River Cottage forager and keen homebrewer John Wright explains how to make a quick, simple nettle beer. Nettle beer and homemade cider can help to keep costs down for the rural drinker. This article titled “Homebrew from the hedgerow” was written by John Wright, for guardian.co.uk on Wednesday 18th May 2011 13.15 UTCAs an enthusiastic forager who enjoys a tipple it was perhaps inevitable that I would become a homebrewer. Not that my path to alcoholic excellence has been a straight one. Back in the early 1980s, while living in a remote farmhouse surrounded by hedgerow delights of every kind, I became rather obsessive and brewed everything that would stand still for long enough. After a few disasters and the uncomfortable observation that friends (who had over the years been plied with various concoctions of questionable virtue) were finding imaginative reasons for not visiting me, I hung up my demijohns and retired hurt for many years. Then a huge haul of cherry plums one July tempted me to resume my chequered career and now the house is again filled with bottles and tubes and buckets and potions.There is a deep satisfaction to be gained from taking a plant from the garden or the hedgerow, exploring new tastes and making a palatable drink. The colourful demijohns, bubbling gently away on the shelf look lovely and, of course, homebrewing costs little.Well, it can be cheap but I’m a sucker for “kit” and now own every bit of equipment the home-brewing shop is prepared to sell me. From sugar refractometer to cider apple press, pH titration kit to thermostatically controlled brewing cabinet, I have the lot. I guess it’s a boy thing. But (despite what I have told my wife) you really don’t need all this stuff – just some buckets, demijohns, bubble-traps, plastic tubing and bottles. Below is a recipe which requires little more than can be found in the kitchen.Homebrewing was once, back in the 1970s and 80s, if not exactly fashionable then certainly popular. Then, I suspect, many people hit the roadblocks I encountered and it became a minority sport. Homebrewing kits, however, are still used by many and are generally very good, but there is little sense of “ownership” in brewing this way.I like the interesting recipes and novel tastes that can be enjoyed using the totally DIY approach. And do not be cowed by the notion that homemade wines, for example, are inferior to “proper” wine – they are just different. Over the next few weeks I will be relating my experiences, both good and bad, as a homebrewer. I hope you will join me in this little enterprise; perhaps suggesting plants and recipes I may not have tried, perhaps relating your triumphs and disasters. I trust you will enjoy the journey. Nettle beerI use nettles a lot. I have made nettle pasta, nettle pakoras and, best of all, nettle soup. But it will also make a good beer. Nettle hunting can be a painful experience unless you go equipped. Thick clothing, rubber gloves and good footwear are essential, but the blasted things will always get you somewhere. Last week, despite extensive precautions, one managed to go straight up my trouser-leg. I am thinking of buying some bee-keeper’s clothing for next time.It’s getting towards the end of the main nettle season but a shady area should still provide a good supply of young nettles tops (those that have not shown their dangling flower spikes) and a cut-down nettle patch will provide a second crop later in the year. The older leaves are rather bitter so just collect the half-dozen or so at the top.This simple brew is easy to make but rather treacherous. The flavour is pleasant, if unsophisticated, and a pint of the stuff has the same effect on one’s equilibrium as downing a pint of champagne would have.IngredientsA couple of the ingredients are worthy of note: “Copper finings” are not a scary as they sound. The name is a reference to a brewing vessel, not what they contain. The seaweed “caragheen”, also known as “Irish moss”, is the most commonly used – its purpose is to prevent the “haze” of protein that will otherwise spoil the beer’s appearance.1kg nettle tops (approximately one carrier bag stuffed to bursting) 5 litres water 450g sugar Juice of two lemons 50g cream of tartar Copper finings (Irish moss) Not absolutely essential. If used, follow the instructions on the packet A sachet of beer yeastBoil the nettles with the finings for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Strain through a colander or sieve into a sterilised (rinse with Campden tablet solution then boiled water) food-grade plastic bucket.Stir in the sugar until dissolved. Leave to cool to room temperature. Add the lemon juice and the yeast. You will probably need to “activate” the yeast first – it will tell you on the sachet. Cover and leave for three days.Siphon into sterilised swing-top bottles making sure not to disturb the sediment that will have accumulated at the bottom of the bucket. The beer will continue to ferment, gradually building up a head of steam, and is ready to drink in a week, though longer will be better.Gently release the pressure on one of the bottles every now and then to check that the “steam” isn’t building up too much. Despite the finings this beer can sometimes be a little cloudy – remember that this is a homebrew, so it is simply considered as character. And do not concern yourself about a little sediment at the bottom of the bottle – just pour carefully! guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010Published via the Guardian News Feed plugin for WordPress.Thanks for subscribing to Andy Roberts blogHomebrew from the hedgerowRelated posts:Free BeerNain’s bara brith recipeHow to make a log pile wildlife habitat
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Homebrew from the hedgerow
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/06/30/homebrew-from-the-hedgerow
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June 30 2011, 1:11pm | Comments »
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The red card for red meat?
