As the Coyote Said to Homer...

...I'm an achiever.  Or something like that.  Anyway, enough cultural references as this is going to be my last entry on here and I'm going out on a high.  Without giving too much away.  I've done that before.  But not the sort of high where you start kicking tortoises.

My friend Phil, City Boy that he is embarks on a period of Non Drinking from January onwards each year as a kind of detox response to the Silly Season of drinking about three times your own body weight in alcohol at about ten parties a week for the three months prior to Christmas.  So every time since then we're approaching the Bell and Hare in Tottenham on a weekend and I ask him if he's back on the booze yet it is quickly rebuffed with something like 'no, I'm extending it another month'.  This went on till about March some time with the announcement that his previously privately held 'Phil and Rob's International Beer and Chilli Festival' would be opening itself to the public (invitation only, of course) this year, and that this would mark, at least temporarily, a brief regression until the wagon returned to give Phil a lift somewhere.  So what happens at an International Beer and Chilli Festival, one might ask?  You drink International Beers and eat chilli.  It's competitive.  Intrigue.  Excitement.  Obviously I had to win this thing, so I had to get a pretty awesome chilli going.

This makes enough chilli for a competition with about ten judges, or for two hungry people.

500g chuck steak in roughly 1in dice
1 large onion
2 cloves garlic, minced with coarse sea salt
1 large green chilli
1 tbsp molasses sugar
2 tbsp cider vinegar
2 tbsp chipotles en adobo
400g chopped tomatoes
125g red kidney beans
200ml red wine
2 tbsp olive oil
1 piece mace
2 bay leaves
1 cinnamon stick
1 star anise
2 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground cloves
1 tsp ground allspice
1 tsp ground corriander
Salt and pepper

Soak the kidney beans overnight in cold, unsalted water.  Drain, then place in a large pan of fresh cold, unsalted water.  Bring to a rapid boil and cook for around 2 hours, skimming off any foam when necessary.  Add a pinch of salt about 10 minutes from the end.

Preheat the oven to 140°C/120°C fan/Gas mark 1.

Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy based saucepan.  Fry the steak until browned all over.  Remove from the pan and add the chopped onion and garlic.  Soften for around five minutes, then add the green chilli and star anise and season with salt and pepper.  Cook gently for a further five minutes, then add the remaining spices.  Once the dry spices have mixed into the onion and garlic, add the sugar, vinegar and chipotles.  Return the meat to the pan along with the chopped tomatoes and wine and season again.  Bring to the boil, then cover and move to the oven and cook for at least two hours.  At this point add the cooked and drained beans and cook for a further hour.  When ready, shred the meat using a pair of forks.  Serve with rice or crusty bread.

I road tested this recipe a week before the competition, in which I used some remaining veal stock I had in the freezer.  As it was the last lot I had, I used wine for the Competition Chilli.  Both have their advocates.  Either would be fine, or beef stock in place of veal, or even a combination of the two.  Tinned beans are also fine, although the texture isn't as nice as the method above.  Although if you do use dried beans, make sure you don't do what I did whilst making the Competition Chilli and totally forget to boil them before adding them.  If you do, you will then have to painstakingly pick out every bean, rinse them then give them a rapid boil for another hour or so (they'd been cooking in the chilli for about an hour when I realised this).  In a thoroughly pleasing case of things happening together, my chilli was ready and the Grand National finished right at the same time that I needed to leave.

So, to the competition.  Although there was no one running a bookies, I sensed that I had been installed as some sort of pre-tournament favourite and had big expectations to live up to.  As numerous chillies arrived it was clear that this wasn't going to be an easy competition.  Each chilli was arbitrarily assigned a letter by an impartial non-entrant, in this case Kelly.  Scores were given out of ten for Appearance, Aroma, Flavour and Texture.  All important aspects of a chilli, you will no doubt agree.  The competition was stiff, as was proved by the lengthy period of time taken for all the scores to be added up, a recount taken, until finally the results were in.  You could cut the tension with a knife.  No one did, though, as we were all stuffed with chilli (and pulled pork - if you ever wondered who would bring a knife to a gun fight, try pondering who would bring pulled pork to a Chilli Competition?  Except that in this case, the pulled pork was awesome and well worthy of its honorary prize for Best Pulled Pork.)

