coriander... herb of the gods

only small blog today as am pogged by so much food and wine friday and saturday. has been a weekend of people coming over for food. i love it. my 3 favourite (printable) things... food, fizz, friends.

friday inveigled veronika, tonio, ames and JP over for fizz and french bread pizzas (make your own) which was very silly indeed (see pics in album until i get arse into gear and post them here), and last night threw a late xmas dinnerparty (although that gives impressions of candlesticks and posh frocks, neither of which were present) last night at my folks, and invited red, carrie and tonio (how he keeps getting himself invited i just don't know)... all lovely and because i am not feeling verbose today due to all this nosh i'll come straight to the recipe today...

FRAGRANT ROAST CHICKEN

oh my god this is nice. it's one of my mother's old recipes with a bit of a twist... there were 6 of us for dinner but this would have fed 7 or 8 (provided that none of them were thursday). i served it with jasmine rice, roasted veggies with lime and garlic and garlic bread with lots of rosemary sliced up super fine into the butter... yumyum.

the one caveat i place on this is do not under any circumstances eat this if you are trying to lose weight. at a rough calculation this is coming in at around 1000 (yes, seriously) calories a serving. have to confess am indeed trying to shift some christmas lard but the recipe sang out to me and said sod it, diet starts tomorrow (again).

ingredients then:
1 big mother of a chicken
block of creamed coconut
300ml hot water
garlic, plenty (look, i like garlic, get used to it) - peeled and squished
2 green chillies, chopped. whether or not you deseed them is up to you. if you like hot stuff add more chillies too
1-2 tsp ground ginger
3 tbsp light soy sauce
grated zest and juice of 2 limes, plus another one zested (add it to the roasted veggies) and halved
1 tbsp light brown sugar
lots of fresh coriander
Salt & P

preheat oven to 190C

stick chicken in roasting tin, stuff it with the two lime halves and a few garlic cloves, smear a bit of butter on it, cover with tinfoil and roast for 20 mins per 500g

cut coconut into small pieces and dissolve in the hot water. stick it in a magimix or blender or whatever with the garlic, chillies, ginger, soy, lime zest and juice, sugar, coriander and seasoning. whizz until fairly smooth (not long)

spoon mixture over cooked chicken and into pan, leave off the tin foil and roast for a further 20 mins.

assuming the juices are running clear from breast and leg your chicken is done and you can carve it after standing it for 10 mins or if your veggies aren't cooking as quick as you hoped you can cover it up with foil and stick it into the bottom oven at 150c to keep warm along with plates and serving dishes and stuff.

off the top of my head i can't actually remember roasting a chicken that turned out this tender and the sauce is simply to die for.

Winter Warmer...

You know, what I like best of all in a fella is a beautiful smile. And if he has the kind of huge grin that splits his face in two, makes long deep creases around his mouth, puts sparkles in his eyes and lights up the room… well I’m lost forever (and yes, I am talking about you. You know who you are).

And therefore am in mourning for the divine Heath Ledger. God I’ve had a crush on that bloke for ten years or something ridiculous. Ever since that silly teen flick “ten things I hate about you”. Wore black trousers today in his honour. Was in the bar and then at Fire and Stone in Covent G with Ames and Andy last night and then came home to smoke spliff and gossip hugely with OtherJames before passing out in small shivering huddle in my for some reason inadequately warm bed so missed the news last night. The last thing I wanted to do was to hear such terrible news from sodding Alex Zane, the man who couldn’t DJ if his life depended on it, on XFM at 7 this morning on top of a smidgeon of hangover. Poor sod. 28 years old. Two less than me. Same as my sis. And even if he’s packed more exciting experiences into those 28 years than most people manage in 70, to die before you’ve had a chance to grow up and older and wiser… what a fucking tragedy. And if you have one of those knee-weakening smiles on top of that… well then it just breaks my heart.

Exhausting bugger of a day. Our lovely HR consultant was in with me for our weekly stint of boggling our way through the tortuous mess of policies and procedures (the aim being to get through the maze without jumping out of the 4th floor window. So far, so good. Although this may be because the window is welded shut) and by 6 o’clock my brain had packed up and gone to Bognor for a long weekend. Pulled on my attractive sky-blue trainers (am joking here. Horrors. But air-filled spongy soles avoid the terrifying backache, of whose return I live in utter, cringing, abject fear, so they could be purple with orange spots and I wouldn’t bat an eyelid) and sped (ok, tottered) out of 5CL up to Angel to collect Ames from a similar pisser of a day. Couple of coronas in the Angelic (love that bar. Think I might have my leaving party there on 5 April – date for your diaries boys and girls) and a prolonged gossip about the events of last night (if you weren’t there I’m not telling you) and it’s time to jump on the number 4 and GO HOME!!

