Venison Fillet Salad, with raisins and pine nuts.

Just a quick idea for a light summer meal, this time. Enjoy!

Ingredients

1 Venison Fillet

250g Mushrooms (Go wild!)

300g Long stalked Broccoli (Purple sprouting adds a pleasant earthiness)

Several handfuls of interesting mustard-y salad leaves. (Try to get red and dark green colours)

2 Glasses of Red Wine

3 Tbsp Pinenuts

60g Soaked Raisins

1Tsp Red Wine Vinegar

1 Tsp Redcurrant Jelly

Butter

Seasoning.

Mix together the red wine, vinegar, redcurrant jelly with a little black pepper. Pour this heady mix over the fillet and let these marinade for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 170 Celsius.

While the fillet is marinading you can prepare your veg. Cut the mushrooms so that a cross-section is shown and wash your broccoli and leaves.

Begin to cook the broccoli using a lidded pan on a medium heat with a little water, to part-steam them. Meanwhile in a very hot pan, with a little butter, brown your fillet. Do this very fast, so as not to cook the centre very much.

Flash roast the fillet in the oven for about 10-15 minutes. Add any juices that have escaped the fillet to the marinade, and use the pan to toast the pine nuts and raisins in a knob of butter. Once toasted, add the remainder of the marinade to the pan and reduce down, to form a delicious sauce.

Check your broccoli. It should still be putting up a bit of a fight, but only half heartedly. If it has reached this stage, remove the lid and let any remaining water boil off. Add a knob of butter and the mushrooms and cook through.

By now the venison fillet should be done, remove from the oven and let the meat rest for 5-10 minutes. It should be lovely dark pink in the centre. DO NOT OVERCOOK, even more than beef, venison really loses its texture if it is overdone. It is best rare and if you have a fear of rare meat, just give it a try this time.

Meanwhile heat a mixing bowl in your hot oven a little, and finish off the veg. Once done, toss together your veg and leaves and plate up. Slice your mouthwatering-ly tender fillet on slants, lay your slices onto of your veg and pour over the reduced down sauce.

Serves four. Enjoy with copious amounts of a fruity red wine, ideally Italian.

The pie's the limit

Firstly, I've got some apologies to make.

To start with, I'm sorry about the title. Its corny and barely relevant to the content, but temptation got the better of me. Next, I'm sorry about the time lag between posts. This is purely down to morbid lethargy on my part, but hopefully I can make it better with the news that my last post "Baking Days" will be quoted as a testimonial in "Fork Magazine" as part of Aiden Chapman’s ongoing self-promotion. When I have the link I will post it on this blog. My last apology is that there will be a significant gap until the next post. Let me explain.

For my next post I intend to provide the definitive guide to Dorchester's take away menu. You might think this is a small task, but I will assure you to the contrary. The folk of Dorset love and cherish their food, and as a young, impoverished, public sector worker, I may well lack the money and time to eat out for lunch every day. I will try to keep the blog ticking over with small, punchy posts while I'm compiling this latest effort, but please bear with me.

Ok, that’s the admin out of the way and the loose ends tied up. This latest post is about my last project, the pork pie. I hope you enjoy it and as ever tell me what you think, I apologize to vegetarian readers, and make sure you forward my blog onto all your friends, colleagues, family, and any strangers you think might be interested.

Whether you relish its flavoursome jelly, or disregard the portly pastry, the pork pie has been an integral part of British cultural cuisine for centuries, so after I came across a recipe for traditional hot crust pastry pork pie how could I resist? If you aren't convinced a brief visit to Google might sway you. The two capitals of modern pork pie production today are Melton Mowbury, just outside of Leicester and Yorkshire. The former has had their method of making hand raised hot crust pastry protected by the EU, in the same way that champagne cannot be called by that name if it is not produced in that region, in a specific way. So next time you attend a wedding, birthday party or 50th wedding anniversary, and the bubbly gets flowing, think about this. In the eyes of the EU, the Melton Mowbury pork pie is just as worthy of your honour and respect. In fact in this vein, the Pork Pie Appreciation Society, who meet every week in the Old Bridge Inn, Yorkshire, have reported couples shirking their wedding cakes for tiers of pork pies!

This is part of a greater movement though, because not all of the pork pie's support is restricted to these extremes. Both Melton Mowbury and Yorkshire have clubs devoted to monitoring and rating the standard of pies from all around the country. Every year there is a national festival, where the best of the best are sampled, according to strict etiquette, and awarded based on their quality. This is taken very seriously, and if you expected regional bias toward the two centers, consider this; the current champion is Scottish. The tests are completely unbiased. The support group that exists in the North for this edible national symbol is obviously immense and it is good to see people bonded together by what started, two centuries back, as a convenient snack for fox hunters.

