Holidays

I'm off for a while - off with my best mate J to Skiathos in Greece for a week. I will return armed with pics of Hellenic goodies, but for those reading, have a fab week and please join me after the break.

Goosegogs

There's an intriguing little conversation going on at Allotment2Kitchen about the word 'goosegog'. I'd idly used the word in Mango's post about elderflower - thinking that everyone would be familiar with my mum's word for gooseberries. But no - seems it's not as well known as I thought. A quick Google turns up the info that it dates from around 1815-25, and it's a British colloquialism (so not an import). And I found a couple of other gardeners using the word and being met with puzzlement. I think it's a lovely word and will continue to use it at every opportunity. And Mango's blog is always worth visiting.

I inherited a goosgog bush on my allotment plot last year - it didn't fruit too well last year as it's been neglected for quite a while. This spring it got a dose of farmyard manure and so far, there's a mass of fruit. I presume that the variety is Invicta, as it's the most common.

One of my winter purchases was a Hinnonmaki Yellow from Thomson and Morgan. It's much more spreading than the Invicta, and T&M promise that it has a hint of apricot. I shall report back at harvest time.

Here's a lovely print of goosegogs by Janie Pirie.

Dan's pie

Yesterday over at Essex Eating, Dan posted the recipe for his family's heirloom egg and bacon pie. What with the weather turning colder again, the thought of it was so good that I rustled up this version, using what I'd already got in the fridge and larder. Call it a variation on a wonderful original.

Homage to Dan's egg and bacon pie

Eight or so sheets of filo pastry
A good handful of leftover smoked gammon
A finely chopped onion
Four sliced tomatoes
Three eggs
A slosh of double cream
A good handful of a strong cheese - I used Lincolnshire Poacher
Melted butter

Carefully unfold your filo and have the melted butter standing by. In a flan tin or pie plate, build up your layers of filo, leaving half the filo sheet flopping over the tin - this will be the lid of the pie. Brush each laid out sheet with the butter so that it the sheets adhere.

Now add your layers: gammon, then onion, then tomato. Beat the eggs together with a slurp of cream, and pour this over the meat and veg. Add your handful of cheese over the top. Now fold over the filo, again brushing with butter. Bung into an oven at gas mark 6 for around half an hour.

This was my pie just out of the oven. Dan recommends some potato accompaniment - I had some left over Jersey Royals, which I fried in walnut oil. And my usual garden salad.

The pie was delicious, and there's more left for lunch today. Nice one, Dan!

Old books and camp tales

A post by Fiona over at The Frugal Cook got me musing about the lure and value of old cookery books. I love them - I haunt the local Oxfam bookshop, and last week bagged The Moosewood Cookbook, which I'd wanted for some time. One of my favourite old books is my mother's copy of Good Housekeeping, circa 1957 (the pic is the baking version of similar vintage). My mother didn't own many cookery books - no money for that sort of thing - but this one was closest to being her bible. At the moment it's up in Anglesey, so I can't check this out, but I'm fairly sure her recipes for liver casserole, kedgeree, and her many cakes, came from Good Housekeeping. And my favourite pudding recipe comes from this tome: apple charlotte made not with bread but with a breadcrumb, suet and sugar mix. I'd never seen this recipe anywhere else until quite recently, when I saw it in a (second-hand) Katie Stewart book.
I used to love looking at the adverts in the GHK book - many for kitchen appliances that even ten years later were looking hopelessly outdated. Most of the photos are in black and white, with a few colour 'plates' of dubious hue.


More relevant were ads like this: well into the 60s, my mum was making coffee using Camp Coffee. I thought the resulting brew was vile, and it's one of the food products that probably divides the generations.

Camp Coffee is a peculiar mix - 26% is chicory essence. It's been made in Scotland since 1876. Three years ago, the label that I remember from childhood underwent a makeover, from this:

to this:

Are we sitting comfortably? The Daily Mail went wild with talk of political correctness, but I think it's the right move. Even if the Sikh gentleman does look a little uncomfortable. He's probably wondering why the hell he can't have tea instead.

Sunny sunday

What a glorious day. I was up early to sort out seedlings at home, then I cycled up to the allotment, where the broad beans are in full flower. The blackfly have descended en masse, and there were several ladybirds scuttling round hungrily.

The first strawberries are reddening - I must get some straw to protect the precious fruit.

I'm so proud of my garlic. I've never grown it before, and I'm glad it likes conditions on the plot. It's such a luxurious looking crop. The main tasks today were planting out the squash and more pea seedlings. The mega-weed of last week shows, but there was more to be done around the fruit patch. Q rang later as I was on my way to Walthamstow, and he's going to tackle cleaning the onion bed.

