Imam Bayildi - Beautiful Aubergine Goodness

A bit like a fragrant ratatouille, ace with lamb

The Boyfriend has been away quite a lot recently. Instead of lamenting his absence, and feeling lonely and sorry for myself, I've been stuffing my face with ALL the things he turns his nose up; principally, aubergines. How can you not love them? The meatiest of all the veg, the shiny, taught smooth dark skin that makes you HAVE to touch them, wow this is verging on sexual...anyway. Originally from Turkey, this particular recipe for Imam Bayildi comes all the way from Australia, written by (and these words may not all be mine) Michael Adams QC, the late Chief Magistrate of Victoria, escoffier extraordinaire, champion of soppy girlies, philosopher, lover of dogs and the occasional pussycat, piggy, chook, horse and pygmy cow, and one of my Dad's greatest mates ever who kept him on the straight and narrow. So now you know. So I had a couple of sexy aubergines lolling on my work surface and I cooked this: (As I am writing this in England, it seems only right to change eggplant to aubergine and cups into 'very rough, I'm sure it will be ok' metric measurements. Weird Aussies. 

Feeds about 4 as a side dish. Slice 2 aubergines in half lengthways and then into long slices about an inch squared and the length of the aubergine. Place in a colander and sprinkle liberally with salt, let it stand over a basin for at least 30 minutes to de-gorge the bitter juices. Rinse and pat dry with a clean tea-towel or kitchen roll.  Gently heat an indecent amount of olive oil in a heavy based saucepan and add the aubergines. Cook over medium to high heat until they brown, (they will initially take up a lot of oil but they will let it out again). Add the one large sliced onion and cook for a further 3 or 4 minutes, then add two or three cloves of chopped garlic, and cook for further 2 minutes. Add a tin of chopped tomatoes, a squirt of tomato puree, juice of half a lemon, a cinnamon stick, two bay leaves and a generous tsp of dried oregano. Cover and reduce heat to a very slow simmer and cook for about 45 to 60 minutes or it's good in the oven too, although the pot will be a pain in the arse to wash up. This can be served hot, warm or at room temperature and is amaaazing with lamb. Just before serving, stir a good hand-full of chopped parsley. 

Michael has written some wonderful recipes, always with great charm. My favourite being his recipe for sweetcorn fritters, one part which read something like 'Whatever you do, don't fuck them up. If you do, give up cooking.' 

Polenta Cake (NOT placenta cake)

What shall I make for pud? A pretty normal sounding question which resulted in a pretty scary answer: a very excited scream of 'PLACENTA CAKE!!! Definitely make placenta cake!'. After several minutes of horrified protest from me, my Mother explained that this is what my hilarious Father likes to call polenta cake. Despite his gross name for it, his enthusiasm made me want to make it right away, this recipe was cut out of some magazine by my Mum years ago and gets pulled out every once in a while when my Dad is in the mood for delicious moist lemony polenta goodness, not pregnancy-based offal. Eurgh.

Because this requires a little precision, I will list the ingredients in a more organised way than my usual slap-dash fashion.
Feeds around 8 with leftovers.

Ingredients: 

350g demerara sugar

4 eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

finely grated zest 2 lemons

250ml light olive oil (why is this cake so moist? Oh that's why)

250ml fruity white wine

300g plain flour

2.5 tsp baking powder

125g dried polenta

To make it pretty and extra delish:

450g soft summer fruits ( I used rasberries on their own)

1 tbsp balsamic vinegar

1 tsp caster sugar

A sprinkling of chopped fresh mint

 
You will also need a 25cm spring-form cake tin lined with grease-proof paper.

Preheat oven to 180, 160 fan oven, gas 4.  Sprinkle 3 tbsp demerara sugar over base of prepared tin. Beat together the rest of the sugar, eggs, vanilla and lemon zest, then pour in the oil & wine & beat to mix well.

Sift together flour, baking powder and polenta, then add this to the wet mixture and combine well.  Pour over the sugar in the prepared tin and bake for 30 mins. Cover with oil and cook for a further 30 mins. Check by inserting a skewer, it should come out clean. I always find it's best to check early as you can always put it back in the oven. Cool in the tin, loosen sides and turn out.

Combine the fruit with the balsamic and add the sugar. Leave in fridge for 30 mins. Serve the warm cake (still good cold) with the fruit sprinkled with the chopped mint. You don't have to put the fruit on top, but it elevates it from a great cake to a sublime cake, it's just gorgeous. For pregnant women and those without child, alike. 

Cauliflower - Don't boil, roast!

