Potato Rosti for Breakfast (and not making a hash of it for once)

Ooooze

Come the morning on weekdays, I gulp down a smoothie, I'm never hungry first thing but if I don't eat, the lure of croissant perfume they pump out of M&S at Green Park will get me every time. Even if I remain strong I have to walk past an Eat and a Pret. So I am screwed if I don't eat before I leave the house. People look at me in horror when I tell them my breakfast smoothie contains a raw egg, my boss told me to try it and I've never looked back. Come the weekend however, there is generally a naughty lie in,  more time and often a little hangover to deal with. The weekend demands a fun breakfast, something you don't have time for during the week, something to kick off two days off in style. But who has the foresight to plan breakfast??! Generally not me, which is why we often end up with soft boiled eggs and soldiers which is a little bit fun, but not overly exciting.

I have been put off making rostis ever since I attempted it with a non-non-stick frying pan. It tasted ok but it was anything but a rosti. I tried again with a new pan and won. It couldn't be simpler. A load of grated spuds with a bit of onion thrown in for good measure, squished in a pan, fried to a crisp, with a poached egg lobbed on top. I mostly have spuds and eggs. No fancy ingredients needed for this one.

Feeds 2. Peel and grate two large potatoes, and one large onion. Put all your gratings into a clean tea towel and squeeze the hell out of it over the sink. Amazing how much liquid comes out. This, you do not want in your rosti, mainly because it won't be a rosti. When as dry as poss, mix in a bowl with plenty of seasoning. Heat plenty of olive oil in a NON STICK frying pan and divide the mix into four. Plop each on in the pan and squidge down with a spatula. After a few minutes have a careful, sneaky look at the underside, you want golden brown, not light brown or indeed dark brown. Flip over, cook the other side (add more oil if it's mostly been sucked up) and serve with a poached egg on top.

There are a multitude of ways to pimp this, just go for it with whatever you have in your fridge/cupboard. I liked it simple. But with harissa on the side, obviously.

Tortilla - A delicious way to use up eggs and spuds

Who doesn't have eggs and potatoes rolling around their fridge most of the time? Spanish Tortilla makes a great lunch/tapa/something Spanish to bring to a Eurovision party. WHAT? Don't judge me. And it's cheap, which is always good. You can also use up any bits and pieces you have hiding in the fridge, chorizo, apsparagus, courgette, peppers, feta cheese, I could go on...

Feeds 8 as a nibbly type thing and 4 as a decent lunch with some salad. Peel and slice (£1 coin thickness) 3 large potatoes and 3 white onions. Take a large non-stick frying pan and gently fry them, in a very generous glug of olive oil for as long as it takes for the onions to soften and the potato to lose it's crunch, but not soft and broken up. If you're adding any extra veg (I added a handful of slice asparagus spears) do it near the end of this cooking period. In a large bowl, beat 5 eggs and season really well. Now add the contents of the frying pan to the eggs using a slotted spoon to avoid excess oil going in. Combine well, but gently. Get the frying pan back on the heat and pour it all back in, wiggling the pan a bit for the first minute to distribute evenly. let this cook for about 7 minutes, being careful not to burn the base (keep sniffing, you'll smell it if it burns!). When it is starting to firm up nicely, you need to cook the top. You can either be brave and cover the pan with a large plate/chopping board, flip it over and very carefully slide back into the pan, or you can be a wuss like I normally am and stick it under the grill for 5 minutes. I am scarred by previous attempts using a very non-non-stick pan. Potatoes, eggs and onions everywhere. Waaaah. 

The only rule is that you should have hot sauce with this, it's just soooo good. Um, that's my rule, not Spain's, just so you know. Other than that, cut into wedges, or if you want to be fancy pants traditional, little diamond shapes. 