And so, the award for Best Appearance went to... Ms Susie Mangan, for a very fine appearing chilli.  The award for Best Aroma was taken by... myself, and even if I must admit myself, it smelt pretty damn good.  The award for Best Flavour went to Ms Emma Dalby's Butternut Squash and Black Bean Chilli, and the award for Best Texture was a triumph for co-host Mr Rob Hayward.  Which left (Best Pulled Pork award aside, take a bow Mrs Stephanie Fox, and Award for Least Effort for Scott Heywood-Smith's tinned entry) the main event, the Best Overall Chilli Award.  As there was a recount, we knew it would be close, and with four separate winners already, it could be anyone's title.  More specifically, it was mine.  I don't have any pictures of the chilli itself (and after all, it wasn't even the Best Appearing Chilli) just this rather splendid certificate congratulating me on being an achiever.  There were photos of award acceptances, but the food always does the talking.

So consider this a guide to How to Win at Chilli Competitions.  Unless, by some coincidence two people read this, follow it and enter the same chilli competition.  In which case it is merely a guide to How to Tie for First at Chilli Competitions.

A Kitchen (Cupboard) of One's Own

Hello boys and girls. Here we are then. It's been nearly a year since I last updated, and back then I made mention of a pivotal, life-changing moment on the horizon in my life. I have to say that the moment has happened, via job interviews all over the capital, and I have forsaken my rural pub life and garden stickery-pokery for a citydwelling existence, just like that of my esteemed blogging partner/boyfriend.

I was in dialogue with an acquaintance from my south coast years yesterday, and when it occured to me that he had no inkling that Ed and I have been in a relationship for over a year now, I realized a little catch up session might be due (especially since my about me page on this blog now contains many errata). so, here goes:

One

I have been out of northampton since about August/September last year. I spent most of the latter days of last summer going to interviews across the capital, trying to get out of my village-pub rut in order to gain a position where I might be able to progress in the hospitality industry. It paid off, and I got one, and now work for big hitting London brewery, Fuller, Smith and Turner.

(My windowsill collection of carefully nurtured supermarket herbs, and also if you look closely you can see the yellow teapot Ed bought me as a housewarming present)

Two

My London existence started off just outside of zone 6, where I lived with my most-obliging grandmother in Potters Bar, while I built up some money and got myself used to my new pace of work. I had no real internet connection at this time, and since I was relying on the kindness of a relation, I had no real desire to create kitchen chaos and make myself a disruptive houseguest. I didn't do an awful lot of cooking in that period, in fact, the whole time felt as though I were in a kind of stasis, waiting for things to happen and living on the hoof. I pretty much exhausted myself flathunting the whole time, travelling north london in it's entirety, or so I felt.


(My new shared kitchen, warts, Pantera sticker, and all. It's my aim to get this to be a busy, communal space in the house, that's a pleasure to be in)

Three

I finally lucked out, and in february I moved into a houseshare with four other people in their twenties in Muswell Hill. It's not in ideal condition, but it's cheap, and it's one of those character-ridden properties that someone last had a stab at decorating in the early seventies that I always seem to end up living in. One of the things that sold me on the place was the kitchen. Not for the beauty of the place (although I'll admit to enjoying the yellow and brown palette and outmoded decor a lot more than i probably ought), but for the space, and the layout, and the fact that it seemed like it would be a joy to cook in. I have been getting to know my kitchen, the area, and my housemates, and vowed that as soon as my internet access was restored, that food-blogging would resume with renewed vigour.

I have so many plans for this kitchen, and for the space I have out back and in front of the property that catches so much sun it would be rude not to grow edibles in containers, and Muswell Hill itself is particularly stimulating for those of the foodie persuasion. It has amazing greengrocers, ethnic groceries (am i the only one who feels it's inappropriate to say that, by the way? it seems kind of racist. preferred terms on a postcard please), and health food shops, a cheese shop, a wine shop, a kitchen equipment shop, an organic supermarket, and branches of the more food-concerned big box supermarkets.