Seeming a little like broccoli's unfortunate anaemic looking cousin, in the UK, cauliflower is normally either boiled to smithereens in school canteens (it was in mine) or smothered in cheese sauce (nothing wrong this this at all). That's not much excitement for anyone. Indians know how to treat a cauliflower with respect though, and they understand how well it works with a little help from a bit of spice. I absolutely love them deep fried as pakoras, but that can make your kitchen smell a bit and sometimes you just can't be faffed to have a pan of boiling oil bubbling away, waiting for you to knock it off the hob (oh yes, that did happen once. Oil slick ahoy. And we had guests). Roasting cauliflower was a revelation, sprinkle it with chilli and cumin seeds and you can have it with curry, rub it with paprika and garlic and you've gone to Spain. A tiny bit of ground cinnamon and almond flakes with fresh mint and coriander a la Eattori and you've got a perfect and spunky accompaniment to fish, the possibilities are (almost) endless.

This recipe is what I would eat with curry as a healthier alternative to pakoras, but go nuts, use what you have and elevate the humble cauliflower to a new and exciting status.

Feeds two generously. Pre-heat the oven to 180c. Remove outer leaves from one whole head of cauliflower,  discard the tough leaves but keep the softer thinner ones from inside. Break/cut the florets away from the stalk and slice the upper third of the stalk into rounds about half a centimetre thick. Take a baking try and tumble the cauliflower (and leaves) in, slightly drizzle with olive oil, don't soak it, and combine with half a tsp turmeric, and a tbsp of garam masala. Toss really well and season. Bake for about 15 minutes and check on progress. You want the edges to go brown but the veg to retain a tiny bit of bite. If it looks a bit burny and raw turn the temperature down and put the tray in the bottom of the oven. Cover with foil if you're worried. When cooked, toss with a handful fresh coriander and if you want, a squeeze of lemon.

This is so good with roast chicken, you can play with the flavours as much as you like, to your taste. Just promise to never boil it again!

Chicken & Tarragon Risotto (Frugal food in disguise)

Risotto may not fill your imagination with excitement and thrills, but suppertime is sometimes more about

something reliable, easy and not bank breaking. You can save your fancy foams and sous-vided zebra for payday. This recipe is definitely not boring, but it is simple, and is a staple 'a couple of days after the roast chicken on Sunday' recipe in my house. Being a texture maniac I love the fresh crunch of aniseed from the shaved fennel on the top, along with the feathery fronds on top of the soft creamy rice. You can omit any crunchy bits for special people like the Boyfriend who doesn't like surprises.

I tend to only cook this after having roasted a chicken, so I use stock I have made from the carcass and the left-over meat stripped after we can't eat any more. It's always a good idea to buy a bigger chicken than you need, simply because you then have nice cold roast chook for recipes like this. Or to dip straight into the mayo jar, illuminated by the glow of the fridge, door wide open. I definitely don't do that.

Quantities can vary to suit you. but allow approx 75g risotto rice per person and as much chicken as you need to use up. This is for 2. You will need approximately a litre of chicken stock. Reserve a third of a fennel bulb and finely chop the rest, saving the green fronds on top. Gently fry this in a saucepan in a splash of olive oil, and when softened add a finely chopped clove of garlic. Fry for another 2 minutes then add the rice. Stir well for a minute, coating the rice in the oil, then add a glass of white wine. Let it cook, stirring most of the time until absorbed, then add hot stock, ladle by ladle, waiting each time for it to be absorbed, until the rice is almost tender but with a teeny bit of bite. Not crunch, bite. Take your time, don't let it bubble away angrily, this is a caaaaalm dish. Half way through add a large tbsp of tarragon (I don't use it often so find dried works perfectly well). Season and add the chicken in shreddy bits. You only need to warm it though. Stir in a handful of grated Parmesan and serve with the reserved fennel shaved with a peeler on top with the chopped fronds sprinkled over.

You might be a bit tipsy by the time you eat this, as the temptation to down a bottle of wine while doing all that stirring can be overwhelming, either way it's a lovely light risotto, and you feel be nice and wholesome in the knowledge that you got the absolute most out of Sunday's chicken.

Home-made Pita Bread (almost too much excitement)*

Who doesn't love a bit of dip and pita bread? Whether it's hummus straight from the tub at 12.30am after a

Something a bit biblical about a basket of bread!

trip to the pub, or dipped into some lovely beetrooty-yoghurty puree (will post once my hands have returned to their normal colour), faithful pita bread has been an important and useful part of my feeding regime for many years. But I have always bought it. Never thought to make it. Which is weird as I normally like to have a go at most things, chapatis, yes, focaccia, yes, pizza, yes, all sorts of exciting bready things, but never pita. This was a very silly mistake as it turns out it's so simple even a moron could make it. I did a bit of internet based research and found recipes varying from super complicated (mix ingredients, leave to prove for 3.5 days, punch air out and prove again for 38 minutes precisely) etc etc, and also found some much simpler ones, and this recipe is an amalgamation of the sensible suggestions. I first made these for an Easter Feast on Easter Sunday to go with a lamb shwawarma thing I made, just because I wanted to tell everyone it was kebabs for lunch.