Cullen Skink (NOT Cullen Skank) Pies with Mash Tops

Dive in and say mmmmmm

How lush is smoked haddock? Even people who aren't that keen on regular fish, complaining that it's too 'fishy', often succumb to the gentle smokey saltiness of a decent piece of smoked haddock. I once made a bit of a fool of myself at a fish counter, asking if they had any un-dyed specimens, turning my nose up at the artificial neon yellow ones on display. "Madam, it's only turmeric that colours them you know..." Oh alright then. Whoops. Anyway, I for one find it very comforting, it goes well with gentle stodge, rice in kedgeree for example and mashed potatoes in this recipe which is basically a fish pie, but only with smoked haddock, in a velvety creamy white wine sauce, spiked with chopped chives to add a little interest. Cullen skink is a traditional Scottish soup; here it is thickened up and a roof of mash turns it into a pie. Of sorts.

Serves 4. Preheat the oven to 200c. Peel two large potatoes, cut into chunks and boil until tender, then drain. Poach approx. 600g smoked haddock fillet (if skinless then cut into chunks before poaching, if not poach as it is and peel the skin off after cooking, it's very easy) in a deep frying pan by pouring over enough milk to cover it and a few bay leaves and peppercorns thrown in for aromatic goodness. Cover and bring the milk to a simmer, let it bubble for 4 minutes then turn off the heat and leave to cool for a bit. If the haddock is skinless and in chunks, remove from the pan with a slotted spoon and set aside, reserving the milk (discard bay leaves and peppercorns), and if it has skin, remove with a slotted spoon and peel the skin off and gently flake. Feel for bones as you do this to save anyone having a nice choke at the dinner table. Make a roux by melting a decent chunk of butter in a small pan, into this briskly stir in a heaped tablespoon of plain flour. Keep stirring and gradually incorporate a splash of white wine and most of the reserved milk. Keep stirring on the heat until thickened. Season, stir in a hand full of chopped chives and gently fold in the fish. Mash the spuds with plenty of seasoning, a knob of butter and a splash of milk. Spoon the fish mixture into 4 individual pie dishes or one big one, allowing enough milky wine to make it saucy, but not so much that the haddock is swimming again. Top with mash, a light dusting of paprika (mostly to make it a bit pretty) and a little bit of grated cheese if you wish. Serve with plenty of greens.

I would recommend you eat this not too far from bed as it is as comforting as a bed time story multiplied by hot water bottles and cocoa.

Tartiflette is not a Tart



Very precise layering going on here...



Very occasionally I want a little break from cooking, it's probably more the washing up and mess that I have enough of, but sometimes it's very nice to be cooked for. The Boyfriend cooks for me about twice a year, not enough, considering when he does cook, it's always annoyingly fabulous. The destruction found in the kitchen after said event is enough for me to ban him completely, but the other day he said he wanted to cook dinner. Then he said he wanted to make Tartiflette. TARTIFLETTE!!!! Let me explain to those perhaps perplexed by my enthusiasm; tartiflette is one of those dishes, probably in my top 5, that cannot fail to warm you up, cheer you up, make you smile, and make anyone eating it groan in unnadulterated delicious pleasure, so much so that anyone nearby, not involved in eating it would wonder what the hell was going on. All hopes of a healthy remedy to an over-indulgent week were dashed, but who cared? It is July, it was cold and rainy, but nothing mattered because there was Reblochon cheese and pancetta in the fridge and that meant only one thing...

I want you now baby...

Feeds 6 normal people and 4 fattie bum bums. Pre-heat the oven to 180. Fry approx 275g smoked bacon (or use those brilliant packets of pancetta cubes) and one large thinly sliced onion in olive oil until soft and browned. Chop a small bunch of fresh thyme, reserving a bit for the garnish. Place the thyme, 284ml pot of double cream, 300ml milk and a crushed clove of garlic in a large saucepan and bring to a simmer. Add a kilo of thinly sliced waxy potatoes to the pan, cover, and cook for about five minutes. Add the bacon and onions to the mixture and season with lots of pepper. Put half into a greased 1.5ltr oven proof dish, and slice up 250g Reblochon cheese. Layer half the cheese over the potatoes, pour the rest of the potatoes on top and then put the rest of the cheese on top. Bake for 40-45 minutes, until the potatoes are tender and all that lovely cheese has gone golden brown. Artfully (!) sprinkle with the rest of the thyme.