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/05/25/the-red-card-for-red-meat
As National Vegetarian Week begins, a new study shows links between eating processed and red meat and an increased risk of bowel cancer. Will you still be bringing home the bacon? This article titled “The red card for red meat?” was written by Jay Rayner, for guardian.co.uk on Monday 23rd May 2011 11.30 UTCIn my fridge right now is: one pack streaky bacon, one pack pre-sliced chorizo, one pack mini chorizo sausages (half eaten), one pack Wiltshire cure ham. Hanging up near the fridge is a length of Iberico chorizo (the really good stuff) picked up on a recent trip to Spain. Naturally my freezer is also well-stocked: sausages, steaks, pork belly, beef mince, lamb fillet and so on. The question is, in light of today’s report on the relationship between the consumption of red and processed meat and bowel cancer, should I be chucking it all out?Let’s be clear: getting me to part with bits of salted, preserved, paprika-spiked piggy is a little like asking a toddler to give up a favourite soft toy. Then again, the statistics are pretty sobering. A number of comments on the original news report complain about a lack of hard figures so here they are, taken from the press release on the World Cancer Research Fund website: the consumption of an extra 100g of cooked red meat a day above the recommended 500g of cooked red meat a week leads to a 17% increase in the risk of bowel cancer, that’s roughly from five in 100 to six. An extra 100g of processed meat a day results in a rise in the risk of bowel cancers of 36%; roughly five in 100 to seven.There are a bunch of things to be said about this, not least that this extra 100g a day amounts to more than a doubling of the recommended amount of 70g. If I’ve got my sums right it means 170g of cooked red meat a day, which is 1190g or over 2.5lbs of red meat a week. Even I think that’s an awful lot. Add in a similar amount of processed meats – bacon, sausages, salamis and hams – and it’s a dead animal fiesta. It’s the kind of thing I muse on at night to help me get to sleep; a fantasy I would never (or almost never) try to realise in real life.But using that as a reason to dismiss the stats would be a false comfort. There is clearly a correlation between meat consumption and bowel cancer. So, putting aside the other serious issues – the environmental impact of meat production, the unreliability of animal welfare – is it time we (by which I mean I) changed my diet?Let’s be clear. It’s always time I changed my diet. And I know full well that the western dietary imperative that places meat protein at the centre of meals deserves to be challenged. We should eat more vegetables. But I do scratch my head when it comes to the health implications, not because I don’t get the argument, but because the very business of living is terminal.As a younger man I smoked, quite a lot actually. I was rather good at it. I still smoke three or four fags a month. Although I packed it in early, I did my fair share of recreational narcotics. I tell my doctor I drink 27 units of alcohol a week. Some weeks this is true. Some weeks it isn’t. I am overweight, albeit not quite as overweight as I once was. Given my job my diet is substantial. There’s so much of my diet that as well as all the dead cow, it also includes a lot of fibre, green vegetables and so on. And, for what it’s worth, I have a bit of gym habit. I get there four to six times a week. Somebody described me recently on twitter as looking like “a waxed Wookie on the cross-trainer, giving it stacks.” I wear a headband. I’m not proud.And so I am left bewildered. Which bits of this lifestyle of mine will kill me and which bits of it will save my life? Surely no single piece of dietary advice can be taken in isolation? Because if you listened to each and every bit of advice on healthy living you would quickly assume we were eating our way to an early