On my way out, I stopped to chat to my lovely lottie neighbour Laura. She's a non-hybrid woman, growing everything from last year's seed. She was busy watering her carrots. Her potatoes are already in flower - no flowers on mine yet.

After hurtling back home, I headed over to Walthamstow farmers' market. It's small but perfectly formed, and today was the day of the annual plant fair.

First stop was the Seriously Italian stall. I first discovered them last year and was completely wowed by their gnocchi and pesto. It's the only pesto in a jar I've ever tasted and liked. Today I got a jar of the five-herb pesto.

Bread was on my shopping list, and I got a loaf of olive sourdough at the Le Moulin stall. Butter was on the list too, and I spotted some at the Lincolnshire Poacher stall.

The chap manning the stall was very cheerful. The Poacher guys have been making cheese since 1992 and they've won numerous awards. The cheese is unpasteurised and organic, made with milk from Holsteins. The Poachers have invented a special brush that the cows can use to clean themselves - you can see it in action here. Oh, and the cheese tastes yummy.
Next up was the serious business of the day - the plants.

There were more plant stalls today than last year, which is a great sight.

I loved these Zwartkop aeoniums - and I wasn't the only one - they'd attracted quite a crowd. I bagged one to take home, thus gaining another reason to hope for a long, hot summer. At the next door herb stall and bought a pot of dill for the garden herbiary.

I was thrilled to see that Muck and Magic, purveyors of extremely fine meat, now have a stall, so I bought a small joint of smoked gammon. My favourite of all my mother's Sunday lunches was boiled bacon, parsley sauce, broad beans and potatoes. No beans yet, but I've got some in the freezer.
Getting the gammon was a good excuse to stop at the Millwhites stall. I tasted several but my favourite was the dry Dabinett. The stall guy said that he makes the cider in Hertfordshire with apples from Somerset. It's a lovely brew. Then it was home to think about lunch and moving some pots around in the garden.

A turkish tottenham supper

I'd promised a Turkish spread, and here it is. First up are the mushrooms, and this is my take on Ghillie's caramelised mushrooms.

Sarmisakli mantar (except there should be no dots on the 'i')

200g mushrooms - I used tiny buttons
3 cloves garlic
olive oil and butter
1/4 tsp allspice
1 tsp coriander seeds, bashed
salt and pepper
chopped mint, parsley and dill
lemon juice

Heat the oils and add the shrooms, garlic and spices. Let them cook at quite a high heat with the lid on, then take the lid off when the mushrooms have started to caramelise. Cook for about 5 minutes then take off the heat. Toss with the herbs and lemon juice and season to taste.

Leave the mushrooms to cool. Serve at room temperature and be prepared for people to treat them like sweeties.
Next up: the aubergine and a heavenly concoction.


I know this might look like another dose of wallpaper paste but trust me, it's a heavenly recipe.

Nazuktan

an aubergine
1 tbs yoghurt
lemon juice to taste
2 cloves garlic
pinch of salt
1/2 tbs pekmez (pomegranate molasses)
flaked almonds, toasted
about 5 springs of mint

Cook your aubergine on a gas ring - to get the smokey flavour, you need an open fire. Carefully peel off the blackened skin, and mash in a bowl with the yoghurt, lemon juice, garlic, salt and pekmez. Add the toasted almonds and mint. Divine.

And finally, the borek.

Cheese borek

I had about 190g feta cheese, which I supplemented with 40g of cottage cheese. Mix together and add two beaten eggs and chopped herbs - I used mint, parsley and dill. This mix was a bit sloppy, so next time I'll add more cheese.

Take a sheet of filo pastry and brush with melted butter. Fold the sheet in half lengthways, so you get a slimmer sheet. Put a blob of the cheese mix in the centre and roll up, like a cigar. Alternatively, your blob can go in one corner and then, origami like, you fold up into a triangle. I did a little of both, and got some steroid-shaped borek.

I baked mine in the oven - I started with Claudia Rodin's recommendation of a temperature of gas mark 2, but this was far too low. Once beefed up to mark 5, my babies were golden and tender after 10 minutes. My plate awaits...

Our lady of the chillies

My little Mouse flat out in the sun, dreaming of tuna.

It's going to be...

...a Turkish kind of day. The weather is glorious and there's still some filo pastry in the fridge which calls for some of my favourite cooking.

