the future of food programming and the role of platforms like Twitter in developing the competition and campaigning side of things.

I consider myself extremely privileged to have now appeared on four sites I regularly enjoy reading (BitchBuzz, Bea Magazine, The F Word and now GBC), talking about all my favourite things.

And speaking of GBC, campaigning and privilege, have you downloaded the new Summertime app yet? You should, because it’s ace.  One of the things I really love about GBC apps is the emphasis on really beautiful design; I don’t think I’ve ever actually made anything from Feastive which is not a failing of the app’s, but entirely my own; still, I could look at it all day. Plus I think I’ve mentioned before – about four million times – what a Wareing fangirl I am, and his recipes appear on both. But what’s really special about Summertime, apart from its current relevance, is that it was developed in partnership with Ocado which has allowed GBC to donate all the proceeds to Action Against Hunger. It’s priced at £1.99, of which at least £1.20 goes to the charity. Just £36 can provide a month’s supply of therapeutic nutritional products (such as Plumpy’nut, for example) to nurse a severely malnourished child back to health. That’s maybe thirty app downloads – and of course there’s nothing stopping you heading to their website to donate too.

Food! Technology! Non-profits! Blogging! It’s a Christmassy day in August. And now I’m off to write a review of Brave for BitchBuzz, which means two more of my very favourite things in the world: reviews and Disney.

Bloody hell, I’m a lucky woman.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Happy Birthday, Dear Pickle

birthday 2 candleI am now mother to a two year old. That is all kinds of weird. But also all kinds of brilliant. The funny thing is, I was really terrified of this stage, but while it’s nothing like easy, it is less horrifying, and far more enjoyable, than I expected. The tantrums, while louder and more stubborn than before, are also more avoidable; when they’re old enough to have things explained to them, and can have more forewarning, you can head certain issues off at the pass.

Reading a book and sneaking a cuddle have always been wonderful things, but now they’re even more wonderful because she’s so engaged with what’s going on. She’s memorised her current favourites (The Tiger Who Came to Tea, Slinky Malinki and Wocket in my Pocket this week) and can narrate them aloud even with no book in front of her. It’s almost like I’ve accidentally trained a Victorian child to read poetry to the class! What’s really funny is she keeps in my inflections too, so it’s like listening to a slightly scrambled radio recording of myself being beamed scratchily in from somewhere in the wilds of Eastern Europe:

Shlinky Malinki was blackern black!
A TALKING and YURKING aventchrus cat!
He had bright yeyyow eyes,
A WAR-bing wayul,
An’ kink at end of his YONG black tayul.

I could listen to this all day. Or this:

Once there was a yittle girl called SO-phie, and she was having tea wiv her Mummy  in the KITCH-en. Sudd’ly, there was ring at the DOOR.

Sophie’s Mummy said, “I wonder who can THAT can be?”…

When she recites “It can’t be DADDY because he’s got his KEY”, she tends to interject “a other one Daddy”, in case I think the book is about her Dad. “A other one” always makes me laugh; her bed time snuggle toys are called Weasel and A Other One Weasel.

She was very excited about her birthday, and kept announcing “is gonna be my BIRTHDAY soon, and I will have a birthday cake and blow out candles” – which is indeed exactly what happened. In fact we made a cake together on the day before, which then got chopped up and sent off to nursery, and then I made cupcakes the following day, which she enjoyed and which went down well with all the family. I’ve finally decided that life is too short for making frosting – I enjoy the baking bit so much more – and made Hummingbird Bakery recipe red velvet cupcakes* topped with piped on canned Betty Crocker vanilla icing. I then got out my decorating stash – red glitter, candy polka dots, jelly diamonds and sprinkles – and even used the mini chopper to blitz the thin slices I’d ended up with when levelling a couple of the cakes and sprinkled the crumbs on as a decoration.

The results can be seen here:

birthday cupcakes - red velvet and vanilla icing

And the ritual candle-blowing here. I wasn’t helping, honest:

Pickle Birthday Candles Alexandra R. Goldstein

I hadn’t intended to get Ramona very much for her birthday as she’s only two and has a full complement of grandparents and other relatives ready to spoil her, but I ended up going shopping that morning and splurging without quite meaning to. The official present from Mummy and Daddy was her first Peppa Pig playset (she loves playing with some her cousins have), but she also now has some gorgeous new clothes from the fantastic Tootsa MacGinty – I can only afford them in the sale, but it’s worth the wait! – and a really lovely range at M&S (I want these trousers in my size, too! Including the adjustable waist for after cake…!). She’s also already got stuck into reading Meg on the Moon (or, as she called it, “Meg Goes to the Moon”) and Dr Seuss’s ABC. What can I say? She’s a lucky pickle.

Even luckier, she’s actually having a party in a couple of weeks when more family can join us, so she’ll be getting more birthday cakes than years she’s been alive. Which sounds like a very good deal to me.