grave. And yet that’s not true. For here is another statistic, one which rarely referred to. Our life expectancy is going up, not down.According to the Office for National Statistics the age at which we will die has risen from around 71 for men and 76 for women in 1980, to nearly 78 for men and 82 for women now. Of course that may mean we end up living with illness and infirmity for longer but the bald fact is this: modern life isn’t killing us. It’s helping us to live on.So does that mean I can keep frying up the bacon? I’m really not sure. It is very very hard to take these issues seriously when you are well. If you have developed bowel cancer, or have lost a loved one to it – 36,000 Britons develop the disease every year and over 16,000 die from it – then making a decision is probably much easier. For the rest of us it’s not so cut and dried.I will, of course, try to be a better person. I will try to eat a more balanced diet. Then again I am always trying to do this, and that’s not the same as succeeding. So what are you going to do? Cut out the pig or carry on as usual? guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010Published via the Guardian News Feed plugin for WordPress.Thanks for subscribing to Andy Roberts blogThe red card for red meat?Related posts:Cut red meat intake and don’t eat ham, say cancer researchersAngela Hartnett’s roasted pollack with crushed new potatoes and chorizo recipeTurkey Ham?
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May 25 2011, 1:42pm | Comments »
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Cut red meat intake and don’t eat ham, say cancer researchers
World Cancer Research Fund advises people to limit consumption of beef, pork and lamb and avoid processed meatThis article titled “Cut red meat intake and don’t eat ham, say cancer researchers” was written by Denis Campbell, health correspondent, for The Guardian on Sunday 22nd May 2011 23.06 UTCCancer experts have issued a fresh warning about eating red and processed meat after “the most authoritative report” on the subject blamed them for causing the disease.The World Cancer Research Fund (WCRF) is advising people to limit their intake of red meats such as beef, pork and lamb, and to avoid processed meat such as ham and salami altogether. “Convincing evidence” that both types of meat increase the risk of bowel cancer means people should think seriously about reducing how much they eat, it recommends.The charity kickstarted a global debate in 2007 when it published a study which identified meat as a risk factor for a number of different forms of cancer.WCRF-funded scientists at Imperial College London led by Dr Teresa Norat studied 263 research papers that have come out since then looking at the role of diet, weight and physical activity in bowel cancer. An independent panel of leading cancer experts then reviewed their conclusions. “For red and processed meat, findings of 10 new studies were added to the 14 analysed as part of the 2007 report. The panel confirmed that there is convincing evidence that both red and processed meat increase bowel cancer risk,” said the report .“WCRF recommends that people limit consumption to 500g (cooked weight) of red meat a week – roughly the equivalent of five or six medium portions of roast beef, lamb or pork – and avoid processed meat,” it added. About 36,000 Britons a develop bowel cancer every year, and some 16,500 die from it. It is the UK’s second biggest cancer killer after lung cancer.About 17,000 cases a year (43%) could be prevented if people ate less meat and more fibre, drank less, maintained a healthy weight and kept active, the WCRF says.Its 850-page report, releasedon Monday, is “the most authoritative ever report of bowel cancer risk”, cancer prevention experts claim.Professor Alan Jackson of Southampton University, the chair of the WCRF’s continuous update project expert panel, said: “On meat, the clear message that comes out of our report