The manufacturing process is very interesting also. Essentially it falls into three fundamental parts of the pie; the stock, the meat and the crust. The stock must include pork trotters, split open, to release gelatin, so that when it is added to the pie, it will set into the jelly that is such a point of contention. Surely pork pie jelly must have been the forerunner to the love it/hate it marmite dilemma that we are everyday faced with now. In any case pork bones and trotters are boiled in water with a few spices, if so wished, for about three hours then the liquid is strained and reduced to a quarter of its volume. What the judges would be looking for here is a jelly that is firm, flavoursome and plenty of it. There should be a good layer within the pie. I found it best if you waited for the jelly to set entirely, scooped off the layer of rendered fat (perhaps for roast potatoes on Sunday), re-heated to its liquid form, then poured it into the pie, as I will come to later.

Next comes the meat filling, and again there is significant room for your own preferences. In Yorkshire they tend to go for more cured meats, preferring the hamminess of bacon, mixed with both lean and fatty pork. In Mowbury, however, the pie filling will typically have a grey-er colour, as the preference there is towards uncured meats. So play with the amounts of bacon, lean and fatty meat until you have found your own favorite. Texture counts too, so you might prefer to leave hunks of lean meat and mince the other two finely , as I did, or mince the lot, or have smaller chunks of all three. The official guidelines point towards the pie having full flavour, with plenty of seasoning, and a succulent moistness without being soggy. To prepare the meat, it is simply fried, ground up as desired, and mixed.

Thirdly, the pastry is where I found myself most out of my comfort zone. For me pastry is butter and flour, and requires delicate handling, with cool temperatures. Here there is none of that. A block of lard is melted into some water and left to boil. To this water and salt is added until a smooth dough ball is formed. This is then turned out onto a floured surface and kneaded before being rolled, bashed, pressed and all-round persuaded to fit into a tin. The pie shape is formed, the filling added and the top glazed. A hole the size of a pencil is left, while the pie is baked for about 1 1/2 hours. This is a concoction you can be rough with. There are no fiddly layers or worries about centigrade, what matters is the right amount of flour and that you don't let your pie look too much like its already been chewed by the dog. The judges want the right hot-crust "snap" and the a pastry that looks and is fairly robust. It was originally eaten on the move, and this heritage is preserved in the want for a hardy, prod proof shell.

Once baked the pie is left to cool for two to three hours and then the stock is poured in though the pencil sized hole in the top. The stock will later set as jelly where the filling has left gaps.

Now for my attempt. I went for big chunks of lean pork, and mined up bacon and belly pork and was pleased by my attempt at the pastry. The crisp snap that is so singular to the hot crust was clearly evident, and the thickness too was enough to stand up to a bit of abuse, but not enough to become cloying in the mouth. I would say that my filling could have done with more flavour, moisture and jelly, but as a first attempt I was very pleased. It went down exceedingly well with a little homemade apple chutney, embracing that long loved pairing of sweetness with the salty pork. I’ve pictured the result below so you can inspect it yourself.

This one however really took some time. As you can tell from the cooking times, things are done by the hour, not the minute and you really need to set aside an entire day. But on the other hand, the whole notion of the pork pie is bound up with time isn’t it? Its an edible of tradition, a throwback to the medieval banquet pies that pop up in Arthurian tales, but it has stuck stubbornly to its ways in modern times. No matter how supermarkets try to rip it off the pork pie will always have a dedicated support network to preserve it for future generations. Nothing like it is produced elsewhere in the world as well, so in that way, the pork pie is a timeless feature of British food. It’s not posh or fancy, just good hearty fare.

As ever, I hope I’ve informed and entertained you for a few minutes. Thank you for taking the time to read r3review and I’ll get the next blog out as soon as I can.

Baking Days

Bread has always held a fascination for me. I think the smell is what really clinches it. The smell of toast on a wet morning, or the crusty, freshness in the air that draws people to the door of the high street bakery are smells that speak to everyone, high or low. You can faff about with it but at its most basic, bread is the stuff of life and a birthright. Did you know that in the Middle Ages in Britiain, if a baker was caught selling bad bread he could be publicly ridiculed and banned from baking, by law?

So you can imagine my excitement when I pulled up outside Weymouth's Pheonix Bakery at three in the morning, for a day apprenticeship under master baker Aiden Chapman. Aiden set up shop on the breezy Weymouth seafront in the soaked summer of last year to offer holiday makers and locals something in the way of consolation. Reception to him has been warming ever since. He says that this is only the start, and that after a few years he want to start to educate his client base in the ways of some different specialty breads, to get them exited about sourdough and rye. This is just the beginning.

Considering the ungodly hour, you might expect a little early morning lethargy, but not here. The pace is frantic. After a double espresso (a sweet aromatic blend, developed specifically for him), the loud music starts up and the baking begins. We are sliding across the bakery floor, operating mixers, shaping doughs, all at break neck speed, all whilst discussing the merits of reggae or Hugh Fearnley. I didn't count, but I would guess that morning Aiden had three loaves on-the-go, along with a batch of croissant dough and puff pastry! He explains everything clearly, expressing his opinions strongly and stating his reasons without embarrassment. Despite the time pressure, he is also always calm and patient, recognizing a beginner. Molding bread, for instance, is quite a knack to grasp, but Aiden takes his time to demonstrate and correct. If its not right, its not right and he won't let you bake less than perfect bread, but neither does he insult your pride or belittle you. He simply shows you again, calmly and slowly.