Two years of brilliant. And so many more to come. We’re all very lucky.

*My mother has given me two excellent pieces of baking advice (other than the obvious – Know Your Oven**) which have stood me in very good stead. 1) Unless your recipe genuinely depends on using butter, use Stork instead. 2) Unless your cake is supposed to be dense, use self-raising flour for everything, even when it says plain and you’re adding more raising agents. Fluffiest. Cakes. Ever. Trust me.

**No, really. I baked the first cake at 160 for 22 minutes, and the cupcakes for 13 minutes, again at 160. I just know that for most sponge-type cakes that’s the optimal temperature for this oven. Cookies are a very good way to find out if your oven heats unevenly, as you’ll be able to see the overcooked ones, and can open the oven door to check them which you can’t do with a cake.

Thus endeth the very amateur baking lesson. 

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Asparagus, watercress and spinach: enjoying summer soup

It seems counterintuitive to write about soup after a ridiculous spate of hot weather, but actually I find soup quite a refreshing summer food because it tends to be very light and full of veggies. The watercress soup I also suspect would be delicious cold, although I ate it hot.

It all started with @sesp recommending Jamie Oliver’s asparagus soup with a poached egg. I tried it, since it seemed incredibly simple and asparagus is still (just about) in season, and it’s one of the easiest and most delicious meals I’ve made in a while. It’s creamy and delicious while actually only being veggies and stock (I prefer chicken, personally, but it’s easily veganised by switching to vegetable stock) – no flavour-diminishing potato or overly rich dairy.

I’ve also more or less perfected my poached egg technique now, so really delighted with the extra loveliness that adds.  And there is it in my ever-so mature Minnie Mouse giant mug.

Of course, having made it I had some celery still knocking around, and also needed to use up some new potatoes and spring onions. So I bought some spinach and watercress – also faintly seasonal – and experimented. The below is not so much as a recipe as a serving suggestion; I’m sure you can think of other ways of spicing it up (perhaps some nutmeg?) or vegetable substitutions.

2 sticks of celery, diced
3 spring onions, diced
A handful of frozen peas
5 small new potatoes, chopped into smallish chunks
About 2 pints of stock (chicken or vegetable – really depends how runny you like your soup)
1 bag spinach
2 bags watercress
Seasoning
Natural yogurt to serve (optional)

Gently soften the celery and spring onion in a glug of olive oil, then add potatoes*, peas and stock and simmer until the potatoes are soft (around 20 minutes).

Add spinach and watercress to quickly blanch, then blend, taste and season. Add a dollop of yogurt if that floats your boat. For Ashley’s I also fried some pieces of bacon and popped them on top, which adds a lovely salty, chewy touch (shhh! Don’t tell the rabbi!).

*I added the spinach at this point because I was being absent-minded. This overcooks it and makes it a bit bitter. Didn’t kill it dead, and the addition of the yogurt balanced it out, but I wouldn’t do it again. And, yes, I know I just accused potato of diminishing flavour, but asparagus is quite a lot more delicate.

Needless to say, both taste really good with shedloads of decent bread. Or, in my case, a bit of wholemeal that was approaching use-it-or-lose-it stage. I realise I make my kitchen sound like a chaos of stuff that’s about to go off, and I promise it’s not always like that, but I’m a full-time office worker, social media addict and mum; let’s not expect miracles. (And yes, Ash does some of the cooking, and *cough* more than half of the cleaning *cough*)

So there you go. Unseasonal, seasonal soup. Enjoy.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

On Pinterest and Pasta

I was going to write a post declaring how very stupid it is that someone has developed something very similar to Pinterest and is trying to make its USP that it’s ‘built for men’. But, really, if you can’t instantly see how stupid that is, then I’m not sure I have the energy to try and convince you. (But seriously: 58% women is too much for some men? Do they know that they world is 50% women already? Do they realise how badly represented women must be for just a few extra to freak them out so much? Should we all just sign up when we can and post nothing but pictures of Barbie dolls just to annoy their mods?)

Ahem. Instead, I’m going to talk about how Pinterest led to macaroni and cheese. Ah yes, women talking about food! Because women belong in the kitchen, right? And therefore Pinterest is for women! Keep walking…

(And if you hadn’t noticed already, the catering industry is phenomenally male-dominated. Take a look at this list of Michelin-starred restaurants  or even just watch a single episode of MasterChef in any country and tell me otherwise.)

Anyway, there I was on Pinterest, following several men lots of feeds about food, and I saw this recipe for slow-cooker macaroni and cheese. And I repinned it. And thought about it. And thought about it some more. And then made it.

The Good: cheesy, cheesy tasty goodness. And because it’s not a strong-tasting meal in the first place, the slow cooker can’t really reduce the favour. Also, no stirring! I stole the idea of adding some tomato and oregano, which was lovely, and also the toasted breadcrumbs on top.