Makes 10-ish. In a large mixing bowl add 1 tsp of quick action yeast to 235ml warm water and mix. Leave to dissolve for 5 minutes then. Measure out 350g plain flour, then  reserving a small handful for later, add the flour to the bowl, along with a pinch of salt and a small glug of olive oil. Roll up your sleeves and get mixing, it will make quite a sticky dough but once you've kneeded it for a good five minutes it should become nice and elastic and smooth. If too sticky add more flour, if it keeps breaking up, a tiny bit of water should fix it. I do it all in the bowl otherwise flour goes EVERYWHERE. I'm messy with flour. Take out the dough and plop a little olive oil in the bowl, put the dough back in and move it around so it is coated with a thin layer of olive oil all over. Leave somewhere warm for an hour to prove, and put a clean tea towel over the bowl. When you are ready to cook, get the oven to 230c and get a baking sheet nice and hot in there. To make the pita simply break off bits of dough about the size of a large walnut and on a floured surface and roll into a disc about 1/2 a cm thick. Do as many as you can fit on the baking sheet, lay them on the sheet and bake for about 3 minutes on each side. You don't have to turn them  but it does give them a nice bit of colour. *Watch with amazement as they puff up like little bready pillows and squeal with delight as your hard work pays off. Try not to cry as they deflate an hour later when your friends arrive for lunch. As they are cooking, roll out more so you're ready to cook the next batch. 

You don't even have to cook all the dough as it keeps in clingfilm in the fridge for a week. So you can say to your mates 'Oh don't worry about going to the shops, I'll just whip up a batch of pitta mwahahaha (that's your smug laugh)'.

Portuguese Carrots - Nostalgic Nibbles

As predicted, when I bought my paella dish, my life  improved. Who's wouldn't when you can stand at the hob pretending to be teeny tiny midget cook (oh hang on...) stirring away at a giant pan?! It is fun, it looks impressive and genuinely cooks a paella better than doing it in a frying pan which is quite frankly the wrong size and shape. I love Spanish food for it's bold bright flavours, and all the bits and pieces that come with a nice tapas spread. However, a Spanish feast can sometimes lack a good balance of meat and veg, and although a confirmed carnivore, I do like to offset my meat consumption with the crunch of some veg. These carrots are nearly always served up as a little nibble in the restaurants we visit on holiday in the Algarve, accompanied by tiny bitter olives and gross anchovy paste that only my Father will eat. So it's not Spanish but I don't think anyone minds me borrowing a dish from over the border. Masterchef, this ain't, but it's a lovely little nibble that does very well as part of a tapas or mezze spread, or with a bowl of fried chorizo (and useful for hummus and pitta ruts).

No real measurements but you do need it to have a nice nudge of garlic, as opposed to a headbutt, and you should be able to taste the olive oil through the dressing, so go easy on the vinegar. Peel about one carrot per person and chop into rounds. Boil them in salted water for a few minutes, and drain. You want the raw crunch gone but stay away from mushy territory. In a frying pan heat a very decent glug of very decent extra virgin olive oil and very gently fry some chopped garlic (about one big clove for every three carrots). Be careful as you are just infusing the oil and taking the raw edge off the garlic. Once this has happened remove from the heat and let the oil cool slightly. Season it and add a splash of white wine vinegar (go easy, you can always add more) and a handful of chopped parsley. Check the taste. Add the carrots and mix well.

Serve as part of a spread, it would go with tapas, a more Middle Eastern mezze platter, or even cold meats, anti pasti style. Don't forget some nice bread to soak up the heavenly garlicky oil, and suddenly you could be on holiday.

Spaghetti with Chorizo and pretend Parmesan (Pangritata)

Pasta crumble - tastes less studenty than it sounds/looks

As with many culinary delights, pangritata was borne out of poverty, and is known as a 'poor man's substitute for Parmesan'. Italians would never use poverty as an excuse not to eat well. Happily,  I can afford Parmesan, but I enjoyed this immensely and totally recommend giving it a whirl. The little bit of crunch it provides is awesome and the perfume of the rosemary works brilliantly. Perfect weekend lunchtime food. Pasta pretty much being a permanent fixture on the menu in my house at the weekend being quick and easy, using pretty much staple store cupboard ingredients.

Serves two. Get your spag on the go first of all. Into a dry frying pan add about 100g chopped chorizo and let it get crispy and oily. Add some chilli flakes, a clove of finely chopped garlic and a big handful of cherry tomatoes. Keep cooking until the tomatoes burst their skins. In a separate smaller frying pan, fry a large handful of white breadcrumbs (ciabatta preferably) in a glug of olive oil. They are ready when they have crisped up and browned slightly. Now stir through two sprigs of rosemary (leaves removed from the stem) which have been very finely chopped. Drain the pasta and add it to the chorizo/tomato pan, stir through and sprinkle liberally with the pangritata.

Add Parmesan if you want to be totally outrageous.