Was reading in the metro, or the London Lite, or whichever piece of trash paper was lying on the bus seat when we got on (worth mentioning that didn’t see Amy sodding Winehouse anywhere!!!! Miracle!!!! Jesus am tired of watching that silly girl kill herself by inches in front of the entire British press. What’s wrong with going insane in private these days?) that eastern European restaurants are all the rage in town at the moment. Er…did I miss something? There are certainly a few… but the reviews lack the zizz that would make me want to pootle along… and more importantly drag some other poor sod along.

HOWEVER, it made me think… when Longlegs and I were in Budapest a few years back (god that was the worst weather ever. Snow, sleet, rain, gale force winds… in turn. Every day. Mind you if you go to Hungary in the middle of February what do you expect I guess?) We did find a totally awesome bar. Boshed if I can remember the name of the place but it was on lots of staggered levels with lots of low lighting and beautiful silk cushions and squashy dark leather sofas… anyway we ordered a couple of bowls of goulash, and it arrived, steaming hot in huge bowls with puddles of oil glistening tantalisingly on its surface, with fresh baked bread just begging to be ripped up and dipped in. The vegetables were cooked to perfection – soft without disintegrating, the beef so tender it melted in your mouth. The spices made your tongue tingle and you felt the stew warm you right down to your toes. Suddenly the weather wasn’t so ghastly. As long as you could stay right here and eat this divine food and never go outside again.

Anyway, the day after we got home I found the taste was burnt deep in my mind and immediately set to to recreate it and share this pleasure with my papa (think my mama must have been in sri lanka at the time and he was living on omelettes and chips. This is what fathers live on in my experience if you don’t supervise them). And damn me if I didn’t get it bang on first go :-) Made enough to feed the 5,000 and froze a zillion portions of it to feed him for a few more days. He’s still talking about it. Thank god I wrote down in my leather book what had done last time… made it again last weekend at my folks’ place on an Armageddon-sized (thank you T, nice image) hangover post Veronika’s birthday bash (Christ. Never again. Oh, ok then. Next week) and I thought that it’s worth writing down for posterity… ladies, gentlemen. Try this. You will not be disappointed…

MAGIC GOULASH

Serves… 6-8 (or more depending on greediness of your guests and the size of your pan). Ingredient amounts are a bit random. A bit more or less won’t mess with the basic taste as long as you’ve got the spices right… it’s more about how many peeps you want to feed and what flavours you like most.

==> Olive oil
==> 2 packets smoky bacon, chopped up
==> 1-1.5kg chuck steak, cubed to maybe 1 or 1.5cm max (a word here… careful on the quality as unless you have a pressure cooker you may have to simmer this stuff for like 3 or 4 hours to get it to melting consistency… worth paying a bit more perhaps if time is short and you don’t like things that go hissssssss on your hob. For the record I got my mama to do this bit. Am a bit afraid of pressure cookers)
==> 3 or 4 onions, finely chopped (please tell me if you know of a way to stop crying when I cut onions. It’s driving mad and costing me a fortune in mascara)
==> 4 good size garlic cloves, pressed (garlic is really up to you. If I thought I could get away with it I’d use an entire bulb of the stuff, but have to recognise that some of my guests may wish to talk, eat, kiss someone, open their mouth or breathe the next day)
==> 2 heaped tsp caraway seeds (if you have these in your cupboard already please tell me what you’ve been using them for. Am v curious as have only ever used them in this)
==> 3 tbsp hot paprika (if you’re a total wimp then go for normal stuff but then, if you’re a wimp go and eat a toffee yoghurt. This is not for you)
==> 1-2 tbsp flour
==> Splash of red wine vinegar
==> 2 or 3 tbsp good tomato puree
==> Good beef stock (buy it if you must) and a stock cube with enough water to make a soup
==> Salt and P
==> Lots of potatoes, cubed to about 1.5cm
==> Lots of carrots, also cubed to about 1.5cm. I love the spuds and carrots in goulash. However many I put in it’s never enough. They take on all the flavour and are like small pieces of paradise, esp the carrots. Trust me and put in another couple!