It has been amazing bringing my country girl nesting instinct to the big city, and actually finding that despite commutes, longer working hours, and so many reasons to be out and about, a slow-paced home life is actually possible. I do often feel that my desire to put down even temporary roots, is at odds with the attitudes of the nomadic, bustling people around me in London, but I am working on cultivating a small, handcrafted corner of the world for myself, and enjoying the process. It is of course, also wonderful to be cooking without anyone expecting me to say, be eating at a certain time, or eating certain things. It's like regaining total creative control. it's wonderful.


(my first seedlings, L-R: chives, spinach, spring onions, leeks, tomatoes)

Four

I have to say, massive sap that I am, that my favourite thing about moving to London is the increased proximity to aforementioned esteemed blogging partner. It will come as no surprise to hear that the couple who run a food blog together probably work best as a partnership when in the process of sharing/discussing/consuming/creating food and drink, and being in London is something that has made the process of cooking and eating together a much more regular experience. Whether in or out, it's always varied and interesting, from pizza and pinot noir in front of a film, to the incredible raspberry and pistachio macarons ed made me for my birthday. the context in which food is eaten is, to me at least, with my continued affection for stories, just as important as what is eaten, and i can't think of anyone i'd rather be breaking bread with than Ed.


(One of the first few batches of bread made in the kitchen here, with wholemeal organic flour, apple juice, sunflower and pumpkin seeds, and coated in oats and sunflower seeds)

When I think about how I got here, and how fast everything has moved, I have to remind myself that it's real, that i'm actually living this. it's great to be back out in the wider world on my own, and rest assured, readers, that rather than leaving Ed to hold down the fort, which he#s been doing masterfully, i will be here, reporting back on as many dishes cooked and eaten as is physically possible.

A Pot Tossing Christmas

It's actually just over a year since Adventures in Pot Tossery came into existence, along with a flurry of activity.  It's been a bit quiet of late, but this should set things back on track a bit as I've got a few things worthy of writing about from, ahem, Christmas.  Obviously there's no How to Roast a Magnificent Turkey in mid-January and this is a mere Look at What I Done type blog.  Which does mean there's no room for some prick to announce that Ainsley Harriott makes the best Christmas Dinner, and that straining is a Very Chefy Technique well and truly beyond the culinary repertoir of mere mortals.  So, begin Pot Tossery Christmas.

I had initially planned to make croissants for Christmas Day breakfast, but having read the recipe beforehand and seeing how stupidly long they take to make (overnight resting, several hours rising, plus shaping, cutting, folding etc) I decided on bagels instead.  With a comparatively paltry single rise and prove making for about a couple of hours total, this at least meant I wouldn't have to get up at about 4am (and risk walking in on Santa coming down the chimney).  Plus bagels are better than croissants anyway.  Both potential croissant recipe and pervading bagel recipe came from Mr Daniel Stevens' River Cottage Bread Handbook.

Bagels

500g strong white bread flour
5g powdered dried yeast
10g fine salt
250ml warm water
20g caster sugar
50ml vegetable oil, plus extra for coating

To finish
1 medium free-range egg, beaten
Poppy or sesame seeds (optional)

In a large bowl, mix together all the ingredients to make a dough.  Knead on a clean surface until smooth and elastic.  Shape into a round, coat with a little extra oil and place in a clean bowl.  Leave to rise, covered with a plastic bag.

When the dough has doubled in size, deflate it and divide into 12 pieces.  One at a time, roll into a sausage shape, about 15cm long.  Wet the ends and press them together to make a ring.  Leave to prove, covered, on a lightly oiled plastic board or metal baking sheet (not floured cloths or boards).

Preheat the over to 200°C/Gas Mark 6.  Lightly oil a couple of baking sheets and in a wide pan bring around a 10cm depth of water to the boil.

When the bagels have roughly doubled in size, they are ready for poaching.  You will need to do this in batches.  Turn the pan of water down to a simmer, then slip as many bagels as will fit comfortably into the water (allow room for them to puff up).  Cook for a minute on each side, then remove and drain on a clean tea towel (not kitchen paper as it will stick).

When they are all poached, lay the bagels on the baking sheets, gently sticking any that uncurled in the water back together again.  Brush all over with beaten egg, then sprinkle with seeds if you like.  Bake for 15 minutes, until the bagels are a uniform, glossy golden brown.  Cool on a wire rack.


