Slow food and food for snow

On a very chilly Saturday morning, I headed down to the South Bank for the Slow Food Festival: yes it was cold, but it was one of those crystal clear winter days that meant a stroll over the footbridge from Embankment was a must.

I arrived about noon, but the stalls were battling the cold and many were still setting up. I had a wander round before settling down to shopping. These cheery guys were at the Buta Kitchen stall, selling preserves and jam from Azerbaijan. Just south of Georgia, it's a region with a proud culinary heritage, and the Buta Kitchen is part of the Buta Festival that's on from now until March. I bought a jar of white cherry preserve - tiny whole cherries glistening in a sugary suspension. I hope the guys have great success.

Neal's Yard Dairy were there, and I couldn't resist getting a hunk of Stickeleon cheese - it tastes how Stilton used to.

I was pleased to see the very nice lady from Casa de l'Oli was there: last year I bought a bottle of lime infused olive oil from here. This year I loved the orange scented oil. It's a tiny family company, run from Catalonia, where the olives grow, and Suffolk.

There was a very unhappy soul behind the Shell Seekers stall - her gas hadn't turned up so she couldn't cook, and she was worried that her ice hadn't arrived either. Surely you don't need that today, I said - oh yes, she said, she had to have it to comply with health and safety regs. Oh dear. I bagged a jar of potted shrimp - cooked last night, said the unhappy soul. I was sorry not to see Oliver's perry at the festival - I hope he'll be back for the next one.

By now, I was getting very cold, so I headed up to Covent Garden, and fell into Waterstone's. Dan over at Essex Eating has been full of praise for the Eagle Cookbook, and there it was. After reading the recipe for smoked haddock with horseradish mash, I felt like eating the book. I bought it instead, and home again, put some black beans on to soak for the Eagle's Black Bean Soup. Just as well really, as I was greeted by a snow storm when I emerged from Tottenham Hale station this evening.

Here's my lemon verbena plant, just outside the kitchen door.

And here's Mouse, demanding to know what all the white cold stuff is.

So now the soup is on the simmer, and I'm set for warming supper.

Black Bean Soup (adapted from the Eagle Cookbook)

250g black beans, soaked overnight

1l veggie stock (I used Marigold)

4 small red onions

2 colves garlic

2 sticks of celery

1 tsp chilli flakes (or a whole red chilli)

2 heaped tsp cumin seeds

400g tin of chopped tomatoes

a bunch of coriander

a gloop of creme freche or sour cream

Drain the black beans from its soaking liquid, cover with fresh water, bring to the boil. Then drain the beans again and add stock. Return the beans to a gentle simmer.

While the beans are doing their thing, sweat the onions, garlic, chilli and celery. When the veg are transparent, add the cumin seeds and cook gently for a few minutes. Add the tomatoes and the coriander and cook gently for about 20 mins. Then tip the veg mixture into the beans and the stock and let it bubble gently for at least half an hour. Check the seasoning: I added salt and a pinch of sugar.

What you do now depends on how you like your soup's texture: I blitzed a quarter of the soup in the blender then added it back to the unblended liquor. Simmer gently to make sure all the beans are soft.

Serve with a dollop of creme freche or sour cream and a slice of the loaf of your choice.

A black beauty. Thank you Dan for a great recommendation.

A winter warmer

There must be something in the air...as the snow fell on Wednesday, I felt an overwhelming urge to make macaroni cheese. And today Fiona, over at The Cheeselover, (she's author of the very delicious book The Cheese Course) has been blogging and twittering about this fantastic comfort blanket of a supper. Fiona's running a competition and this doesn't quite count as an entry, so I'll have to return to it before mid-Jan.

My recipe, which was based on my mum's (which undoubtedly came from Good Housekeeping), underwent a spring clean last year after I'd leafed through Angela Nilsen's excellent Ultimate Recipe Book.

Angela's excellent version has influenced mine in a few ways - make the bechemal sauce a bit slack so that once the macaroni goes in, the whole thing doesn't seize up; use a cheese mix of half chedder and half gruyere to ensure maximum cheesiness;and cheesy crumbs! Angela likes a tomato topping and so do I: not to everyone's taste, especially those to whom tomatoes are the devil's work.

I discovered I had no chedder, so my cheese was a third Lancashire and two thirds Gruyere. The final dish goes into an oven for around 20 mins, then under the grill to brown off the crumbs. Last night I was starving so didn't wait for the full toasting of the crumbs.

But it went down the hatch pretty damn quick. Yum. A perfect antidote to chilly nights and snowy blizzards.

Bathroom blues

Apologies for the much-longer than anticipated break in transmission which was caused by (a) BT mucking up my land line and losing broadband for a while (b) being away from London for work and most eventfully (c) the return of Brian and his merry gang of Vassily and Min Yang for the installation of my new bathroom. I've been here in Tottenham for over nine years and the one room I've done nothing to is my bathroom. It was a monument to mank. A horrible yellowish bathroom suite, including a much-loathed corner bath as there was no room for what I like to think of as a proper bath. No shower. Peeling paintwork. A tongue and groove panelling which made tiling an impossibility. But when Brian took a look, he had a solution: knock down a wall and build a new one. After several gulps and examining the bank balance, I decided to go for it.