Soon the loaves are in the ovens and that scent starts to leak into the room. All the dreariness of a cold, dark winters morning is instantly gone, replaced by the ready-brek kid inner wholesomeness of the process going on about me. Whilst some loaves bake and others prove, there are small breaks, for more coffee and Aiden takes the chance to assume his trademark position, leaning against the door frame of his bakery, cigarette in hand. Later on we make use of these respites to quality control one of our croissants straight from the oven. Let me tell you there is nothing like it! Aiden doesn't sweeten his, believing that the flavour should come from the jam or butter, or other filling, but instead adds a little sourdough to the mix for the croissants intrinsic flavour. They are flakey, soft and have a deeper, more interesting taste that the standard packaged croissant. This is the kind of croissant you've got to take your time over, to get to know and build a relationship with. Eating one of these babies is the start of a two minute relationship, not a quick scoff. Straight from the oven they reward your attentions with warm, steamy, buttery pride in everything they are (The moment is captured above in the photo).

Outside of these the pace does not relax and during the day we make the entire range of Aiden's stock; bread, cakes, rolls, bars, brownies, pastries, the lot.There is so much to take in and the pace is so fast, that there is no time to feel tired. In fact on the drive home I can't get rid of the buzz! It's like you've been cycling all day and you climb into bed to sleep, but your legs still want to pedal. I keep looking for the next loaf to make, and the next oven to check. In this it looks like I'm alone though, because for Aiden, it seems effortless. He just returns to his oh-so-cool position on his shop front. Its clear the bakery is him in his element.

Aiden has baked in many places in his time, but you can tell that it's here that he has found his bakery. He is the only baker at Pheonix, working 6 days a week, but you can tell that he loves every minute of it. In his 22 years, he has manned all manner of bakeries and its clear he has strong opinions about what a bakery should be and how bread should be baked. For instance, Aiden always uses the overnight sponge method to bake his bread. (This is where flour, water and yeast are mixed together the night before to activate the yeast, making for a stronger rising "push" and a more developed flavour-like that of the croissants). Other bakers might save time by skipping this stage and let the dough rise without this gestation period. Although the hours are long, it must be refreshing that the only person he need answer to is himself.

This having been said, for the apprentice, the day can be a little intimidating. Because Aiden has so much experience and is strongly independent, he naturally has strong opinions. Prepare to have your perception of certain other artisan bakeries shattered! The thing is that he speaks a lot of sense. Never is his point not thoroughly explained or unreasonable. He bases his view on past experience and prior knowledge. If Aiden refrains from operating in a certain way there is a history to it. He is passionate about how he bakes because he has experienced all the different ways going about it. He talked about night baking, the practice of baking through the night so there is fresh bread in the morning, and how horrible and inhumane it is for the bakers themselves. Surely getting up early and working fast is a must be a better alternative to becoming nocturnal. Bread, in his opinion, is for everyone, even the baker.

Finally, all this is underwritten by the quality of his bread. I suppose I need not say, it's fantastic. Straight from the oven, the loaves are soft, even after 4 or 5 days, and the flavours are robust. Where olive oil should be tasted, olive oil is tasted, where nutty spelt is used, nutty spelt is evident. As for cakes, there is great variety and quality in the shop, with something for everyone's sweet tastes. A particular favorite is the Eccles cakes, but for the more adventurous, the menu is ever changing, including East European treats, Italian inspired biscuits, or more modern healthy options.

To sum up, the apprentice day Aiden offers is great value and a fantastic opportunity to witness a true artisan at work. If you are an aspiring baker his methods and pace will be of especial interest, but even if you have no aspiring career goals in that direction, the experience is fascinating and well worth it.