The Not Quite So Good: I doubled the recipe to feed six people and got the timings off, so I left it too long and it became a ‘set’ mac and cheese instead of gloopy. Still totally edible, but not quite as comforting. I like something in-between stove-top gloop and totally set, for preference.

Of course, I dished it up with the best possible accompaniment for macaroni cheese: broccoli. Cooked al dente. And Ramona loved it, so despite my mistakes, a win all round.

 

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

2012: The Year of Eating Beautifully

I’m not big into New Year’s resolutions. I used to make them (nickle-dime stuff like not biting my nails or largely uncontrollable stuff like getting people to love me), but not really believe I was going to stick to them because a) no-one does and b) if I cared that much about doing those things I’d just Do Them and not Resolve To Do Them.

So really what I’ve found is that rather than starting the year with a resolution, I might happen to finish a year with a move forward into something new and interesting that has just developed through being alive, and busy and interested. Last year it was running, and that was great until it stopped happening (I don’t want to talk about it). These past few months, I’ve developed a new obsession: food.

Now, obviously, I’ve always eaten plenty. I’ve even appreciated the difference between good and bad food, though clearly not enough to stop eating the bad food. And when I say ‘bad’ food, I don’t mean ‘bad for you’ (I don’t give food a moral status if I can avoid it; as Crowded House remind us, everything is good for you, if it doesn’t kill you), I mean actually bad: bad-tasting, badly-cooked, bad-looking and just plain bad.

I reckon I’ve had enough of eating bad food. A combination of reading Health at Every Size (and everyone should), cyber-stalking Great British Chefs, obsessing about MasterChef and a bit of hypnotherapy has had me, for the first time, actually paying attention to what I eat. I still eat hunched over a book, or in front of the television, or quickly before Ramona wakes up and tries to run off with my plate, but I simply don’t eat anything I don’t enjoy, or that I’ve already had enough of – when I’m concentrating enough to realise that.

Weirdly, I’m finding I’m enjoying things I thought I hated. After years of waxing furious about my hatred of meat and fruit eaten together, I found myself heaping chicken with cranberry sauce, until Ash asked who I was and where his wife had gone. I braised red cabbage (not very well, actually, but that’s cos I was impatient and tired). I created salads with chicory and freaking-delicious-made-up-as-I-went-along blue cheese dressing. I started saying things like “we’ve had enough rich food this week, let’s have something else”. Tonight I turned down one of my favourite fast foods, pizza, because I didn’t feel like it, and made strapatsada instead. You probably have to had had a similarly disordered and dysfunctional relationship with food to understand why that’s remarkable.

In the last month of 2011, I also had three of the best meals I’ve ever had. And now, a bit in the manner of my Dad who likes to itemise everything he’s ever eaten, I’m going to tell you about them. Come back another time if you’re looking for recipes. There are no photos of the restaurant meals because there are times when whipping out an iPhone and snapping away just isn’t right.

Best Meal Ever: Private Dining at Marcus Wareing @ The Berkeley

I have to admit, this one was purely jammy (pardon the food pun). Ash and I stood in for another person  who couldn’t attend, and enjoyed Dinner Menu D. Enjoyed it until we felt like exploding with the sheer delight of it. The wine-matching over the three hour meal was also lovely, as was the Aussie sommelier, who patiently responded to Ash’s questions about MasterChef and described her former boss, Matt Moran, as extremely good to her and strict only in the way that he had to be. Which was nice.

I won’t describe each course because I’ll end up sounding like a pretentious tool, but also because the three most charming things we had aren’t specified on the listed menu. The first was an amuse bouche of almost piping hot Jerusalem artichoke soup topped with a gorgeous cold sunflower cream and sunflower seeds. The second was a pre-dessert of the most beautiful, light white chocolate sorbet with frozen redcurrants. The last was an extremely clever non-dairy chocolate ganache slab.

And that doesn’t even touch on the deliciousness of milk ice cream, devoid of any sickly aftertaste and with a clean, pure, nostalgia-inducing taste.

Oh, okay, I sound like a pretentious tool anyway. But one that’s had a seriously good, bucket-list type meal.

Best Meal I’ve Cooked: Christmas Roast Beef

Here’s where I crow a little, but seriously. I cooked Christmas lunch for the first time in 2010, stepping into the breach to rescue a flu-ridden Mum from the stovetop. It was good, but I didn’t feel like I’d really got the roast beef just right.

This year I planned to take the helm, and I got the roast beef 98% Just. Sodding. Right. (I dock 2% from myself for not browning it better before roasting, cos it was still a little tiny bit browner around the edges than I’d like and for not cutting it thinly enough). But it’s still really good.  Don’t take my word for it; look at it.