Here's Brian in the remains of the room - after we'd discovered that the old wall was the Victorian brick. A heavy layer of dust descended on the house and the study where the pc is was off limits for nearly a fortnight.

But it was such a relief to see the old bath languishing outside, waiting for its graveyard.

Bake for builders is my motto, and during their time here, I treated the team to a pecan and date loaf and banana blondies, which went down a storm. A reveal shot is now in order, so here's the old bathroom...
Yuk yuk...and here's my new one:

Slate tiles on the walls and floor (Brian insisted on a tiled floor), and a couple of orchids to complete the look. Brian, Vassily and Min Yang did a fantastic job - thank you. And while they were at it, I decided to get a radiator for the landing, which Mouse has claimed as her own. More cooking, reviewing and general food chat is now back on the agenda - I hope you'll stick around.

Cooking heaven with Anila

Today was the day for my vegetarian thali cookery course with Anila - I'd met her at the Real Food festival earlier this year, and swooped on her marvellous shredded mango chutney. I've never been without a jar of since. She'd mentioned that she ran cookery courses, and I signed up over the summer. She runs her courses from her home in Walton on Thames in a big and airy kitchen overlooking her garden and behind it, her allotment. My fellow course member was John - a lovely gent who claimed he wasn't a good cook because 'I only cook what I like to eat', but soon proved he was a demon in the kitchen.
First, Anila took us through all the pulses, including one I've never cooked with: toover dal, or skinned and split pigeon peas. They're the yellow ones with the shiny appearance. With these, she was going to make the dal - often served at weddings in the state of Gujarat. Many Gujaratis, including Anila, eshew onions and garlic, and instead use asafoetida (or hing) as a key flavouring. Asafoetida pongs like hell in its raw state, but mellows to add a tang when it's cooked.

The dal went into one of Anila's many pressure cookers - this one is from India and shrieks horribly every five minutes or so, like something out of Hogwarts.

I'd spotted okra in the vegetable line-up: very exciting because shame to say, I've never eaten it before because of its slimy reputation. Ha! said Anila - it only gets slimy if it gets wet. So after a quick wash, John and I carefully dried each okra before chopping them up.

Into the pan with some oil, and Anila added fenugreek seeds, hing and the okra. Then more spices and it was done.

Next up was a cauliflower curry with peas. But first, John and I snapped the stalks off green chillis and Anila peeled ginger before whipping out her Moulinex mini chopper. She apologised for the taped-up bowl but John and I both admired this bit of kit, and then discovered that we owned the same small wet and dry grinder which we loved but thought too small. This somehow merged into talk about Masterchef: The Professionals, which we'd all followed with varying degrees of delight and horror. I think this is called a meeting of minds - or maybe a meeting of stomachs.

John said that his wife would never believe that he was cooking cauliflower, so Anila and I grabbed cameras to provide photographic evidence.

Cumin is a key spice here, and the smell was fantastic. While John and I paused for a minute, Anila used one of her curry sauces to whip up a saag paneer.

Then it was time for John and I to get busy with an aubergine and potato curry. Then Anila got us chopping for a kind of Indian slaw - sambaro, or carrot, cabbage and chilli stir fry. Talk returned to Masterchef and the guys who didn't know what 'julienne' was. John's julienned carrots were pretty darned good.

Anila stir-fried the cabbage and carrot with asatofoeda, mustard seeds and turmeric - another fantastic smell whafted through the kitchen.

John's special request for the day had been Anila's samosas. He's a devotee, having sampled them several times at farmers markets. John mashed the potatoes while I scrapped them into a bowl; then Anila added peas, carrots and sweetcorn and John got down to bashing the filling into shape.

While that was happening, Anila whipped up one of the taste sensations of the day: a cucumber and banana raita.

This is a mix of greek yoghurt, peeled and de-seeded cucumber, chopped banana, a little chopped green chilli, salt and a finishing touch of mustard seeds fried off in oil. Cooling and heavenly. Before John and I got on with the samosas, Anila started on the dessert - halva. It begins with an enormous wodge of ghee (or unsalted butter) - my eyebrows shot up at the amount. It's pudding! said Anila, and I was struck by the frugality of the savoury dishes and the luxuriousness of the pud. Semolina is added to the melted butter, and as Anila stirred, it underwent amazing changes in consistency, from stiff to runny. Then it was time to add the milk and water. Anila took it over to the window for the explosive addition...

...then it was back to the stove for another alchemical evolution as the sugar went in. The mix became soft then stiff again, and a final cinnamon/cardomom spice combination finished the dish. Back to those samosas.