Jane Pettigrew's Crumpets

For quite some time now there has a book called "Jane Pettigrew's Tea Time" hanging around in the recipe book stack. Occasionally I would have a flick though with a mind to clearing out books that were never used, but this one is so sweet that I hadn't the heart. In my most recent attempt to remove some of the accumulated junk, I came across it again and fell to flicking through.
It really is a lovely book. It is now out of print and only available on Amazon's used site, but within its covers there are explanations of how to brew tea, a little social history of tea and recipes for the perfect high tea at any time of year. She covers sandwiches, cakes, bread, snacks, canapés, all the different types of tea, with a daintiness that is almost touching. In her chapter on sandwich she gives the reader suggestions for types for which types of bread and butter should be used with each filling, and whether or not the crusts should be left on or off. Jane is a strong advocate for tea time as "a restful, social occasion with the refinements of a pretty table cloth, napkins, fine china and a vase of flowers on the table", and continues to campaign through tea master-classes and her blog on www.worldteanews.com.
Her recipes include some real old favourites, the much lauded stuff of a past age. This book belongs really in a Beatrix Potter books or in Mr Jeeves' day case. Specifically, I was most exited about eccles cakes, cornish fairings, maccaroons, oat bread and crumpets. So I finally decided to get going and try one. After much agonizing I chose crumpets, because I have honesty never seen anything but a pre-packaged crumpet from Warburtons. In any case this isn't really something I'm into, so I decided to try it out for myself.
My first attempt was a bit of a disaster. I attempted the recipe with improvised crumpet rings, made from cut up baked bean cans, and this was a big mistake.The crumpets stick too much to the metal,m because it is ridged and there are far too many sharp edges for my liking. I've seen recipes on the internet using old tuna cans, with top and bottom removed, but I found pastry rings were the best. In addition to this I would advocate letting the batter rise four times rather than Jane's three times, as this makes for a far better bubbly crumb in the crumpet.

Ok here goes:
Ingredients
350g plain flour
dash of sugar
the smallest pinch of salt
25g fresh yeast (it would probably work with dried but I haven't tried)
425ml warm milk
150ml warm water
2 medium, beaten eggs

Makes about 20, depending on your rings.

Mix the dry ingredients together in a bowl. Dissolve the yeast in a little of the warm milk. Then whisk all ingredients together to form a smooth batter. Leave in a warm place for 30-45 mins. Go and watch some "Yes Minister" to get into the mood.

The mix should have a sort of foamy top to it now, if not move it to somewhere warmer and wait a bit longer. Once this top is achieved, grab the whisk again and knock it back down to size. Leave for 30 mins to recover the head, and repeat the process. Repeat twice more after this.

Heat a heavy frying pan over a medium hob with a little butter. Let it achieve a nice even temperature across the pan. Place your crumpet rings on the pan, leaving a little space for flipping them over and poking them around a bit. Make sure they are really well greased.
Spoon in your batter, perhaps two tablespoons per ring, depending on your rng size. Remember they will rise so don't over fill, after the fist couple you will find the right amount.

Let them cook for about 6-8 mins, until the batter is set, and bottom is nicely browned and big bubbles have broken the surface.

Once crumpets look thus, pop them out of their rings and flip them over. They will probably need some encouraging with a palate knife. Let the top brown slightly for 6-8 mins and let them cool on a rack.
Regrease the rings and repeat until all the batter is used up.

Tuck into your crumpets immediate, or save them till breakfast, either way make sure to toast them and eat them with unhealthy amounts of salted butter.




All in all, Jane Pettigrew opens a window through time, so we can view the accumulated habits of an imperial nation, come four o'clock in the afternoon. The daintiness with which it approaches its subject is something that is very rare in todays world and it is lovely to find literature of this ilk hiding in the clutter of our lives.

Brandy Blackcurrents. - YES!

Just a quick note to keep the blog ticking over.
I don't know about anyone else, but I love fruity flavored alcohol. Juniper draws me to gin, grapes draw me to grappa and don't get me started on calvados, wine, cyder, scrumpy or perry. What I really want to talk about are those home made concoctions that appear in all their might at this time of year. In my particular area of rural Dorset it's all about sloe gin, and every household has its own mix, vintage and method. In my household, we've just strained off the cassis, which is a black current flavoured brandy, famously combined with champagne to make the apperitiv, kier royale.
There's just something about those acidic fruits that marries so well with booze. It's not a British thing either. I spent a very happy dolce course in a vineyard in Tuscany quaffing cherry flavored grappa. These beverage gems are universal, crossing the globe as well as situations. Where would you be on a cold, rain soaked shoot without a warming tipple of sloe gin in your hip flask, but equally what else is better than a Kier Royale or a Sloe Fizz on a warm summers evening or cozied up to a woodburnr in midwinter?
But I diverge from my point. I come to you today with a plea.
Now we've strained this liqueur off, we have delicious cassis, and punchy black currents filled with brandy. As a child of wide spread media hysteria about wastage, excess, and shortages, I am arguing for the salvation of those fruit you use to flavour your delicious bottles of forty percent proof. Yes, the liquid is brilliant, but so too is the fruit you strain off, with perhaps the exception of the sloe. Don't compost these little beauties and certainly don't throw them away! Once strained you have in your hands one of the simplist puddings you can get. To give you a recipe would be to patronize you, dear reader, so I will just say this;
They're great with yoghurt, ice cream, crushed biscuits, in smoothies, trifles, on top of warm brownies with cream cheese, with porridge, as a garnish and possibly even in salads. Chutneys, sauces, ice creams, froghurts, coulis.... The list is extensive if not endless.