is that red and processed meat increase risk of bowel cancer and that people who want to reduce their risk should consider cutting down the amount they eat.”Growing concern about red and processed meat prompted the government in February to advise consumers for the first time to consider cutting down. That came after the Scientific Advisory Committee on Nutrition (SACN), experts who advise the government, examined the evidence on the subject. It decided that those meats probably increase the risk of bowel cancer.People who eat 90g or more a day should cut down to the UK average of 70g, SACN recommended. It advised having smaller portions or eating those meats less often. A 70g serving could be three slices of ham, a lamb chop or two standard beef burgers.WCRF’s review has also firmed up from “probable” to “convincing” its view of the protection against bowel cancer afforded by eating foods containing fibre, such as wholegrains, pulses, fruit and vegetables.Milk, garlic and dietary supplements containing calcium also “probably” reduce the risk, the expert panel concluded.But farmers’ leaders denounced the WCRF’s new report and accused it of deliberately choosing the first day of National Vegetarian Week to publish it in order to maximise publicity for conclusions which the charity first reached years ago.Chris Lamb, a spokesman for BPEX and EBLEX, which represents England’s pig, beef and lamb farmers, said: “Average consumption has been in or around 500g a week for a few years. The vast majority of consumers aren’t exceeding this and don’t have to worry about [this]“, he said.The risks identified by the WCRF were unchanged, he stressed.Lamb argued it was unfair for the WCRF to highlight meat as a contributory cause of bowel cancer when the main risk was to people who are generally unhealthy, for example by consuming too much food, alcohol or fizzy drink.“They aren’t assisting consumers. Consumers eat and enjoy meat as part of a balanced diet, and meat plays a valuable part in that balanced diet”, said Lamb. “If you eat or drink anything in excess it’s a danger. Therefore, if you can pick on meat in order to get headlines, then you aren’t actually helping consumers.”Professor Dame Sally Davies, the chief medical officer for England, said red meat can form part of a healthy, balanced diet. “It is a good source of protein and vitamins and minerals, such as iron, selenium, zinc and B vitamins,” she said, “but people who eat a lot of red and processed meat should consider cutting down. The occasional steak or extra few slices of lamb is fine but regularly eating a lot could increase your risk of bowel cancer.”Bowel Cancer UK chief executive Deborah Alsina said: “The report significantly adds to the available evidence into the increased risk of bowel cancer from eating too much red and processed meat; and strengthens the evidence of how eating food with fibre in it protects people against the disease.Hazel Nunn, a senior health information officer at Cancer Research UK, said: “With barbeque season just round the corner, this is a timely reminder that how much alcohol you drink, how active you are, your weight, and how much red and processed meat and fibre you eat can all have a bearing on your risk of bowel cancer.”• Growing numbers of lung cancer patients are having life-saving operations thanks to advances in surgical techniques. The proportion of patients with the disease who undergo surgery has risen from one in 11 in 2005 to one in seven last year, according to a study by the NHS Information Centre. Lung cancer kills more people than any other form of cancer. guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010Published via the Guardian News Feed plugin for WordPress.Thanks for subscribing to Andy Roberts blogCut red meat intake and don’t eat ham, say cancer researchersRelated posts:Alcohol to blame for 13,000 cancer cases a year in UKTurkey Ham?World Development Report: Why no mention of Paris?