This is Ghillie Basan's classic (and Classic) book on Turkish cookery that came out a few years after I'd been on holiday there. I think I had a hazy idea that the food would be all right, but it's not - it's stunningly good. The produce is amazing and the repertoire endless. The Turks argue that theirs is one of the world's great cuisines, and they're right.

I was first there over 25 years ago, and stayed for a week in Kalkan, now much developed. When my sister and I arrived, by bus, hordes of children turned up to try to persuade us to stay at their pension. We took pot luck and ended up in a lovely place with a terrace overlooking the bay. Every morning we sat out and had our breakfast of boiled egg, fresh bread, olives, salty cheese, tomatoes, honey and olives. It's still the ultimate breakfast, to my mind.

One of the places we visited was Efes with its incredible roman amphitheatre. We also made innumerable visits to a different Efes with its light, thirst-quenching interior.

Ghillie has a recipe for caramelised mushrooms, which I've not tried before, so I'll make those, and some cheese borek. And something with my veggie box's remaining aubergine.

Watercress again

Thanks to goodshoeday for her lovely comment on my previous watercress post - she talks of a chicken, mayo and watercress sandwich which sounds divine. Returning home, I browsed some cookbooks for watercress ideas, and mea culpa . I spoke slightly disparagingly about my mother's cress sandwiches - no less an authority than Jane Grigson says that the sandwich is the best way to experience the full peppery blast of these wonderful greens. I also looked in Sophie Grigson's Country Cookbook (which I picked up in a discount bookstore - I can't imagine why as it's a wonderful book) and she too speaks well of the sandwich route. She points out that cooking the cress gets rid of the essential hotness, and suggest several salad ideas. I'm thinking watercress, avocado, chirizo.

Watercress week

Artichoke over at British Food and Drink has just been blogging about watercress - this is national watercress week, apparently. A good excuse to buy a bunch of this lovely, peppery beauty. My bunch comes from John Hurd in Wiltshire, but the watercressing focus seems to be in Hampshire, where they had a festival last week.
The Watercress website has a good range of facts, history and recipes, including this gem: 'The ancient Greeks called watercress kardamon; they believed it could brighten their intellect, hence their proverb “Eat watercress and get wit.” ' Yep, no-one tells them like the ancient Greeks. And Roman emperors ate watercress to help them make bold decisions. I take it that there's not much green stuff at 10 Downing Street these days.

Watercress went mass market with the arrival of the railways: the watercress line, running from Alresford to London ensured that the watercress arrived fresh and perky at Covent Garden.

Watercress sellers sold on the streets, making watercress a very early fast food.

I've eaten watercress for as long as I can remember, but I think the most my mother did with it was put it in sandwiches and salads. Those were pre-pesto days. My bag comes with three recipes: soup, yes, the inevitable pesto, and a salad of watercress, chicory, roquefort and bacon. I'll rummage in the fridge when I get home for a suitably celebratory dish.

Pretty things

I was idly googling 'asparagus' when I turned up these beautiful salad servers, made by Conneticut jeweller Michael Michaud. So I googled him, and discovered he makes a number of veggie-inspired pieces.

This peapod is made from bronze and pearls: it's so pretty, and available in the UK from

Harriet and Dee. I've just spoken to one of them - a lovely lady - and she's going to see if they've got one in stock.

I loved these edamame earrings too. And he does blackberries and veggie charm bracelets. This Michael Michaud is of course not to be confused with River Cottage veg guru Michael Michaud, who grows the Dorset Naga, allegedly the hottest chilli in the world.

The summer pie

Here's what happened to the remnants of yesterday's asparagus (and yes! I've been waaay too slow this year).
Take several leaves of filo pasty and line a flan tin, angling the pastry like a clock face, so that all the hours are covered. Build up the layers and brush with melted butter as you go. Very soothing. Meanwhile, cook your asparagus according to your favourite method. Drain and reserve.
For most of my flan/tart recipes, I use a basic custard from the Greens cookbook, much loved and much splattered. The American cup measurement is very useful, as I find an easy way to judge quantities without measuring. But I've added metric measures as a guide.

Basic tart custard

2 eggs (organic for peace of mind)
1 cup/225 ml creamy stuff - double cream or sour cream or creme freche - today I used half and half Philly cheese and double cream - the choice is yours
3 oz/100g hard cheese - I used gruyere, but whatever you've got

Mix all the ingredients together.
Put your asparagus on the filo lined tin. Pour over the custard. Add a few gratings of cheese. Fold over the filo pastry with the glue of melted butter. Bung into an oven at gas mark 5 for 35 mins or until your nose tells you it's done.
I served with a garden salad of chives, mustards, rocket and avocado.

