Tuesday, October 31, 2006

An autumn risotto

Hallowe’en food. For when the air turns colder and you’re kicking along crisp brown leaves with every step.

The key ingredient for this is some kind of gourd. I used an onion squash because that’s what came in my veg box but anything’ll do – butternut, pumpkin, whatever takes your fancy. Peel it and scoop the seeds out. Slice it inch-thick, then whack in the oven on 150 degrees with some olive oil, salt and pepper, and some sage if you’ve got some.

The risotto: Dice up an onion, a head of celery and smash and chop a clove of garlic. Add them to some heated olive oil in a frying pan and cook over a low heat for about 6 or 7 minutes. Then turn up the heat slightly and add your rice – I use Arborio but feel free to experiment with other risotto rices – about two cups for two people. Move the rice around in the pan until all the grains have gone glassy – they'll look a bit like albino pomegranate seeds. Then splash in a good glug of super dry vermouth – Martini, Noilly Prat or own brand whatever. The pan will sizzle and steam, and the smell at this point is why you’re making the risotto. When it’s settled it should simmer very gently. Stir occasionally until the liquid’s mostly gone then start adding stock – about a pint for two people, but stirred in in cupfuls and allowed to soak and simmer like the vermouth did. From when the rice goes in to when you take it off the heat it’ll take about 18 minutes for the rice to cook perfectly – good to remember if you’re not sure. A couple of minutes from the end, take the squash from the oven and chuck some bits in with the risotto. Grate in plenty of parmesan (cheddar works fine if that's all you have) and maybe a knob of butter if you're feeling particularly decadent.

Splurge onto plates and top with more chunks of roasted squash. Serve with a hunk of bread to wipe your plate at the end.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Gallipoli, 102 Upper Street.

Now you can say what you like about Upper Street. Nouveau Gastro BoBo semi-skimmed chic it may be in parts, but there remain some very genuine spots, and this beautiful Turkish restaurant is one of them.

The service was friendly and my they work hard. The vegetarian meze that kicked off the meal were phenomenal. There were spicy tomato salsas laced with fresh coriander and walnuts, marinated aubergine and potato, fresh hot falafels, crisp pastry parcels bursting with feta and plenty of Turkish bread to dunk in the array of yoghurts topped with broad beans and good olive oil, homemade houmous, tzatziki and more.

After such a spread, I often find the main course quite bland, but perhaps that’s the idea. The thing is, the small bowls liberally dotted around the table (we were a big group) work so well as finger-dipping, reaching-over, pass-me-the-one-with-the-walnuts, social food, that when the mains come – juicy, well-cooked meat served with rice, salad, or maybe more yoghurt and tomato sauce – they’re bound to be a bit of an anticlimax. There were a lot of unfinished chunks of meat on people’s plates at the end - more a compliment to the starters than an insult to the mains.

Dessert was interesting, a bittersweet crème caramel wobbling between two apricots stuffed with cream and almonds, topped with pistachios. The centrepiece was forgettable but the apricots were fantastic. Just about room for a weak latte – didn’t try the Turkish coffee but I had a taste of the apple tea which tasted like hot sweetened apple juice but again, perhaps that's the point.

Now the bill. We had wine, and a set menu of three courses, with coffees. Including service, it came to less than 20 quid a head. Nothing pretentious about that. A genuine gem.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Pissaladière














In winter, when it’s dark with a biting wind, Provence can be a pretty bleak place.

Especially if you’re teaching and living in a concrete lycée full of adolescent stoners. But there are things that’ll always make you smile, and this sort of French onion pizza I discovered at the bakery opposite the school did just that.

Finely slice three onions (they should technically be all white but I throw a red one in for racial equality). Fry them with a big knob of butter on a very low heat. They’ll take about half an hour, during which they’ll sweat, lose their sharpness, go limp, then gradually release their sugars and turn caramel brown. That’s when you can take them off the heat.

I used puff pastry, which is probably wrong but it’s easy and the sides puff up a treat (secret’s in the name). Puff pastry is made in a magical elf world, and it’s the only place where it’s possible, so don’t try making it at home. You’ll need about half a ready-made sheet. Lay it on some greaseproof paper on a baking tray and prick it all over, leaving a centimetre border where it will, as promised, ‘puff up nicely’.

Splurge on your onions and lay some anchovies in a pretty if a little pretentious criss-cross diamond pattern. If you really hate anchovies, leave them out (obviously) but their sharp salty taste works very well with the sweet gooey onions. Chuck on a handful of olives (more if you’ve chickened out on the anchovies), then bake in a pre-heated oven at 200 degrees until golden and ‘puffed up nicely’.

The best brunch I’ve ever had


I wasn’t going to put this up, but it rather snuck up on me. It couldn’t be easier, tastier, or make the house smell any better.

Slice some good mushrooms fairly thickly. Melt a knob of butter in a pan (not too hot) with a smashed up clove of garlic. When the butter’s all melted and the garlic’s just turning light brown, take the garlic out, whack up the heat and add the mushrooms. Toast some ciabatta or thick white bread. The mushrooms will take about 5 mins, and I griddled some courgette strips in a splash of olive oil while they were on. Top the bread with the crispy garlic butter mushrooms and their juice, and eat with the courgettes. I partnered it with a rather fine elderflower cordial (don’t know what year) which I must say went very well.

être et avoir, at home on DVD

The premise of this French documentary is simple and the execution masterful. Filmmaker Nicolas Philibert follows life at a rural French primary school for a year. He focuses on one teacher, M. Lopez, and a handful of kids, following them home to see their families struggle with their homework, giving us brief glimpses into their difficult extra-curricular existence. School is a safe haven for them and M. Lopez a surrogate father, instilling discipline and patiently educating each young tyke until they’re ready to fly the nest and move on to secondary school.

The pace trundles rather than zooms, much like the pace of life in the film. But unlike other French auteurs, Philibert doesn’t patronise, baffle or bore the audience. It’s always entertaining, often hilarious and never boring. There’s no sanctimonious voiceover, he lets the characters tell their own story. After a year following these fascinating subjects, he’s managed to construct a coherent and extremely watchable window into their lives.

And maybe it’s too much living in the city, but this came as a welcome break from the frantic pace and worries of life. It has a quiet power and refreshing calm that makes you forget everything else, if only for an hour and a half.