(The photo at the top includes my mother’s outstanding chicken liver, mince, chestnut and pine nut stuffing, which I admit looks like cat food but tastes like heaven. There are also goose fat roast potatoes. And there weren’t just peas, it’s just that at that point people stopped taking damn photographs and ate.)

Best Romantic Meal Since Ramona Was Born: The Cinnamon Club

Okay, that’s a dodgy title. But it’s not the best romantic meal ever (our first anniversary at Asia de Cuba nabs that). Still, it was a really lovely meal, and what was wonderful was actively craving a mainly veggie meal and knowing that I was in good hands – if you can’t get a good vegetarian meal from an Indian restaurant something’s gone badly wrong.

Mainly veggie except for the astoundingly kick-ass masala chicken livers which I just had to finish all on my own because Ash doesn’t do liver. The gorgeous crusty mushrooms, the fulsome cauliflower parcel, the amazing Jerusalem artichoke and red onion side, and – also not veggie – the perfectly cooked sea bass bites I cadged from Ash… well, they were all delightful. Also, you’ve got to love eating in a converted library.

And yes, since you’re not asking, I paid.

So there it is; not my New Year’s resolution, but my New Year’s adventure. To cook food. To enjoy food. To obsess about it, for the first time in my life, the right way.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Food, glorious food

I don’t know whether it’s having read Health at Every Size for the second time or my ongoing fascination with ZOMGMASTERCHEFOZ, but ~I’m completely, relatively uncharacteristically obsessed with cooking – and not just baking – at the moment. Particularly cooking vast quantities of vegetable-packed, warming, hearty food that can be portioned off into the freezer for lunches or quick dinners. Hmm. I wonder if winter hibernation has a role to play here, too.

Anyway, I started my experimentation by packing the fridge with my favourite vegetables and having at them. First I made a vegetarian chilli in two parts – one with paprika and hot spices for us, and one with more fragrant spices for Ramona.

It went something like this:

– Finely dice carrots

– Add to boiling water along with a stock cube and two bags of pre-cut root vegetable cubes (sold for mashing).

– Boil until al dente. Divide into two batches.

– Fry half an onion in sunflower oil until softened. Add spices (for us an Old El Paso mix, for Ramona a heaped teaspoon each of cumin and dried coriander and a level teaspoon of cinnamon). Add, roughly in this order, giving each a chance to cook slightly before adding the next: a couple of slugs of tomato puree, sliced mushrooms, a can of kidney beans, half a can of cannelini beans, the boiled veg, half a can of chopped tomatoes.

– Cook until tasty looking / smelling / tasting.

– Repeat with the other half of the ingredients for the second batch.

Having decided that this was actually quite successful, I branched out into following actual recipes. The first was gorgeous Aussie chef Donna Hay‘s chicken breasts with halloumi, lemon and honey (pictured), which sounds like a cold cure and it is, in a manner of speaking.

Her original recipe – at least, as I scribbled it down from the TV – was for two chicken breasts which I’ve quoted below, but I made 8 breast fillets so I added about 50% more of everything rather than quadrupling it which would have been a bit much.

2 chicken breasts
1 packet halloumi thickly sliced into four
1 tbsp honey
1 tbsp olive oil
Zest from one lemon
6 sprigs of lemon thyme

Lay the chicken and cheese in a baking tray, drizzle over the oil and honey, then chuck in the zest and thyme. Bake at 180 for 18-20 minutes or until browned (I actually found they needed quite a bit longer for a bigger dish as I wanted the cheese to burn around the edges – more like 35-40, but as always KYO: Know Your Oven. The mixture keeps the chicken breasts beautifully moist).

Thereafter I headed on to the land of red lentils, and cooked up a sort of stew-dahl hybrid with the remaining pack of diced root vegetables, lots and lots of spinach and some fresh green and red medium-strength chillies. You wash the lentils, bring them to the boil and keep them there, boiling rapidly for ten minutes, then simmer for another ten before adding the veg and cooking until everything is soft. This needs a little stove-watching as too much liquid and it’ll be runny, too little and it’ll be burnt stodge. Some of that liquid need not be water or stock but could be chopped tomatoes or passata.

The 1kg bag of basic red lentils from Tesco is less than £1 and stretches forever (the batch I made with less than half of that has filled up five takeaway-sized plastic boxes in the freezer.

I’m feeling really good about all this. I might be imagining it but even Ashley has commented that my hair seems thicker, my skin looks better – especially given the weather – and I seem to be fighting off all manner of nasties having succumbed to loads earlier in the season. And it’s nice to know Ramona is eating lots of fresh, nutrient-packed food as well as the snacks and sandwiches she also eats; I’m no perfect organic earth mother (most of the veg was from the value bin).

And now, with the help of Vefa Alexiadou and my mother, I’m off to make a classic Greek karidopita (walnut pie), because dessert is virtuous too, damn it.