Ok, here’s what to do…

In the biggest deepest pan you have fry up the bacon pieces in olive oil over a medium heat until quite crisp (I don’t mean burnt here btw). Transfer to a bowl or plate or whatever with a slotted spoon. Don’t eat the bacon, even if it’s telling you you haven’t eaten since last summer and you need it.

In the remaining fat/oil brown the beef in smallish batches over a high heat. Transfer to bowl too.

Reduce heat back down to medium and add more oil.

Fry up onions and garlic and cook til golden and you’re swooning from the wafts of heavenly scent.

Stir in paprika and caraway seeds and flour. Cook, stirring, for about 2 minutes.

Stir in vinegar and puree. Cook, stirring, for a minute or so

Add stock, water, S&P and meat (you’ll just have to faff a bit to get the balance right) and bring to the boil, stirring. Reduce to simmer.

And here’s where the meat comes in. just depends whether you’ve got something the consistency of old boots or light as a feather. A rule of thumb I’d say is give it an hour or simmering and then see what the meat is doing. Maybe it’s perfect. Maybe you should simmer it a while longer, maybe you need to invite my mother round with her pressure cooker (NB one of the best things about these things is that veggies cook perfectly but don’t disintegrate)… it’s up to you.

Anyway, when you think the meat is heading in the right direction, add all the potatoes and carrots (don’t splash too much) and simmer until they’re done.

Season and serve in big bowls with hunks of fresh bread.

HEALTH AND SAFETY WARNING: this stuff keeps heat in like a furnace – don’t get burned!!!

the ultimate sandwich. oh yes it is...

It’s raining. It’s pouring. It’s wetter than a Westlife B-side.

Am stuck at home in bed with the bug that is sweeping the nation. It is very boring. The wind is banging my sash window against its flimsy frame and water is running down the panes. There’s a gaggle of yellow-sashed road menders drilling merry hell out of the road outside, which is especially restful.

January to January this has been an appalling year. A year of slithers and mists. Of damp and drips. What happened to springs that make you feel 5 years old and jump in puddles in your red wellies and you clean the house from top to bottom… to the long hot lazy summer when the fruit tastes of sunshine and the wine is very cold and the smoke of bbqs drifts on the breeze… and to the crisp cold autumn when you kick the red and yellow leaves and smell the gunpowder in the air and feel the tingle of winter in your fingertips and see your breath make shapes in the air? I’m not just being romantic – it really has been RUBBISH!!!


Oh god. I do think about things apart from the weather you know, but Timo has been filling my brain with horrible hard physics and it's all leaked out of my ears and made a mess on the floor. What's left in my head is slightly damp cotton wool. So you're going to have to wait a smidgeon longer if you're hoping for something amusing :-)

Oh, before i forget: today's food thrill is slightly retro but guaranteed to make your friends suddenly cancel their plans and come visit you at teatime... if you don't have enough fish fingers i recommend not telling them what you're going to be scoffing until after you're finished.

POSH FISH FINGER SARNIES

bake four fish fingers (good ones please. i'm not taking responsibility for foulness if you use asda's own brand) per person at a preheated 220C, about 9-10 mins a side to make sure they are nice and crunchy on the outside, soft white fish on the inside. don't be surprised if they make some desperate bid to remain welded to the foil or tray btw. this is entirely normal. fish fingers are stubborn bastards. sandwich in a buttered fresh white crusty roll or baguette (or whatever bread makes you go all dreamy) with lots and lots of rocket, a hefty squodge of good ketchup and a liberal grinding of black pepper.

droooooooooooool!

ps you're going to get this everywhere. ketchup is pervasive stuff. wear a bib. or borrow someone else's clothes.

muffins and muffintops

The rain has washed the skies clean and high and the sun shines in palely through my sash window this morning. This is not a time for hangovers. This is a time to get one's arse out of bed and go profit from this (no doubt all too brief) spell of clemency.

Quickly book February flights to Amsterdam to go see Lins and Maaik and their baby, Finn. Patrick too with any luck (Patrick reminds me of Ti sometimes. Hard to put my finger on exactly why without more thought than am currently capable of). Throw on some random clothes. Locate trainers (which are, like all sentient shoes, in different places), call Amy to give her the happy news that she is joining me on my stroll and to get out of bed poste haste and head down to Finsbear park.

