Going Bananas

Got any bananas?
No.
I fancy a banana.
We haven't got any bananas. Have a biscuit.
Nah, a banana's healthier.
Well there aren't any. I'll get some when I go shopping.

Is anyone going to eat those bananas going brown in the fruit bowl?
Nah, they're going brown.
Well that's a waste. I thought you liked bananas.
Not when they're going brown. 
They weren't going brown when I bought them. Honestly. I'll have to make a cake with them - I'm not throwing them away.

Got any bananas?
No.
I fancy a banana.
We haven't got any bananas. Have a biscuit.
Nah, a banana's healthier.
Well there aren't any. I'll get some when I go shopping.


Is anyone going to eat those bananas going brown in the fruit bowl?
Nah, they're going brown.
Well that's a waste. I thought you liked bananas.
Not when they're going brown. 
They weren't going brown when I bought them. Honestly. I'll have to make a cake with them - I'm not throwing them away.

Got any bananas?

No.

I fancy a ...

Banana cake.

Melt 4oz butter in the microwave until it turns to liquid.

Mash up 3 bananas and add to butter.

Beat 3 eggs with a fork and add to butter and banana mixture along with a splash of milk.

Measure 8oz flour, 4oz caster sugar and a teaspoon of baking powder into another bowl.

Pour the liquid mixture onto the dry ingredients and stir with a spatula, quickly combine the dry and wet ingredients with no more than 10 stirs.

Transfer to silicone baking mould, sprinkle with brown sugar and cook for half and hour in a medium oven.

Hot Cold Cure

Brian and John have been overdoing it and have both come down with something, so today I went to Stoke Newington Greens on Church Street and got a huge box of fruit and veg. Now I need to turn this lot into something that they can ladle into a bowl while I go to Pilates.
Sore Throat Soup
Large white onion, 3 leeks, garlic, large piece of ginger cut into slithers, green chilli, red chilli, lime cut in half and chucked in, 3 sticks of lemon grass, 3 large carrots, fresh peas, fennel. Cook everything in a couple of pints of chicken stock for twenty minutes.

(We have had a houseful of excited brides-to-be getting makeovers today so I didn't bother to fry the onions first - thought the smell might not mix too well with all the hairspray and might linger in the silk tulle.)

Throw in  2 handfuls of rice and some left over chicken and cook for another ten minutes then add spinach along with any other greens at the end. Fish out the squishy limes and the tough sticks of lemongrass. Finish with chopped coriander. 

Ed is on his third bowlful. 

Empty Tank

I got an email the other day from the people at Bistroteque to say they were opening a new restaurant this weekend at Kings Cross: in the disused service station on Goods Way. That petrol station that was a murky green glimmer in the wasteland of abandoned industrial darkness? That petrol station that was the only structure from the 20^th Century between the gloomy gothic arches of St Pancras Chambers and the run-down tennements of Caledonian Road. That petrol station that ravers would pile into after an all-nighter in a nearby empty warehouse?  That petrol station that we used to fill-up at regularly after crawling along the Euston Road on a Sunday night? The one that we would pull into and run to get sweets and crisps to stop the boys hitting each other with plastic dinosaurs after a tiring day out at the Natural History museum (shop)? Yep, that’s the one…

It’s now called Shrimpys – not sure why – and here it is.

We went with Ed on Saturday night. From the architects pictures and the view of the outside I imagined that we would be sitting in a translucent, vaulted area about the size of an aircraft hangar but the restaurant is just the bit that used to be the shop. The concrete forecourt is empty, suprising on such a warm evening, especially as it’s right by the canal. The food was nicely cooked but main courses are more like starter size and all veg, salad etc is extra. Of the three deserts on offer two of them involved quince… strange: one poached quince and the other quince jelly. Ed wasn’t impressed. We were hungry on the way home so stopped at a petrol station for twiglets and chocolate. 

Tropical Easter

Unlike last Easter it was too cold and wet for an egg hunt in the garden this year but these tropical fruits brought a ray of sunshine into the kitchen as they tumbled onto the work surface. It makes me feel better to alternate the chocolate with a bit of 5 a day stuff. In a attempt to negate any health benefits Ed has suggested using the fruits to decorate the top of a cheesecake. Sadly, upon investigation the exotic pods contained little more than pips and slime...