To illustrate my point I'll leave this post by returning to that Italian vineyard.
Picture a long table outside, filled with loud singing italians and befuddled english speakers. We'd just finished the year's harvest and having had a gargantuan first four courses, washed down with plenty of the vino, are feeling content and merry. Then a quiet descends on the group, as a man stands up, walks to a nearby shed and withdraws from it two preserving jars. The man is clearly aged, with a shock of light grey hair and a pot belly, but emanates toughness in his deportment and mien. Eyes follow his steady hands as the jars are cracked open and from them are spooned cherries into plastic cups, which are passed around the table. These little juice bombs have been sitting in firewater grappa for at least a year and are probably strong enough to go three rounds with Mike Tyson. As each one is punctured, it explodes, releasing all the power of the Mother Nature onto the taste buds. The table erupts back into conversation, loud, crude songs and other such jollity.
These little cherries will be with me as long as I live and are an example of the emphasis I found placed on food and friendship in Italy.
So don't throw away those pokey strained fruits, marvel in them and celebrate them. I will now return to my black currents, with creme fraiche and crumbled biscuit.

Cappaccino cupcakes

Id like to start with happy birthday to my sister! The thought of her driving now scares me to death, but a future of baking based around her birthday book, the hummingbird bakery cookbook, more than makes up for it. It's perfect for her because cupcakes require good taste and love but mostly love. She has all these things in bundles and hence her baking is magnificent!
In honour of her, I'm going to write about the cappacino cupcakes that I made for her. For someone with absolutly no discipline when it comes to icing, they didn't turn out half bad if I do say so myself.
The sponge itself is a simple coffee one with instant espresso to flavour and a little milk to smooth, and the icing is a fantabulous mix of soured cream, icing sugar, espresso powder and White chocolate.

But I'm not going to relate today a simple recipe review. I learnt lessons doing this that I think all bakers of sweet things should take into acount, especially when baking something that relies so heavily on the aesthetic attention to detail that cup cakes do.

A sense of perfection and everything being in it's right place should be achieved for the actual sponge, because as hn architecture, the foundations are the most crucial, but the least recognised. By setting a solid, managable base for the icing, the swirls and flicks of the decoration will be all the easier. Do this all first, without starting the icing, so that you can consolidate in your mind what character your cupcake will take on.
Second make a stiff icing. If it's not stiff enogh beat in more icing sugar, and don't be stingy. The wave-form sculpted icing is the signiture of the cupcake, and if the icing is too soft this will be unachievable.
When applying the icing, do so liberally, everyone wants loads of icing, even if they don't admit it. Id say at least a third of the cake volume. With this amount of icing per cake there is more to play with, to style, quiff and scoop.
Finally the dusting or sprinkles. These are the definition of the cupcakes inate character. Whether it's a full on coating, or a graceful flurry, this is like the hat that the dame chooses to wear to ascot.
Here's my offer. I think they are swave, with passionate contrasts, perhaps resulting from their split American and italian heretiges. I'm pretty proud of them, and I think I'm a hooked cupcake baker because of them.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Arctic Char and Homemade Tartare.

Well, its a weekday and you fancy something kinda special, but not too much hard work either. Something light and substancial, to contrast with the hearty casserole of the season, but not too fiddly either. I'm pretty much sure fish is your answer here because, despite the wailing of the new Birds Eye bake-in-a-packet range, fish is not hard too cook and need only take minutes under the grill to be mouth-wateringly delicate and sweet. For me, its just perfect after a tiring day.
So here it is, my humble fish supper for your appreciation.

Arctic Char with Homemade Tartare Sauce, Accompanied by Baked Mushrooms in a bag
Serves 2, depending on your fish.
Ingredients
2 Whole Prepared Arctic Char (Quite a meaty trout sized fish,could be substituted for any similar sized fish you desire. How about trout?)
Salt
A few handfuls of mushrooms (whichever varieties you have to hand. Supermarket bought buttons will work just as well as foraged Puffballs)
2 fair sized slices of prosciutto
A splash of white wine or Vermouth or similar
A few sprigs of each - Bay, Thyme, Rosemary, Fennel
Olive oil
A little feathery fennel top, to garnish

For the Tartare
2 egg yolks
290ml vegetable oil
A good pinch of mustard powder
A glug of white wine vinegar
Seasoning
A good mix of pickled items, finely diced (For instance capers and gherkins,ideally something garlicky too-if not add a crushed clove)