The park is teaming with people. I do like the park. I also like that it's 5 mins from my front door. Lots of football matches going on on one side. Lots of very shouty men. Don’t keep it all bottled up inside… let it out darling. Bit further on and the guys are a lot bigger. Oh no they aren’t – Finsbear has, it seems, a number of American football teams in the vicinity. They seem to be wearing very tight tights and throwing themselves at punchbags (or each other with a slightly scary sound) quite a lot. Is this normal? We don’t know.

A couple of brisk circuits of the perimeter and an hour or so has gone by. The cobwebs are blown away by the fresh wind on my face and I feel alive once more. Not bad after an evening getting rather battered in Covent G.

Meant to come back and watch the last 2 episodes of Green Wing (I don’t as a rule watch TV at all but I do adore the silliness of this series and it makes me laugh and laugh) but Mara has taken over the living room with books and study stuff so go downstairs into my book lined cave and play Robots in Disguise and stick things in my scrapbook until the glue runs out and I am forced to stop.

Oh pants this is a dull blog. Anyway Red comes over for a cup of tea and I make some muffins (easiest thing to bake by a MILE) and we just chinwag about plans for the year and books she is promoting and how completely RUBBISH the new Louis de Bernieres book is (tis out this summer. I strongly advise you not to buy it. Red struggled bravely to the end. I couldn’t even finish).

The smell of the muffins fills the flat and they are as yummy as usual. Take all of 5 minutes to combine, 25 to sit by, drink tea and wait, and another 5 minutes to wolf the lot :-)

Here, therefore, is my recipe (as this year seems to be all about the baking) for……

ANYTIME MUFFINS (awesome at teatime, divine for breakfast)

9oz wholemeal flour
4 oz brown sugar
4oz crunchy breakfast cereal (more if you like it)
3 tbsp nuts or sultanas (or a mix of both)
3 level tsp baking powder
Pinch of salt
1 egg
1/3 pint milk
75ml oil

Combine flour, sugar, baking powder and salt

Beat egg, add oil and milk

Add to dry mixture, then add cereal and sultanas (or nuts or whatever you’re putting in)

Spoon mixture into 12 muffin cases/greased tins. Not quite to the top as this stuff rises like buggery.

Bake in a preheated oven at 200C for 20-25 mins


Amy is coming round in 5 minutes and am going to make us yummy Spanish omelette and watch some chick flick she swears will not make me vomit (can’t remember name. you’ll hear about it if it’s very good or very bad… otherwise it doesn’t matter). Ergo must be offski and do the washing up so as to have some space to cook. Evening all!

all i want...

give me insight

give me prose

give me continental clothes

give me fortune

give me fame

and a neon lighted name

give me humour

give me speed

give me everything i need

give me hunger

give me thirst

but give me love

first

Splish Splash Splosh!

Ugh. Today has not been pretty. Happy new year to you I say, and pass me another paracetamol. And a nurofen. And a blanket. And some tea and sympathy while you’re at it.

I’m not complaining mind you… it’s entirely my own fault. Young ladies who begin NYE with a long shot of sambuca then move on to down several glasses of posh fizz before, during and after a leisurely dinner and then get stuck into the JD followed by a couple of bottles of wine deserve everything they get, more’s the pity.

And it was a v fun night. El and Lee came up from doughnut city and we all got dolled up (Lee wouldn’t let me cover him in glitter though) and legged it over to Amy’s (she also lives in Finsbear). The flat was warm and inviting and smelled of vanilla candles. And once I got my sleeves rolled up it smelled of chicken frying with garlic and onions and herbs and tomatoes as well. Amy’s cool friend Kath was staying and all got on like house on fire (thank god for lovely people and booze to oil the wheels).

We ate at about 9 and when we’d drunk the place dry we upped sticks and went along to the Old Dairy, which is a big dark rambling gastropub that serves nice ales too if that kind of thing floats your boat. And it’s totally RAMMED! 4 deep at the bar except for one cheeky corner into which we insert ourselves immediately.

Flick meets us there. Cue normal story of talking to strangers, stopping El and Lee having a major fight for absolutely no reason (aside from the fact that booze makes you fighty sometimes I suppose) and turning down drunken bearded bartender (propositioned us all) and a slightly oily doorman who is deaf to protests of, “er, I actually have a fella. I do not require your services and no i am sure that you would not, in point of fact, be the best I’d ever had”. Ti sends me the sweetest text ever and when I show the ladies they all projectile vomit all over the porch where we had congregated to smoke illicit cigarettes.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1… WOOP WOOP! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!