... so we stuck to tried and tested blueberries, raspberries and strawberries.

COOL ICE

Plans this weekend are to build our very own Ice-Hotel - with knobs on.

There's ice everywhere. Both fridges are rammed and there's some enormous blocks carved from a glacier outside the back door, gently drip dripping on to the camellia below.
Trouble is, I won't be able to summon the services of a regular old frost-bitten, fish-finger crumbed ice-cube from the back of the freezer ever again: not now I've been spoilt with exquisitely marbled, iridescent spheres of crystal-clear ice, the size of a tennis ball, or, when I'm in a more retro mood - roughly hewn chunks, more decorative than the most beautiful 70s Swedish glass candlestick.

On a different note: it's Mother's Day next weekend and I've been scouting round for a few essentials for my woefully ill-equipt kitchen. 

Boys!!!

Victoria Palace Theatre

For a powerful, evocative journey back to the 1980s go and see Billy Elliot the Musical at the Victoria Palace Theatre. Not only does the show brilliantly conjure up the courage, conflicts and comradeship of the County Durham miners and their families during the 1984 strike, with Billy beautifully danced and movingly acted by one of 4 alternating kids but you'll be treated to a trip down memory lane, back to 1980s London as well. A London before Starbucks, before Costa, before Conran. Long before Nandos, Wagamamma, Carluccios or Pret appeared on every high street.  A London where sushi, tapas, olives, pistachios, nachos and noodles were nasty foreign foods only consumed by pretentious media types. Back to a time when tea was eaten at home, before going to the pub - and if you felt a bit peckish later you could grab a bag of dry roasted. Back to the days when you could stave off hunger during the long wait for the last train home provided you had correct change for the chocolate machine. London had the worst restaurant food in the world and our cuisine was the subject of ridicule throughout Europe.
Things have changed in thirty years. I can now get a cappuccino at the petrol station, enjoy a chilled prosecco and a smoked salmon sandwich before getting on a train, pick up a box of rainbow coloured macaroons on the way home, buy sushi in Tesco at midnight or order any exotic food or drink that takes my fancy online and have it delivered into my kitchen a few hours later. London is proud to have the best restaurants and food outlets of any capital city in the world.
We now assume that if we didn't have time to make an early supper, or we're held up at the office prior to, say, a visit to the theatre, then we'll be able to purchase something passable when we get there. If at any time you ever forget how spoilt we are now for choice when it comes to stylish, wholesome snacks  just pop in to the foyer of the Victoria Palace Theatre. After you've made it across the carpet to the bar you can chose from Chardonnay or... Chardonnay - it's the only white wine they sell by the glass - and for nibbles... a giant bag of Maynard's Wine Gums or a tub of Pringles. Bang. Straight back to 1984.

carefully chosen carpet camouflages trodden-in wine gums and Pringles.

Pre- theatre supper: Pringles and Wine Gums, washed down with Chardonnay

Dog's Delight.

The huge box where I have been storing the Turkish Delight felt worryingly light when I reached it down from the shelf last night. When I opened it the top two layers were missing.... 

"BOYS!" No response. Luckily for them Joe was in double music detention, Ed was ice-skating and John was in the shop.

I hurriedly made another batch - doubling up the quantities this time to be sure there's be plenty to go round.

No, I wouldn't leave a whippet to guard a box of Turkish Delight - I'm not that daft. This is an unnervingly realistic portrait of Enzo in his 'pleading for a bit of Turkish delight' stance - there's literally not a surface to set up a photo that hasn't been cluttered with Brian's paintings.   

Dark Delights

While Brian is locked away in his studio day and night, frantically painting portraits for the show next weekend....

I'm getting on with the really important stuff...

...Creme de Menthe Turkish Delight!

Let The Kids Eat Cake

It was bit of a late one last night - after the crew finished packing up Marie Antionette's boudoir that they'd recreated in the front room. Still, at least I didn't have to cook supper...

Top Left-overs

Turkish Delight

Don't worry - there'll be more than just Gordon's to sustain you whilst partying and peering at the portraits...
I've been making mounds of Turkish Delight...

Feast Your Eyes on This!

Here we go! As promised, Steaming Sauerkraut in a Pineapple. 