So I got up early to make the dough and left it to rise whilst I then got up properly.  There are no pictures of me making dough in my boxer shorts, as after all, I let the food do the talking.  The dough didn't seem to be rising a huge amount, either in the initial rise or the proving stage, and I must admit to thinking 'sod it' after an hour's rising and 20 minutes proving, not least as I, and others were getting hungry, including my brother and cousin who for some mental reason had decided to run 5km on Christmas Day morning.  Subsequently I was expecting rather small little bagels, until the poaching stage.  I was a bit unsure as to whether 10cm of water would be sufficient, and remembered that Nigella has a recipe for bagels in How to Be A Domestic Goddess.  A quick cross reference showed that Nigella suggests using a large pan, so I sided with her on that one.  Sorry, Dan Stevens and all present Dan Stevens-ites.  (Nigella also uses malt in the poaching water to obtain the shiny crust rather than beaten egg - time for some comparison next time I think.)

Anyway, they puffed up pretty well, almost doubling in size and then looked amazing once they came out of the oven.  Flipping bagels in water is pretty satisfying, really.  I'd had to make an extra trip out on Christmas Eve in search of poppy seeds for these, and a few other bits for other things (expected to take ages, hardly took any time at all as there was virtually no one out at 9am), and whilst they don't make a huge difference taste wise, I think they make them look that much more impressive.  If I can make myself get up early more often at weekends then I think I will find myself making these with increasing regularity.

Next, ice cream.  As I mentioned in my last post there's something about making ice cream at Christmas which meant I had to make some.  I'm actually writing about these chronologically in the order I made them, I'm not sure whether that was intentional or accidental, but anyway. 

On my second visit to Bocca di Lupo I'd told myself I wouldn't have anything I'd had the first time.  This was all fine until the pudding stage where I was sorely tempted to go against my intentions and have the Sanguinaccio again.  Eventually I held firm and instead had a brioche gelato sandwich with pistachio, hazelnut and chestnut gelati.  This is almost certainly the best gelato flavour combination I've ever tasted, and despite the near deific regard in which Gelupo's pistachio ice cream is held in these parts I came away most impressed by, and most fervently remembering the chestnut.  So, wanting to make some kind of festive, or at least appropriately seasonal ice cream, and recalling this I stumped for chestnut.  There's no exact recipe in the Bocca book, but there are ones which can be easily adapted.  I took the one for pistachio and simply replaced the pistachio paste with chestnut purée. 

Chestnut Ice Cream

500ml whole milk
140ml whipping cream
40g glucose syrup or light runny honey
130g caster sugar
40g skimmed milk powder
3g leaf gelatine (1 large or 2 small leaves), or 4 teaspoons agar-agar
85g chestnut purée
45g icing sugar

For the base bianca, put the milk, cream and glucose or honey in a pan.  heat over a low flame and, in a separate container, mix together the sugar and milk powder.  When the pan is steaming, add the sugar mixture in a steady stream as you stir.  When the mixture approaches a simmer, remove it from the heat and add either the gelatine (already bloomed for a few minutes in cold water, then stirred into the mix) or the agar-agar (sprinkled on top of the hot mixture and left for 5 minutes, then stirred in).  Leave to cool, covered, to room or fridge temperature.

Blend the nut paste and icing sugar into the base bianca and freeze in an ice-cream machine as usual.  For the creamiest texture let the gelato freeze as hard as it will go in the machine before taking it out.


I actually find it hard to go into much detail with this.  Apart from the flavouring, this is pretty much the same ice cream recipe and procedure as my last ice cream post, only even simpler.  And having the amazing ice cream machine meant I could set it going just before we sat down for Christmas Dinner and it made itself and was ready pretty much bang on time.  Additionally, the tin of chestnut purée we'd harassed the Waitrose staff into finding for us had plenty more than was needed for one batch, so I made some more a couple of days later to go with a Nigel Slater cheesecake recipe I'd pulled from the Observer Food Monthly.  This is without doubt the best ice cream I've ever made. 
 

A few weeks prior to Christmas I'd seen a repeat of the previous year's River Cottage Christmas Fayre, where Gill and some others enter a gingerbread house making competition.  For seemingly no other reason than 'that sounds cool', I there and then decided that I too would make a gingerbread house.  So...

