Lunch fail

It's not often that I have a meal so stupidly cooked that I need to write about it, but last week's lunch at Davy's Wine Bar in west London was a monument to bad eating.
Neither C nor I wanted much to eat, and C warned me that the food wasn't great. I chose halloumi and couscous thinking that there wasn't much that could go wrong...a big mistake. Halloumi, that wonderful cheese from Cyprus, is meant to be cooked (unless you can get hold of the really fresh stuff). For me, the whole point of Halloumi is that wonderful salty, squeaky, hot and crisp sensation that you get when the cheese comes straight from the grill or the pan. Something like this...

Davy's doesn't do hot halloumi. There were some very pale griddle marks on one side of the cheese and none on the other. The result was a tepid hunk of pale tastelessness. The poor cheese sat on a bed of couscous to which no seasoning  or lubrication had been added. So a plate that could have been quite tasty was utterly unattractive and really quite nasty to eat. What a complete bloody waste of ingrediants.

A taste of Hereford

Off and out first thing yesterday to Hereford, where I lived for 18 months after uni. It's still one of my favourite places.

I haven't been to Hereford for sometime, and it was only when I was outside the cathedral that I realised that Dad was alive last time I was here, and I sent him a postcard. Yesterday was farmers' market day and the centre of town was buzzing. Sad to see though that Chad's, the department store, has fallen to the recession. It was a lovely, old fashioned shop. Now, of course, part of it is a pound store.

Lots of other shops have gone too, but the farmers' market seemed to be doing good business. In Hereford, it's only right to buy orchard fruit, and I bought some lucsious conference pears.

Next to the fruit lady were these cheery souls from the Pencombe Village Bakery. They haven't been open long, and they're based near Bromyard. Just been nosing at the website and discovered that they do a bread making course. Hmmm. One for the future.

The bread looked lovely, so I bagged a sourdough. I hope they have great success - and are at the market next time I'm back.

One fixture of this farmers' market is the lady who helps owls - normally featuring one of the birds in person.

This little chap was with her, keeping a beady eye on shoppers.

I was really disappointed on my last visit not to see the Handmade Scotch Egg company, perveyors of one of my favourite snacks. So I was delighted to see them in residence yesterday. They make heaven knows how many different varieties, most meaty but some veggie.

After much deliberation, I choose a classic, a scrumpy, a colonel (with beer mustard) and a vegetarian Worcester, made with cheese and Worcester sauce. I devoured the classic for lunch, and it's the only commercial scotch egg I've eaten that's as good as homemade. They do mail order, which is a tempting possiblity.

Next stop was halfway up Church Street: the excellent Mousetrap cheese shop. Inside, a family was selecting which cheeses to go in a wedding day cheese pillar - the cheeselover's alternative to the wedding cake. There was much munching and testing. I couldn't resist a hunk of Beenleigh Blue and a good slice of the shop's own cheese, Little Hereford.

The Little Hereford is a creamy cheese with an almost grassy finish - nice. Food shopping done, it was time to visit the cathedral. I love Hereford cathedral. It's not grand like Canterbury or beautiful like Ely or Durham or even a patron of modern art like Chichester. But it's small and interesting and full of enchanting things, like these piggies snuffling for acorns on the tomb of John Swinfield, complete with their Hereford cathedral jackets.

A couple of additions since my last visit hints that Hereford might, after all, be going down the Chichester route.

These wonderful windows, in the chantry off the lady chapel, are by Tom Denny and commemorate Herefordshire's own mystic, Thomas Traherne. There are four windows in all, glowing with colour and detail. There's more info about them here. It's worth visiting the cathedral for the windows alone, but there's another new thing that I liked very much.

This is the recently completed cover to the tomb of St Thomas of Hereford, who got excommunicated when he was bishop and went over to Rome to argue his case. He got back into the church, but died on the way home. After he was buried at the cathedral, miracles were reported, and in the 17th century his bones were used to ward of plague in the city. No record of how effective that was, but probably a good deal cheaper than Tamiflu.

On the front end of the shrine cover, angels are holding up the Mappa Mundi, the cathedral's most famous possesion.

I wandered back into town, dropping in to see jeweller Mike Gell, whose shop in East Street is another of my favourite Hereford places. Then, with a full rucksack and happy tum, I headed back to the station. I hope when I'm back that this lovely city is as thriving as it used to be.

Two soothing suppers

I know that for some, the sprout is the work of the devil. Me, I love them. And as the evenings begin to lighten, I know they're not going to be around for a whole lot longer, so I bagged a few at the weekend. Last night I felt like some comfort food, so after a nose in the fridge, I came up with a Cheesey Sprout Squeak for supper.

First, select your brassicas: a few sprouts and some shredded spring greens was what I had to hand. For mash, I boiled some potatoes with chunks of swede. Then I pushed them through my trusty potato ricer and added a grating of nutmeg and a dollop of butter. While the roots were cooking, I grated a good handful of Keen's chedder. And put the sprouts on to boil, adding the spring greens when the sprouts were nearly done. Once they're drained, they joined the mash.

I was being really lazy with the cheese sauce - just a tub of single cream brought to the boil, taken off the heat and the cheese stirred in. Lazy but effective. A hard-boiled egg is another thing I love, and a good companion to squeak and cheese sauce.

The egg nestled into the squeak, ready for the cheesey topping. Over goes the sauce and into an oven, gas mark 5, for 20 minutes or so.

Then out of the oven for a soothing plateful.

I'd made more mash than I need on purpose: tonight's supper is a variation on Lindsey Bareham's matar aloo tikki from In Praise of the Potato, a wonderful book.

Add a couple of desert spoonfuls of plain flour to the mash and fork in to combine. In a frying pan, heat a little groundnut oil or ghee and add:

something alliumy - about half a shredded leek or a couple of chopped spring onions

110g frozen peas

2 tbs dessicated coconut

1/2 tsp chilli powder (more if you like it hot)

1/2 tsp turmeric

1/2 tsp garum masala

1/2 tsp paprika

When this has cooked for around five minutes, take it off the heat and add the juice of a lemon and some chopped coriander leaves. Now you can go two ways: either add the pea mixture to the mash and mix to combine, or, more daringly, take the mash and shape it into an egg-shaped ball. Poke a hole into the ball and carefully spoon in the pea mix. I took the lazy route again, and just made my mash/pea mix into rissole shapes, then turned them in semolina to coat.

And now they're sitting downstairs, waiting to be fried very gently until they're golden brown. I'll be serving them with a caraway slaw and date and tamarind chutney. Winter wear for the stomach.