Galloping Gourmet Rides Again

I’m feeling a bit melancholic. It might be the time of year or it might be because I made a Boeuf Bourguignon at the weekend. The best and most perfect recipe for BB to my knowledge resides in “The Cooking of Provincial France” from a series of Time-Life publications that my dad subscribed to in the 70s. The recipe books, each focusing on the cuisine of a different country, have sat on my shelf since we cleared my parent’s house three years ago. They bought the books for me really: my mum wasn’t interested in cooking at all and had never followed a recipe in her life. She had a handful, maybe less, of dishes that she had mastered over the years – a pan of macaroni mixed with a tin of condensed mushroom soup would often made an appearance. I would like to be able say that the arrival of the volumes – one every month for a year – was greeted with much excitement but that would be a lie. The first one “The cooking of Scandinavia” predictably featured a lot of pickled fish, pickled vegetables and brown bread; it was a big disappointment. The photos were dreary - lots of Swedes on their way to church; a procession of Norwegians, on their way to church; harvest festival in church. Ooo err, hang-on, what’s this? ‘After their swim, the men eat pork-and-mutton sausages grilled over the sauna’ – and there they are, tucking in. Crikey!

With chapters titled “The Vigorous Diet of Finland” and “Geese and Eels” we put the book in the cupboard, forgot about it and hoped the next installment would be more up our street: “The Cooking of Russia” was followed in March by the “The Cooking of Germany” (steaming sauerkraut served in a pineapple anyone?). April brought “The Cooking of The Viennese Empire” which, needless to say didn’t prove to be an indispensable kitchen bible. May - The Cooking of Japan”– in Bromley? in 1975? And so it went on, until towards the end of the year, The French installment arrived. 

"There MUST be something in here that you can make” my mum groaned. And so in an effort to prove that his investment wasn’t a daft waste of time and money my dad persuaded me to have a go at the BB. Later that afternoon he and I were in the kitchen crushing garlic, peeling shallots, chopping herbs and washing tiny button mushrooms. The radio was on. We were laughing. My sisters and brother sat round the kitchen table watching and waiting patiently while we carefully followed the instructions step by step…

What?!! Leave to marinade overnight!!  Marinade? We had never encountered ‘marinade’ before. Wails of disappointment from my siblings  and a lot of tutting from my mother as the bottle of burgundy was glugged over the meat and the whole lot put in the fridge until the following morning. But it was worth the wait. After years of rationing, followed by the grim gristle and two veg of the 50s and the tinned, frozen and dried convenience food of the 60s and 70s my parents had literally never tasted anything like it in their lives and nor, of course, had we. The meal was legendry and lingered in our memories forever.

Since then I have occasionally made other beef stews, mostly from memory, some times from a funny old cookbook I bought in the 80s. They’ve always been a luxury but it’s never been possible to recreate that original, overwhelming sensation of tasting the combination of brandy, wine, smoked bacon, garlic and thyme for the first time in your life. 

On Saturday I had already bought all the ingredients for BB and was half-way through chopping the onion, carrot and celery when something made me reach up  and take down the Cooking of Provincial France book. It fell open on the Boeuf Bourguignon  page – it was spattered with red-wine sauce from the day back in 1970 something when my dad and I had giggled together in the kitchen making the best meal we’d ever had. It made me quite sad. 

Oh, I know you think I've made up the sauerkraut in a pineapple. I'm going to photograph the page tomorrow and show you. And I'm also going to show you how to serve that deadly Japanese blow fish artistically arranged in the form of a flying crane.   

Tuesday Night Chocolate Cake

We had a day off today so Ed took full advantage, spending the day laid on the sofa, wrapped in his duvet looking up recipes. Brian and I left him in charge of the dogs while we went to Kings Cross to see a couple of art exhibitions.
Text from Ed: Get 197 chocolate cigarillos. I want to make cake. 
Tesco on Caledonian Road doesn't stock chocolate cigarillos (whatever they are) so I got a couple of boxes of Matchmakers which I thought might be a bit like cigarillos and headed home.
Ed played me the video of Lorraine Pascale's 'I Can't Believe You Made That Cake' in which she suggests that the cake is ideal for weddings and christenings but I noticed that she didn't especially advise it for after a microwave curry. Never mind, Ed was adamant, so we made it anyway. The Matchmakers are a bit long and twiggy and we regretted nibbling a few while we were waiting for it to cook - as you can see, we didn't have quite enough to go right round the edge but other than that it worked really well: I'd definitely make it again.  