1-Score the sides of your fish, rub with a little seasoning and set aside. (This draws out the water in the skin of the fish and will hopefully make for a crispier skin). Preheat your grill. Preheat the oven to 200 Celsius.
2-Start to make the sauce. Mayonnaise is very, very easy to make quickly and I find it a little odd that jars of the stuff sell so well in supermarkets). Put your egg yolks, mustard powder and seasoning into a blender. (or a bowl with a whisk standing nearby if you're feeling energetic). Give it a good mix.
3-Drop by drop add the oil, making sure that each drop is well incorporated before adding the next. As more oil is incorporated you can get more and more liberal with your drops, progressing onto glugs, splashes and dousings toward the end. Mid way through this process the mix will get very thick and hard to whisk, at this point add the vinegar to thin it.
4-Now we have mayonnaise, all you have to do to get tartare is add your pickled all sorts and mix thoroughly.
5-Ok, now for the fungi. Cut two pieces of greaseproof paper about A3 size. Lay your prosciutto just off center, pile mushrooms on top of that and add your herbs to the pile too. For easy removal when the bag is opened, you could tie your herbs into a little bundle with some string. As for the size the mushrooms should be cut to, I'd recommend a button could be quartered. Drizzle with a little olive oil.
6-Fold your bag up so all the edges, but one are sealed. (you could tie the or brush them with beaten egg on the seams.) Into this opening pour a splash of white wine or vermouth, then seal the bag.
7-Bake for 15 minutes at 200 Celsius.
8-Drizzle your fish with olive oil and perhaps sneak some herbs into its belly. Stick them under the grill when the mushrooms have had five minutes. For a one person fish I would say five minutes per side, but don't follow that religiously. The fish are right in front of you, take then out now and again, have a look by opening up the fish at its thickest part with a knife. If its done its done, if it needs a little more time, give it some. With the grill, you are completely in control.
9-Serve one fish each with one mushroom bag each and a pot of tartare. Leave the mushrooms in their bag, so that the diner can open the little puffed up package themselves. The aromatic steam that rushes out is beautiful.



There it is then, a light, easy, quick weekday supper for two. What could be better? The flavours are distinct yet have delicacy and it makes a change to the heavy comfort food of the season. If you'd prefer more greenery it works very well with simple defined sides. Try steamed purple sprouting for a twinge of iron, or sauteed leeks for a little kick.

Heroes. Little chocolates, not Sylar.

Its mid January and resolves are beginning to break. The post- Christmas fitness regime means all that stashed Christmas chocolate is calling out from the box, a bit like The beating of Edgar Allen Poe's Tell Tale Heart. In this time of possible guilt and naughtiness, I thought I'd elevate the tone by adding to the already extensive criticism of those highly popular chocs, Cadbury's Miniature Heroes.
Just a quick Google search will show anyone interested, that I am embarking on a topic of much discussion and strong opinions upon which reputations have been shaken, grudges born and dreams shattered. On the monumental decision to change the composition of the selection away from the lighter chocolates, Cadbury's email box was crammed full of Dream devotees wailing in disgust and Eclair fans applauding them. All I hope to do in these few lines is venture my humble opinion.
There are always those in the selection who are the runts. The ones that are stuck at the bottom, after the searching fingers have gone through pleasure, to the point where any possible enjoyment to be had is just not worth the sickness and nausea. Typically these are the sicklier cremes. In Heroes, nothing changes. The Twisted disaster and the Dairy Milk Caramel are the weak points in the current selection on offer. Diary Milk Caramel might perhaps some hard core fans, but these are a splinter group, probably very much isolated in their familial groups, the black sheep in the herd. If anyone has any sense, they would cast down these two horrors to the bottom of the box. Lets be honest here, no one really wanted the creme egg. We bought it because of the "How do you eat yours?" advertising campaign, in hindsight the main appeal of the thing, started to eat it and decided to take the challenge and wade all the way through. With this in mind who would buy the Twisted candy bar? The advert clearly isn't any good, probably giving little kids nightmares and boring the rest of us, and the thing itself is far too sweet, with too much creme and not enough chocolate. Why on earth then do they make them smaller and hide them in Heroes boxes? Clearly they launched the full size bar with high expectation mid-2009, and then had a vast amount of left over creme come Christmas. It doesn't even fit into the name, Heroes. That crap television advert clearly portrays a villain, a monster, a mutant.
Compared to this the Caramel is merely a snickering sidekick. Here my objection is that the caramel withing the chocolate is not caramel, as i know it. For me caramel oozes, whereas this is far too fluid. More importantly, caramel should taste and look like slightly burnt sugar, a deep amber, that hides under thick chocolate in a millionaires shortbread. Here the caramel is a bright white gold and attacks the eater with a high pure sweetness. Its too goodie goodie, its too brash; if it were to be personified, it would be one of those people who are too nice, so nice in fact that you consider them either to have a sinister hidden purpose, or be actuially mentally infirm.
Now let us leave that nastiness behind us and discuss fallen heroes. Not the rubbish ones like the Dream, probably the conniving sister of the caramel, but the noble fallen, like the Crunchie and the Picnic. The fall of these two has caused much controversy. Accusations of profiteering and skimping have been levied. As far as I'm concern I wholeheartedly agree. Why do they weigh down our selections with the villains above, when these greats could be revived suppose what I am looking for is interesting texture, rather than the gooey texture-less coating of the two above. These two offer this, a bit of excitement to find in amongst the appreciated, but texturally bland solid chocolate numbers. I agree that perhaps the Dairy Milk Whole Nut could be dropped, for those with allergies, but these two are vital quirky variations and the selection suffers without them. Currently the role is taken up by the Eclair and the Fudge, which try their best to cover the base. But where is the crunch? Where is the knobbly toughness?
I will however say a few positive things about the current selection. I am a fan of Bourneville, as a dark chocolate, obviously it is atrocious, but you enter the box with the knowledge that this is going to be a baser taste. Sweetness is the staple, there will be no subtlety, only populist appeal is sought. Therefore the Bourneville is a welcomed addition as an interesting throwout to those who might have slightly more defined palates, to draw all manner of people into the communal sharing of the box. Then we have the Dairy Milk. Who can deny the appeal. This little gem is like the Dr Xavier of the box. It was where it all started, its probably where it will all finish. When the Dairy Milk falls, so will Cadbury. And finally the Twirl. Obviously just a variation on the Dairy Milk, but an worthy one and a worthwhile addition.
Overall though, do we really want the box to change for the better? Whether it is intentional or not, Cadbury have created a pantomime in a box. We have the Heroes and the Villians, the sidekicks and the henchmen. The selection is a topic of discussion, that all can join in on. It is Christmassy in its essence, being both communal and cabaret. The fact that they are consumed in January as the fitness regime crumbles might do worse than console us with happy memories of that joyous time, to assuage our angst about our unconditioned bodies. Happy New Year!