On Boxing Day we usually have tea followed by numerous sweet things of the cake and biscuity variety in the evening, so that seemed the ideal time to make it.  As it was, with Christmas cake and what not, the house was left until the day after, only a small amount in part to not wanting to demolish it straight away.  I'd hunted down that episode on 4od and watched that section a couple of times - the recipe is incredibly straight forward, so really the only thing to really think much about is one, how big to make it, and two, what to decorate it with.  As a beginner in Gingerbread Masonry, I decided not to get too carried away and stuck to a four-walled, box-shaped house.  Looking around, some people make some quite frankly ridiculous things out of gingerbread, and after all, you never want the aesthetical aspect of the thing to get in the way of the 'mmmmm, gingerbread' aspect.

For your bricks you will need;

1kg flour
300g muscavado sugar
10 tbsp golden syrup
1 tsp treacle
400g butter
2 tsp ground ginger
2 tsp bicarbonate of soda

And for your mortar you will need;

2 free range egg whites
400g icing sugar

Plus various sugary things to decorate

Preheat the oven to 180°C.  Melt the butter, sugar, syrup and treacle together.  Once combined, pour into the flour, ginger and bicarbonate of soda and mix until a dough is formed.  Roll out the dough on a piece of baking parchment until about 5mm thick.  Draw out templates for the walls and roof and use them to cut out the dough.  Bake for 15 minutes, then leave to cool and harden.

For the royal icing/cement, whisk the egg whites until frothy, then add 300g icing sugar and whisk until thick and glossy.  Add the remaining icing sugar and beat until soft peaks are formed.  Add more icing sugar if required.

Watching that part of the program over again before making it the house they made looked much bigger than what I needed, so in the end I made three quarters of the amount and it came out pretty much the perfect size.  Any smaller and the decorations would have been a bit oversized.

So, having made my dough, rolled it out, drawn and cut out templates and baked the gingerbread came the fun part; decorating.  I'd decided that I didn't want my chimney just to be a couple of off cuts of gingerbread tacked on at the end (even before the request from a certain Esteemed Blogging Partner to be saved the chimney) so incorporated a chimney breast into one of the end walls.  Subsequently, although due as much to trying to squeeze both end walls onto one baking tray, they stuck together in the oven.  After separating them one became a bit lop-sided, although nothing that couldn't be disguised with large amounts of royal icing.  I hadn't cut windows or a door in my wall templates, neither had I taken into account the space in the roof parts needed to slot around the chimney breast.  I could, with hindsight, have claimed that this was so as to provide ample bits of baked gingerbread so I could test it was good gingerbread.  But I'd be lying.  But that did kick start the sugar rush which I guess must be inevitable when decorating a gingerbread house.

And yes, I made bears with the leftover bits of dough.  With the help of my mum (Chief Cement Layer) and my cousin (Suggester of Other Good Ideas for Decorating) this not quite grand, but certainly endearing little edible abode took shape.  Hugh's suggestion of After Eights as roof tiles had been hastily discounted (bear in mind you're going to eat the damn thing, and gingerbread and peppermint fondant sounds a weird combination) and replaced with a bag (or two, just to be safe) of Giant Chocolate Buttons, and the roof was safely covered with a whole bag to spare.  I'd previously instructed my dad (retired architect) that any criticisms to do with architectural related things would result in him not being allowed any.  As it was, apparently we put the tiles on the wrong way and started from the top down, rather than the bottom up.  Apparently this would mean rain would get in through the tiles.  Obviously if it had rained actual rain, it would have got soggy and collapsed, but then the rain that rains on gingerbread houses is probably coloured sprinkles anyway, so it doesn't matter.  Chocolate Fingers made a perfectly good drainpipe, as well as guttering, doorframe, and whatever runs along the top of the roof.  Other than chocolate Fingers.  Mini Smarties were strung up across the front wall as fairy lights, and generous dollops of icing were dolloped on places where snow would settle.

I was a bit heavy-handed with the tablespoon measuring the syrup, and as a result the flavour was a bit too syrupy.  It could also have done with a bit more ginger, but they shall be things borne in mind this year.  Because there will be another one made, which, dare I say it, shall be even awesomer.