Let Him Eat Ice Cream

John is making his way back from Bestival on the Isle of Wight.

He's been there for four days; living on a diet of ... beer? and probably not much else. Bet he's looking forward to a slap up roast with all the trimmings! Bad luck then that I've been faffing around all afternoon perfecting my toffee-apple ice cream.

What's more important anyway? Art or Yorkshire puds?

Not to be outdone, I dragged myself out of bed, made Brian drive me down to One New Change, staggered around M&S with a bag of chips and a trolly for support, purchased a large leg of Sussex lamb form Jamie Oliver's butcher's and lugged it all back to the kitchen where I plotted my comeback.

Jamie Oliver's Butcher's at One New Change

The boys love Yorkshire pudding and can eat dozens of the small, perfectly formed ones from the supermarket. The dinner table conversation often turns to a legendary meal that none of them have actually had, or even seen, but they've heard tell of a Yorkshire pudding so big it takes up the entire plate: so huge that it becomes the plate itself. They then bicker about how best to arrange their Sunday dinner on this thing; you know, meat first, no veg first, NO, smother the whole thing in gravy first, etc etc. Anyway, not because I was feeling guilty that they'd had to make two eggs, a couple of ounces of cornflakes and some Alpen dust stretch to breakfast for four, I decided to have a go at the giant Yorkshires....

And to avoid arguments I arranged the toppings...

Bunch of Tossers

Take 2 eggs, 200 grams of self raising flour and 200 ml milk. Mix together but don't worry if it's lumpy. Heat a tiny amount of butter in a non-stick frying pan. Add 3 teenage boys, lemon and sugar. Oh, and a whippet on guard to clear up any spillages.

Birthday Parade

Okay girls...

are you ready?

and... GO!

Be Careful What You Wish For!

Better get busy.......

A Passion for Princi

After Monday's miserable shopping experience we went to Princi in Wardour Street for lunch. I love it there. It's big, it's noisy, you have to serve yourself.. then queue for a seat, but it has a great Milanese buzz and a perfect selection of Italian salads and cakes. The interior has been built to last with monumental hewn-stone counters and marble clad walls. There is a wood-fired oven for the bread and pizza in the bakery next door, with a roomful of logs stacked neatly to the ceiling. We took the boys there one evening and had a few glasses of Rose while they strolled up and down the lengthy cake display. Ed returned carrying a large square of cheesecake topped with a vivid, glassy layer of passion fruit jelly. I have never tasted anything like it! The zing of the passionfruit electrified those taste buds buried deep in your jaw that are only triggered by the most mouthwatering of flavours. It was so incredibly tangy that Brian thought it bordered on the painful, giving the boys another perfect opportunity to call him a gay pussy.

The cake counter at Princi London

The passionfruit cheesecake was just what we needed to bring us round after the comatose swimwear shopping experience, and it's exhilarating taste was undiminished the second time round. I had a go at making it last night. Here's how I got on.


I have a cake tin that's about 25cm square. I lined it with two plastic food bags laid across the bottom of the tin and overlapping the sides as I anticipated it might be tricky to remove the fragile cake from the tin once complete. (Ha, thinking ahead this time after the frozen solid lemon skin episode.) Then make a biscuit base by melting 100 grams of butter in the microwave and combining with about 10 crushed digestive biscuits. You can add the grated zest of an orange to this if you cba. Push the mixture flat into the tin. It should be about 0.5cm deep. Chill in the fridge. The next stage was experimental but it turned out OK: Pour 300ml of milk into a small saucepan stir in 150 grams of caster sugar. Sprinkle a teaspoon of vegetarian jelly crystals on to the milk and gently heat. Stir all the time. It goes gooey. Leave to cool off. Whisk a 227ml carton of double cream until it's almost stiff. Slowly beat the milk goo into the cream. Then fold in a 250 tub of mascapone. Flavour with the juice only of 2 or 3 passion fruit. Give the mixture a final whisk to make sure it's silky smooth. Pour onto the biscuit base and create a flat surface with a spatula. Refrigerate.
I didn't have a clue how to achieve the mirrored topping..... most passionfruit cheesecake recipes suggest simply spooning the contents of a passionfruit over the cheesecake. Where's the fun in that? I don't really like a mouthful of pips with a creamy desert anyway. So... buy as many passionfruit as you can afford. About 10 should do it. Cut them in half and spoon the insides into a sieve. With a wooden spoon push the seeds around letting the juice collect in a bowl. Gradually heat the juice with half a spoonful of the jelly crystals. Sieve about 6 raspberries in the same way and dribble into the passionfruit juice with out stirring to give a Tequila Sunrise colour combo. Gently spoon over the cheesecake. Now, unlike regular gelatine, the veggie version solidifies as soon as it touches the cool of the cheesecake, thus making a glass like finish quite tricky. I did my best. 