Beans from Ipanema

I nearly never end up at home for New Year. I'm not sure why, but whether I'm visiting family or abroad, in the dead zone between Christmas and New Year I face enduring those the planning conversations, feeling utterly irrelevant. Sometimes, when I'm sipping a snowball upcountry, watching Jools Holland's Hootenanny I wish I was out in the streets of Weymouth. This year, though, there was no envy, because this year, I was in Rio de Janeiro!
This year was fireworks and dance music, and thousands of white clad people grooving in the waves. My first new experience for the year was the Capriana, a much loved Brazilian cocktail. You've got to watch them though, they sneak up on you. This zingy mix of sugar, ice, lime juice and a lot of cachaca (local firewater, made from sugar cane), doesn't taste as strong as it really is. Here's a suggestion of a recipe:
1 part sugar
3 parts cachaca
1 part lime juice
Ice cubes
A couple of eighths of lime (if you want to impress)

Anyway this is a food blog, so I want to focus on a my gastronomic experiences of this beautiful city. In amongst the sunny, green streets there are some real gems of restaurants, where a hot westerner can escape the relentless sun.

Brazil, for me, differs in three crucial areas. Beer, beans and beef. The first is simple to explain. I love variety in beer, and accord similar respect to lagers, bitters, ales and porters. Brazilians too capture the whole range of possibility; they have nutty, nutmegy, spiced beer, or they have the chopp, lager-like draught, beer that is sold ice cold on the beach.

Next are the beans (I believe these are typically black turtle beans and I have found them easily in supermarkets). These beans are hailed as the saviour staple for centuries of poor Brazilians and make an appearance in many dishes. They are served simply boiled with a little seasoning, as a side. They are the foundation of thick meaty broths, heavy with garlic, bay and flavoursome stocks. These beans are rightly adored and cherished. They are an intriguing deep purple, almost black, and have a thick, mouth-filling texture, that coats your tongue. Comparisons could be made to proper mushy peas, broad beans or even baked beans. The definitive moment in my gastronomic experience of Rio was when I was served these beans, pureed into a smooth paste, with kale, pork steaks and eggs baked into them. It all arrived in a vast frying pan, designed for two or three to share, each ingredient occupying its own space. It reminded me of those nutrition charts you were shown in lower school biology. These your protein, theres your fats, theres your starch, oo and look, just peeking out from underneath that pork steak, a vitamin! The dish was everything a hard working farm worker could need cooked in the same pan and the beans gave it a thick wholesomeness for filling and comfort.

For this final section vegetarians might want to look away. Now I have come to Brazilian beef. South America is famous for its vast cattle ranches, in in Brazil this has led to a new breed of buffet. I talk of the mighty Churrasco. Here you are seated and waiters hustle around with five foot long kebabs of beef of all different cuts, and a few other animals as well. At a request the waiters will carve you a portion of meat, straight onto your plate. If the restaurant is good, the beef will be tender, incredibly juicy, and beautifully pink. Off to one side, there will also be a salad bar. Eating here is a real talent, because there is a colossal amount of meat to choose from, and some waiters get upset if you refuse their cut. What is sure is that it is a fantastic experience, very communal and you will not leave hungry. Perhaps this is why these restaurants are beginning to sweep the states, ever growing in popularity.