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May 23 2011, 4:36am | Comments »
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Best in dough! French bakers battle to bag best baguette bounty
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/05/03/best-in-dough-french-bakers-best-baguette-paris
Paris bakers competition. With a punishing criteria and several entries stakes are high at a Parisian contest seeking to identify best stick of bread
This article titled “Best in dough! French bakers battle to bag best baguette bounty” was written by Agnes Poirier in Paris, for The Guardian on Tuesday 3rd May 2011 21.00 UTC They are hot, golden and crispy. Their makers hold them like saints’ relics and the judges in charge of inspecting them wear white gloves. These are the prized entries competing to be named Paris’s best baguette. At the head office of the bakers and pâtissiers’ union in the heart of Paris, young and old bakers queue up to enter the competition, first held in 1994. Pascal Guenard, a baker and pâtissier for more than 20 years is entering a baguette in the contest for the first time. He wears his white uniform and has flour in his hair; his pair of baguettes smell divine. “It’s the first time I’ve competed for best baguette but I came fourth once in the best croissant competition,” he said. “This award is very important for us and for our clients. I want them to be proud and be able to say that their baker makes the best baguette in Paris. It’s also a way for us artisans to fight the big supermarkets which sell crap baguettes for 50 cents. At €1.10, our baguette had better be good.” On the second floor, white-gloved ladies give a number to each pair of baguettes, register every baker’s name and address, and wish them “bonne chance”. Each baguette is then measured and weighed. This is the guillotine moment. Baguettes must measure between 55 and 70cm and weigh between 240g and 310g, criteria that were established 20 years ago. “We had to set up rules,” said Jacques Mabille, president of the bakers union. “During the war, baguette’s crumb was grey. The French grew to hate it. “So after the war, the whiter the crumb, the happier the people were. However, to get a very white crumb, you must compromise on the overall quality of the bread and on its taste. So we chose to return to a more balanced baguette and set up a few rules. … Today, a good baguette has a creamy-looking crumb, a crispy crust, a distinctive flavour and a delicious smell of wheat. And it shouldn’t have more than 18g of salt.” Each year, a third of baguettes are disqualified, usually because they are too heavy and too long. At the end of the queue stands Lahoussaine Damer, 26, a baker and pâtissier since the age of 18. “It’s the third time I’ve competed but I’ve never got into the top 10. This time, I have tried to perfect the cooking. Also, I was careful with the measurement and weight. They are ruthless. My baguette was disqualified last year for one centimetre.” Which French baker does he admire most? “Djibril Bodian.” Bodian, a member of the jury this year, was the winner of last year’s competition. He came to France from Senegal at the age of six, and fell in love with bread through his father, who set up a boulangerie in the Paris suburb of Pantin. After he won, Bodian became the French president’s personal baker, delivering his baguettes every day to the Elysée Palace. “We were never complimented by the Elysée Palace but were told that if nothing was said then it was a good sign, that they liked it” he says. “We have today a whole new generation of bakers in Paris, of African origin, from the Maghreb but also many Japanese and Cambodians,” said Mabille. “Baguettes have universal appeal. Besides, bakers are usually trained in French schools with traditional recipes and savoir faire.” A total of 174 baguettes were entered for the prize, with 38 disqualified. Among the 15 judges was a fromager, a teacher at the boulangerie school of Paris, and a food critic, as well as six Parisians chosen randomly after they entered a lottery. They touched, stroked, chewed, smelled, and even listened to the baguettes, inspecting their backs and bellies. Their colour and holes were closely inspected and intensely debated. Some judges spat out their samples . Three hours later, the verdict was given: after competing for the eighth time, Pascal Barillon, from Montmartre has won the best baguette accolade. As of Wednesday, he will be Carla Bruni-Sarkozy’s official supplier.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 Published via the Guardian News Feed plugin for WordPress.
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May 3 2011, 5:06pm | Comments »
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Can a family of four be fed for £50 a week?