   

Stokey Taverna

I'm feeling a bit more positive concerning the garden... I had it out with the garden centre about the copper strip snail deterrent.
'Yeah, it's useless' the bloke agreed with me. 'The snails parachute in from the trees' he added helpfully, slamming an £8.99 tub of organic, pet and wildlife friendly pest control pellets onto the counter.
'This is what you need; chuck a handful on the ground, then sit back and be amazed.'
I pictured myself sitting back and being not the least bit suprised at a daredevil troupe of performing slugs and snails tumbling and somersaulting into the garden; slithering along tightropes, walking on stilts or linking antenna and whizzing through the air on the flying trapeze - all to sound of rapturous applause.
I handed over a credit card unenthusiastically.


To further enhance my up-beat mood Brian has strung up some festoon lights over the seating area by the house. When I say 'strung up' I make it sound like a 5 minute job. It took all day, involved two ladders, a hammer, a drill, quite a bit of swearing, a lot of those plastic cable-tie things, a plaster and several hours of my help. It was getting dark as he screwed in the last of the forty light bulbs. One or two weren't working and a couple of others flickered on and off but that all added to the charming Greek Taverna feel.


I forced the kids to sit outside and we ate...

    
Sliced cucumber, with feta, mint and a squeeze of lemon juice....

...followed by moussaka...

... and flat peaches for desert.

This is my version of moussaka. I don't know if it's anything like authentic but it always gets a thumbs up.

Slice two aubergines into 1cm rounds. Lay on a baking tray and brush both sides with olive oil. Bake in a hot oven until soft and slightly brown. I don't like coming across an al dente bit of aubergine so overcook rather than under. You may have to do two batches. Once cooked, the aubergine can be left until you need it.
In a large pan fry one large, chopped onion. After a few minutes add a couple of teaspoons of ready chopped garlic from a jar. Stir around for another couple of minutes and then add 800grams of lean minced lamb, 2 tins of tomatoes, 2 chicken stock cubes and a glug of red wine. Once it's bubbling hot reduce to a simmer, put on the lid and leave for an hour or so.
Switch the heat off and leave until you're ready to assemble the moussaka. 
Make a bechamel sauce by melting 50grams of butter in a pan. Add 2 tablespoons of plain flour. Mix to a thick dough and then slowly add semi-skimmed milk, beating all the time to create a smooth sauce. Add 2 bay leaves and some salt and pepper. Leave to cool off before removing the leaves and adding a dollop of Greek yogurt and whisking in 2 eggs (the eggs make a lighter, more stable topping for the dish.
At this point I add as many herbs to the meat sauce as I have growing in the garden or lurking in the fridge. Yesterday it was a bunch of roughly chopped mint, some basil, parsley, thyme and rosemary. I like to romantically imagine that in Greece the sheep and lambs wander around the rocky terrain nibbling on any herbs and plants that take their fancy - so don't worry too much about what 'goes with' lamb - just as long as the sauce tastes aromatic.  
Then peel 3 large potatoes. Slice them thinly - about half a centimetre. Lay them at the bottom of a buttered oven-proof dish. I have a paella pan that works well but anything big and about 8 cm deep will do. On top of the potatoes ladle a layer of meat sauce followed by a layer of aubergines, then another layer of sauce, more aubergines, more sauce and finally the white sauce. 

     
Cook in a moderate oven for about an hour. Just check the potatoes at the bottom are cooked by inserting a knife to make sure they're soft. Once out of the oven the dish will keep hot for ages. The boys waited for about 30 seconds. Scoffed the lot, then went back indoors to watch The Apprentice, leaving Brian and I almost alone in the magical twilight garden.