In retrospect, I think Brazil has a lot to teach Europe. In civilization where the media agonizes over the decline of the family evening meal, around the table, Brazil stands as a reminder of how communal meals could be. There dishes are mostly designed to be shared, and restaurants cater for huge parties. Because of this the food is simplified. The standard and taste remains superb, but fiddling over individual dishes is abandoned, achieving the best of both worlds. For wholesome, meaty, filling food, to enjoy in good company, minutes from spectacular beaches and forests, I recommend that you give Rio a visit.

Review for The Wild Garlic, Beaminster

Through thick banks of fog and over icy hillock we tumbled that dark mid-winter Dorsetshire night. For all we knew we could have been almost anywhere, but soon, looming cheerily out of the murk appeared the pastel front of Masterchef Matt Follas' restaurant The Wild Garlic.

On entry the cold is blasted from us by a glowing wood stove on one side of the room, our coats are taken and we are seated at the thick, wooden tables. We are immediately presented with complimentary bread and oil, along with a small dish of wasabi peas. I feel that we have been drawn into a friendly space, somewhere relaxed, but luxurious. The place allows for quirks to discuss, with the nibbles and the tables, which are carved with lists and phrases, but is ever inoffensive. Quite often when establishments try to aim for a relaxed style they can inadvertently appear confrontational, forcing their relaxation on their customers, but not here. Any expression is kept at a ubiquitous light touch, so that they are there, but only if you want them.

The waiter quickly takes our drinks orders and presents us with the menus, pointing out the specials blackboard at one end of the room. Our friend, who has a nut allergy, is quickly and quietly run through the options. This is pleasant, but brings me to a criticism. The majority of the menu is unavailable, including the more signature dishes, such as the slow roast pork, the plaice and the venison. We visited in that strange period between Christmas and New Year, so I suppose some leeway could be given but it was disappointing in any case.

The orders are taken; the drinks arrive in good time and the starters after a comfortable conversation period. I have a Trio of Smoked Fish and Pheasant with a Dill Sauce. The dish is pleasing to the eye; the fish arranged in a diagonal with the sauce to a side. It is pleasing also to see eel making a comeback, but as with everything it is only one small piece sitting un-confrontationally centre stage. It seems to appeal for unbiased trial. Eel has developed a bad name for itself following years of jellifying, but here it is on its knees, having turned over a new leaf, "Please, give me one more chance", it pleads. The trio is delicious, all displaying a different mysterious smokiness, which is daintily elaborated upon by the sauce. My query with the dish is about the pheasant, that is, why is it there? By itself it is great, served with tangy pickled red onions, but there it is, sitting stubbornly on the unoccupied corner of the plate, isolated both physically and in flavour.

My companions all have soup, of which there are two kinds; wild mushroom or tomato and seafood. These goes down without touching the sides and their reception is hearty. These are again cleared away and, to our surprise we are presented with interim nibbles, this time quails eggs on a bed of seaweed. Matt's enthusiasm for interesting foraged food shines out here. It is as if he's just run in, flushed, foraging book in one hand and a bunch of something he's picked from a hedgerow in the other, eager to share and explore a new taste or texture. It is exiting and as customers, partly because it is complimentary, you get drawn in to a more daring, open palate. For the record, the nibbles were well received, the salty, slightly chewy seaweed curling up with the delicate, soft eggs. What can I say? Opposites attract.
Then the moment we'd all been waiting for, the main course arrives. All are exquisitely presented, in perfectly sized portions. The plates walk that difficult tight rope between feeling like you need to pop down the pub for a bar snack, and bloating to the point of haemorrhage. I have a beautifully cooked and rib eye steak accompanied by the secret-recipe smoked mash and roasted veg. The vegetables could have done with just a few more minutes, but this is being pedantic. The gutsy smoked mash and frankly godly steak more than make up for slightly less than perfect veg.

Whilst I am in an ecstatic dream world, the rest of my table join me. The mode dish is duck breast with kumquat compote and smashed new potatoes. Again the meat is cooked perfectly, with just a tinge of pink in the centre and the kumquat gives the dish a lightly candied quality. The two bond as if fate had written their meeting in the stars. Similarly for liver fans, the calves liver dish was gulped down with unadulterated enthusiasm and much approval.

To finish the table shares a hot chocolate pudding and a cheese board. The pudding has a cute tiny perfection and is served with a slightly curled shortbread star, and the cheeseboard is well stocked with interesting local cheeses. While we're savouring these Matt himself wanders out of the kitchen to check if we all enjoyed our meal. Talking to him he emanates the quiet confidence his restaurant and food does. He encourages change and open mindedness, but in a way that is unobtrusive. He expresses his opinions strongly, but quietly, hoping that you might only try, but on your own terms and in your own time.

On the whole, The Wild Garlic was a pleasure to dine at, a place where exploration and comfort meet. The serving staff are attentive and friendly, but never obtrusive and the food, despite some minor criticism, is delicious. The Wild Garlic offers a new compromise between hard line radical new formats and overly formal stereotyped service, where waiters wither grovel or sneer. I wish the best of luck to Mr Follas in the New Year and hope he has all the success he so clearly deserves.