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/04/30/can-a-family-of-four-be-fed-for-50-a-week
Sainsbury’s is launching a deal that promises it can be done. We asked three leading food writers if it’s really possible
This article titled “Can a family of four be fed for £50 a week?” was written by Fiona Beckett, Simon Majumdar and Richard Ehrlich, for The Guardian on Friday 29th April 2011 23.05 UTC Fiona Beckett: Yes you can Sure you can feed your family for £50 a week, just as you can restrict yourself to 1,200 calories a day if you need to. But it takes willpower, and supermarkets aren’t always the best places to exercise that. Everything – well, practically everything – will have to be pre-planned. You can’t afford to be deflected by impulse buys, though it’s worth keeping, say, a £5 float to take advantage of offers on non-perishable foods like pasta and tinned tuna and for stocking up on basics like herbs and spices (which are cheaper in independent shops than supermarkets). You’ll have to stop pandering to your kids. On this kind of budget you can’t afford to let everyone eat what they like whenever they feel like it. Shared mealtimes are easier to control than 24/7 fridge raiding. Set whatever you don’t need aside for another meal rather than leaving it on the side for scavengers to dip into. Insist that kids ask you when they want a snack rather than just helping themselves. (Frugality, I’m afraid, requires a degree of fascism that doesn’t come easily to today’s laid-back parents.) Forget heavily advertised brands (despite moans from the kids) and buy – or at least try – own label. Discover when your nearest supermarket tends to have reductions. I used to find the one at my local petrol station would virtually give away unsold meat and veg on a Sunday night. The main challenge on a low budget is keeping some variety in your diet. If you build a couple of days round mince (say, a spag bol one night and chilli con carne the next), you could then switch to seafood like frozen prawns, veg and rice for the next two to three days. Forget the idea that every meal has to have expensive lumps of protein – do as our parents and grandparents did, and pad out meals with carbs and puddings. Not all the old wisdom applies though, it has to be said. Veg aren’t always – sadly – cheaper in season. (Frozen berries are almost always cheaper than fresh, for instance.) “Cheap” cuts can be anything but. It can, bizarrely, be more economical to buy steak on special offer than mince, if you stretch it by slicing it thinly. Sometimes ready-made foods like cakes or puds are cheaper than baking them yourself (though in general anything pre-sliced, grated or cubed is a rip-off). And remember that no one shop has all the bargains. You can bet your life that if Sainsbury’s – or any other supermarket – is promoting products to make them look as cheap as chips, they’ll be marking up other lines that will cost you less elsewhere. The old adage that does still apply is “shop around”. Fiona Beckett is author of The Frugal Cook, published by Absolute Press. guardian.co.uk/profile/fionabeckett
Simon Majumdar: No you can’t In 1994, Sainsbury’s ran a campaign promising to feed a family of four for less than £50 a week. I had my doubts then, and I have them even more now that the company is offering almost exactly the same deal some 17 years later. The simple fact is, that while it may be feasible to feed a family of four for £50, it is, I believe, almost impossible to do it well for such a lowly sum. One may be able to meet people’s basic nutritional needs, but it will give little variety in the diet and extract all joy from the experience of dining. Some might suggest that, if people are financially stretched, they should be prepared to forgo certain pleasures to make ends meet. However, for me, such a notion is only a short remove from Ebenezer Scrooge’s impassioned cry of “are there no workhouses?” and has no place in this discussion. A £50 a week budget equates to £1.79 per person, per day. This amount is less than is allocated to guests of Her Majesty’s Prisons and only marginally more than is spent on the daily meals of the majority of National Health Service patients. While one doesn’t hear of too many people dying of malnutrition in hospitals and prisons, one also doesn’t hear of too many people clamouring to change places with them when dinner time comes around. It is possible, of course, to wheel out some well-intentioned nutritionist to talk about “wholesome soups” or “hearty bowls of pasta” in defence of the notion that it is possible to eat well, cheaply. However, anyone who has ever spent time subsisting as a student will testify that, while such dishes might do the job of filling a person’s stomach, the regular arrival of bowls of soup or dishes of spaghetti bolognese, night after night, can be enough to drive a person to bloody murder. Such a view also labours under the incorrect assumption that while people may be economically troubled, they can still find the time to seek out cheap, fresh ingredients and labour over a hot stove to make sure that their families receive all they need from their three square meals a day. If there ever was an era when such a thing was true, it is certainly not the case today when both parents are probably holding down