In praise of asparagus

I've been woefully late eating asparagus this season, but finally bought a Worcestershire bunch in Waitrose yesterday (sorry Hampshire, it has to be from one of the three counties). I knew I wasn't eating it at its best, ie minutes after it's been cut, but my word it was good. I had mine with scrambled eggs (very similar, I discovered today, to Jane Grigson's recipe for aparagus and buttered eggs) and scoffed it down before I remembered to take a pic. I've got a few spears left for tonight, so I think I'll make a Greek-inpsired asparagus and feta pie, with some feta I've got left over from the beet rissoles and a pack of filo pastry that's lurking in the fridge.
Everyday on my walk home to the tube, I pass Trinity church on Marylebone road. If you look carefully, you can see four asparagus-like shoots pointing up from midway up the tower - I've always assumed they're asparagus but I've never investigated. Maybe I should.

Angel trumpets

My brugmansias from Thomson and Morgan turned up today. They were half price in the T and M sale, and I couldn't resist them. Many years ago, when they were called daturas, I rescued one from a garden centre and it turned into the most wonderful beast with masses of white trumpets. They exude the most heavenly scent - very heady if you keep them indoors as I did in my south London flat. My new babies are a bit bedraggled after their transport in a box, but they look healthy and ready for a new life in Tottenham. They're tender so they'll need to overwinter in the study. I must ask Big Bro if there's anything else I need to know about them.

A sandwich spread

I've been getting email updates from US food magazine Gourmet for a while now, but this morning there were two recipes that really caught my eye. One was for a cashew chutney spread, for which I could deploy my lovely Anila's mango chutney, and the other was for an accompanying radish pickle. Here's my take on them - I've used American measures as I have a set of much-loved US cups, bought when I first discovered the bread books of Beth Hensperger.

Cashew Chutney spread

1 cup cashew nuts
1/2 tsp Madras curry powder
1/2 pack Philadelphia cheese
1 tsp mango chutney
1 chopped spring onion

Whiz the cashew nuts and curry powder in a processor. Tip out into a bowl and combine with the cheese, chutney and onion. In the pic above, it looks a bit like wall paper paste, but it tastes great! And to go with the sandwich...

Quick radish pickle

A handful of radishes - I had nine - cut them in half
1 tsp salt
3 tbs rice vinegar
2 tbs sugar (I used unrefined castor)

Sprinkle the salt on the radishes and leave for about half an hour.
Heat the vinegar and sugar until the sugar melts.
Wash the radishes and bung into the vinegar mix to marinate.

I'm looking forward to lunch tomorrow...

On the plot

Just spent a busy few hours at 51b, my half allotment plot. It rained earlier (hooray!) and threatened another shower but so far, it's held off. Now I'm back home, it feels like there's a storm brewing. I like this weather: looming grey clouds then sudden bursts of hot sunshine before it swings back to a leaden sky.
When I got my plot last year, it hadn't been worked for several years, according to Mark, my lovely lottie neighbour. I got the plot in late April, so there was an awful lot to do quickly so that I could get some kind of harvest. Digging was hell in the clay soil, but once it was done the veg loved it.

Before, April 08 (above) and after, May 09 (below)

My allot-mate Q and I have dug seven beds, but we've almost certainly left too much grass, so we're going to expand the beds slowly once the current crops have been harvested. The onions and garlic are doing brilliantly - my first time at growing both, the broad beans and toms look in fine fettle and the peas are just coming up. I planted some runners last week but they haven't appeared yet.

Today's main tasks were clipping and weeding, then more clipping and weeding. Finally we could reward ourselves by planting out the courgettes I'd brought up from home: Tricolour has round fruit that come in three colours, and Oriela is a long yellow fruited variety. Last year we nearly drowned in courgettes, so I hope four plants isn't too many.

I'd also transported an achoba Fat Baby (spiny fruit that taste like green peppers when fried - or that's what it says on the packet) and two types of pepper - Dedo de Mocha and Meek and Mild. They're in the shed, along with the cuces and toms. There are still some chillis to go in.
Last thing to do was harvest the rhubarb. It's been superb this year. I gave it a mulch of dried farmyard manure in the spring, and it's been the best rhubarb I've ever had. Heaven knows which variety it is, as the three plants were already there when I got the plot, along with a goosegog bush. I've added to the fruit count with a raspberry, a blackcurrant and a yellow gooseberry.
Must go back up in a couple of days to water the shed plants, and do more weeding among the onions.