Very wisely, before entrusting us to the samosa pastry, Anila wanted John and I to practise our folding on paper. John was brilliant and got it first time. I was abjectly awful, getting my angles hopelessly wrong until Anila did a bit of hand holding. John stormed away, turning out some fantastic little parcels.

Eventually, we had a plate of respectable samosas - just don't look too carefully at mine.

Anila got out the deep fat fryer and popped them in to cook. Finally, it was time to make chappatis. A glug of oil is added to wholewheat flour, then in goes hot water and it's time to knead the mix. Then the dough is measured into fist-sized balls, and it's out with the rolling pins.

John and I both found this tricky but Anila, who's been rolling chapatti since she was seven, is a roti genius. The perfect circle!

John and I both got rolled our chapattis too thinly, so they didn't quite puff up like Anilas - but as she said, practise makes perfect.

Finally, after a meditative pause, it was time to thali up. We'd cooked ten dishes in five hours, and the final thali looked superb.

One dish which Anila whipped up that I haven't mentioned is black-eyed peas in her own curry sauce - fantastic. My own favourites were the cauliflower curry, the black-eyed peas, the raita, the okra, the samosas and the halva...but it was all lovely, and a feast for the senses. I didn't have room to sample the cabbage stir fry until I got home (Anila loaded us up with doggy bags and boxes) but that's a winner too.

We certainly didn't miss onions and garlic in the food, and it's a very interesting experience to be without an ingredient that's so important in European food. A good day? You bet. A very friendly atmosphere, an uplifting learning curve with a great teacher, and a fellow foodie found in John. He's promised to sample purple sprouting broccoli if I try his favourite, steak tartare.

I returned home with some Anila pickles, chutney and curry sauces and new knowledge of Gujarati vegetarain cuisine, plus a goody bag that includes a new spice box with spices and all the recipes of the day. Thank you, Anila and John, for a memorable feast.

Apples galore

Off into a grey and wet day for my jaunt to Chelmsford and Lathcoats Farm, thanks to a seasonal tweet from essexgourmet. Getting there was surprisingly easy, and as soon as I'd arrived at Chelmsford station, the right bus turned up to take me through Galleywood estate with its fabulously bird-named streets (Peregrine Drive, Firecrest Walk etc) and drop me just opposite the farm. Lathcoats grows over 40 varieties of apple (as well as other fruit and veg) and most of them were available to taste in the busy tasting shed. There were baskets and baskets of apples, with plates of chedder morsels to scoff in between fruit.

As soon as I paused by a basket, a knife wielder appeared to shear off a slice for me to taste. I had a long chat with one of the farm's owners, who told me about apple picking for his grandad and his garden apple tree onto which he's grafted seven varieties.

One of the apples I most wanted to taste was D'Arcy Spice, an 18th century Essex variety.

It was lovely - almost sparkling with yes, a rich spiced flavour. My apple advisor pointed me to Topaz. I was a bit snooty about this one, as it's modern and not British - but he was right.

The flavour was outstanding - almost sherbety - and the more I ate, the better it got.

Next up was Ashmead's Kernel, first recorded in 1700, and it's another lovely spicy apple. Next to it was Temptation, a french variety from a Delicious cross, but it tasted bland in comparison to the others.

Kidd's Orange, a New Zealand variety, is a Cox/Delicious cross, and was much better, with an almost jammy finish. I must have tasted around 20 varieties, and I was bowled over by the differences in taste. Truly a wonderful fruit. By now, I was appled out, so I bought some D'Arcy Spice apples and wandered over the yard to admire some of the farm's veg, stacked outside the farm shop.

Beautiful pumpkins and very painterly cauliflowers.

There was a scrum around a small tent on the other side of the yard, so I gently elbowed my way in.

There were a couple of tables with recipe leaflets and the food made from the recipes. This apple cake was particularly good.

On the other side of the tent, I joined the queue for Lathcoates single variety apple juice - make mine a bottle of Topaz. The farm had invited several of its farm shop suppliers to have a stall, including Cratfield Beef. After guzzling a couple of roast beef samples, I bagged a small joint of silverside.

I had a long chicken chat with the father and son team from Essex Birds - their rather wonderful slogan is 'chicken raised free as a bird'. They supply the farm shop with poultry, and are now rearing their big chickens for Christmas. I promised to return to the shop to see if the taste is as good as my beloved Wickham Manor Farm chooks.

I headed for the farm shop, which has a very good selection of fruit, veg, bread, preserves and dairy produce. Yet more apples in the specially cooled fruit and veg room. There were notices up explaining that one day this June, the heavens opened and all the orchards were pelleted with hail for an hour. Hence some of the apples are slightly stippled. I bought some bread and cheese, then headed out to meet a few of the animals.

This pygmy goat was on the lookout for stray food...

...but the kune kune pig was gently snoozing under a much-munched apple tree.

It was a great trip, and the farm was bustling with families, enjoying the apples, riding donkeys or getting a bite from the farm cafe. I'll certainly return. It's the kind of place that makes me feel very good about British food.