And after that it all gets a bit hazy to be honest. I think the pub closed at maybe 3am… and we didn’t get in until half 4…. No one else seems to be able to account for time spent so it must remain a mystery. Amy and Kath bugger off back to hers with a gaggle of tiresome boys, Flick goes to get the metro and the remaining three of us stagger back to mine, where we get giddy by turns blowing up the airbed (a single, thank the heaves) and then drink very cold vodka with pineapple juice, extract the myriad clips I’d put in El’s hair and slip peacefully into a coma…

Awake this morning at 10. oh sweet jesus H Christ my head my head. There’s a road drill battering my temples and something seems to have crawled into my mouth and died. Am I still drunk? My hips are aching and the world seems awfully bright (even with the blackout blinds down). It’s raining outside. I can hear it hammering on the panes and every drop is magnified by this monster hangover. Gradually the other two awake and we all grope for the painkillers and sink thankfully back into unconsciousness once more.

We’re straight out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – the grandparents to be exact. I have an online date with my boy who’s out of hospital and only has manflu to contend with now, poor lambkin, so I tap away for an hour while the other two carry on snoring.

Oh shit it’s 3pm and we haven’t actually opened the blinds yet. It’s going to be dark before we step outside. Still raining too. Ugh.

Don’t need to describe the afternoon I think – smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, a couple of spliffs, an easygoing movie and then it’s time to pack up and walk to the metro to see my friends off. It really isn’t the kind of rain you want to go out in. It’s the other kind, the kind that throws itself out of the sky and splashes where it lands. It’s rain that means business, and currently its business is turning London into a muddy, wet soup.

Well now, what do we need? Wellies! Pink ones! I feel like a farmer with my baggy jeans tucked into them. Lee says only a farmer of magic mushrooms – farmers don’t normally have hair to match their boots. Big rainbow umbrella for the others and we slosh out into the street and from there to the metro and say our au revoirs. I miss El so much since uni – we talk rubbish, sing songs, go out on the town, laugh like drains, shop like women possessed and really really get off on cooking seriously nice food. But like all good friends it doesn’t matter if it’s a week, a month or a year since we last saw each other – it’s exactly like it were yesterday, and that’s a bloody powerful thing to have in my book.

A walk is required to blow away the cobwebs else sleep will be more than usually hard to maintain (my brain refuses to shut down for long periods of time, even at times of total exhaustion. This is sodding annoying). The streetlights are reflected in long lines on the wet road and the sound of water mingles with engine noises. Splash through the puddles and have a good long think about what I want to do with my life (am doing this a lot at the moment, what with such a major change towering up in front of me in 3 months) and how the hell I am going to achieve it. I reckon you could sum up my one new year’s resolution as “carpe diem”. Am not bad at doing this anyway… but it’s time to stop drifting and pull finger out and socks up and get out there and take the bull by the horns (if you’ll pardon all these mixed metaphors) and start living again rather than this party girl life and soul thing, which is fun. But tiring. And ultimately unrewarding when push comes to shove…

And there you have it.

But before I sign off I want to give you this recipe, which is the proverbial two fingers to new year’s resolutions and never successful diets…. This is my take on my aunt’s take on the ultimate chocolate fudge cake. I made it for Team Joe wedding and the mixture converts very nicely to cup cakes too…

Preheat oven to 180C

For the cake you’ll need…
7oz SR flour
8oz caster sugar
Pinch of salt
2 heaped tbsp dark sour proper cocoa
40z marg
2 eggs (remember to start with them room temperature is my advice), beaten with 5 tbsp evaporated milk, 5 tbsp water and 1tsp good vanilla essence

Sift together flour, sugar, salt and cocoa (you have to do this or you will seriously end up with horrible lumps. Don’t leave it out!)
Rub in margarine
Stir in the egg mix and beat the mixture well (lots of air bubbles)
Pour into 2 greased deep 7” tins (or a bunch of fairy cake cases if you’re feeling that way inclined)
Bake for 35 mins

And for the naughty naughty chocolate fudge icing you’ll need…
2.5oz marg
2tbsp cocoa
8oz icing sugar
3 tbsp hot milk
1 tsp vanilla essence

Melt marg over a bowl of hot water, or if that’s too much hassle just do it in a biggish pan (the icing sugar and cocoa get EVERYWHERE I warn you now) at the lowest heat on the hob.
Stir in cocoa etc – milk last – over pan
Take the pan off the heat and beat until smooth and thick (not long)

And there you have it. Bloody gorgeous and a good reason to get up in the morning and have a slice for breakfast.