This should probably be eaten with salad, because it equals out all that gorgeous cream and cheese, no?

Skiing Fodder

Many of us like to ski. Some of us prefer, as my boyfriend does, to tear up the pistes like a hooligan on a snowboard (which did turn out to be extremely useful as a make-shift picnic table).What we all have in common is a mutual love of throwing ourselves down snow filled mountains in a search of thrills and possible broken bones.

Probably over about 50% of my excitement about the anticipation of this annual event is the food I know I will consume.  Quelle surprise.

For several years now we have travelled to the French Pyraneen resort of La Mongie  We have stayed in several places close to the resort, the most memorable by a million years of amazingness would be ‘Le Grange’. A property once owned by my Dad’s best mate Charlie. Le Grange was an interesting place, one needed a 4x4 (or a catcat as I thought it was called) to negotiate the rock and boulder infested climb up to the divine house. It had no electricity but a generator, which provided a very welcome hot showers after a day’s skiing. The best meal Charlie ever cooked us here was the magret de canard cooked over the fire, rare as you dare, followed by a nip of almangnac, accompanied by a ‘deep’ (for a 17 year old) heart to heart with Charlie about the future of one’s relationship. It’s all about crossroads apparently. I’m still with the boy a million years later so something he said must have been right.

In a kind of pilgramatic quest to re-enact that dinner, each time we go back to the area I cook duck breasts with a load of green beans and garlicky-oniony potatoes. Be it on a two ring elecric hob or comparatively luxurious 4 ring gas hob, it always somehow works. Big fat duck breasts (alarm bells ringing, they shouldn’t really be that big should they? The ones in my freezer on the duck my Dad shot last month are miniscule in comparison) pan fried for a surprisingly long time, no need for oil, rather a few mugs to pour the excess fat into (not forgetting a big splash for the potatoes). What else could you ask for?

Mention the name Eric in La Mongie, or perhaps further surrounding areas, and every local will know he is The Man. He oozes Frenchness, the most handsome beret wearer that ever there was and his wink will reduce any woman to a giggling wreck. Or me at least. Each year I return to his restaurant at the top of the mountain, petrified he won’t remember me (English are kind of frowned upon in this resort but for some reason they like us, probably because we embrace the eating and drinking piste-side like the locals). It took Eric a few minutes this year, but once I reminded him of my name it was all shouty roudy Frenchy welcomes. I felt like a mountain celebrity.

Eric. He doesn't have/need a surname.

I am getting at something here. Eric is a shepherd during the summer. The Shepherd. And during the winter we eat the fruits of his labour. His menu consists of steak frites, saucisse frites, garbure (one of my favourite French words) Agneau de Campan (Campan being the local area) and a few other things including plats of the glorious jambon noir and the mysterious garbure royal. I knew there was no point in asking what this was, I wouldn’t understand. It was the most expensive thing on the menu so I know its something life changing. Eric doesn’t mess about.

Eric does Piggies too.

So during our glorious and precious week in La Mongie this year, or last year (we went over New Year), Eric did us proud, we had dangerously rare steak (a friend asked me to request it well-done, WHATEVER!!!!) the finest sausage money could buy, lamb chops so good one literally gnawed every last morsel off the bone as if it was your last meal, and finally on new year’s day, a leg of lamb (two actually, there were 8 of us) accompanied by this gorgeous haricot blanc casserole thing with bits of lamb fat floating around in it for added carnivorous flavour (my sister actually ate a bit of said fat, and started to pretend it was on purpose, you’re not supposed to eat the fat hahahahhaa!). Plus salad and chips. And wine. Obviously. The best bit was when Eric gave us a bottle of 2007 Bordeaux. Bisous all round!

We keep saying ‘next year we’ll go somewhere else, we need to ski somewhere new, push ourselves.’ Then Eric and his crew say ‘L’annee prochaine?’. We say ‘Oui’.