jobs to pay the bills. Sainsbury’s latest promotion might seem like one possible solution to the issue. However, to me, it confirms only two things. One, that marketing people are incapable of ever coming up with new ideas. And, more worryingly, if the cost of this basket of food, meant to feed two adults and their offspring, remains the same nearly two decades on, there must be serious concerns about the quality. Whatever one thinks of our supermarkets, few people would ever consider them exemplars of altruism. For food to be sold at this price must mean that corners have been cut, costs have been shaved, and producers have been squeezed. The cynic in me can’t help thinking that all three are probably the case. Accepting this heady combination of uncertain food quality, a lack of variety and little enjoyment, it may well be possible to physically sustain a family of four people on the meagre sum of £50 a week. But, I have to admit, if I was in such a situation, Her Majesty’s Prisons might begin to look pretty appealing. Simon Majumdar is the co-writer of Dos Hermanos, one of the UK’s most widely read food blogs. guardian.co.uk/profile/simon-majumdar
Richard Ehrlich: Well, maybe It would certainly be possible to feed a hypothetical family of four on a budget of £50 a week – the big question is whether it would be any fun. Before going any further, I have to add that all bets are off if the household includes teenage boys. The UK Department of Health’s Estimated Average Requirements call for a daily calorie intake of 1,940 calories per day for women and 2,550 for men. Teenage boys seem to need at least 5,000 or they start eating their own fingers. For the rest of us, £12.50 a week is just about do-able. It means avoiding many processed and pre-prepared foods: ready-meals for four can devour your whole daily budget. Favour porridge over boxed breakfast cereals, cheap seasonal veg over fancy salad leaves or sugar snap peas from Kenya, fresh fruit over fruit juice. It also means relying on cheap sources of protein. But remember that you don’t need much protein, far less than most omnivores eat. Try to use meat as a seasoning instead of the main event of the meal: four rashers of top-notch bacon will flavour a whole pot of beans or a pasta sauce. If you sometimes need an identifiable piece of meat on the plate, forget about steaks and chops. Cook stews from cheaper, tougher cuts such as shin of beef or knuckle of pork. Chicken legs are cheaper (and tastier) than breasts, and whole chickens, which can produce four meals for four people at a stretch, are cheaper still. A major cost-cutting option lies open to those who have a big garden or an allotment: grow your own vegetables. Even if you only have space for a few pots, growing herbs can save you a pound or two a week. And a final cost-cutting strategy: don’t assume supermarkets are cheap. When I compared prices on five items at my local Sainsbury’s with the fruit and veg stall across the road, the stall was cheaper on three items, the same on one, and more expensive on one. But the loose carrots at Sainsbury’s (35p/kg, compared with 77p/kg at the stall) were as flexible as garden hoses. Fresh ginger at the stall was £3.30/kg as opposed to £10.72 chez Sainsbury’s. But back to the F-word: will £50 be fun? It can certainly be made less painful by deploying cheap seasonings that deliver maximum pleasure. Bags of spices bought from an Asian shop cost a pound or so and last for many months. A knob of ginger, a fresh chilli, a head of garlic, a lemon – all cost little and can be used with anything. Ultimately, your fun-quotient will be determined by your enthusiasm for inexpensive starchy foods: potatoes, pasta, rice, pulses. Well used, these deliver great flavour at minimal expense. Macaroni cheese, curried lentils, any of numerous dishes combining a lot of rice and a little chicken or lamb – all can be made for as little as 30-50p a head. I know I spend more than £50 a week when there are four of us in the house, probably more like £80. If I had to cut down to £50, I could probably do it. But I love macaroni cheese. Richard Ehrlich’s latest book is ’80 Recipes for Your Pressure Cooker’, published by Kyle Cathie, £12.99. guardian.co.uk/profile/richardehrlich
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April 30 2011, 6:57am | Comments »
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Angela Hartnett’s roasted pollack with crushed new potatoes and chorizo recipe
This is a wonderful recipe combination of spicy chorizo sausage and meaty sustainable fish. The vinaigrette could be made with apple cider vinegar.
This article titled “Angela Hartnett’s roasted pollack with crushed new potatoes and chorizo recipe” was written by Angela Hartnett, for The Guardian on Wednesday 20th April 2011 16.30 UTC Pollack is a member of the cod family – a greeny-brown carnivore that can grow up to a metre long. It is common off the coast of Britain and Ireland, especially around wrecks, where it is popular with amateur anglers. It has traditionally been less of a hit with cooks, but with the push to eat more sustainable fish, pollack has emerged as a viable alternative to cod and haddock. Most supermarkets stock it, though you may find it labelled, French-style, as colin. Not only is it cheaper than cod; as far as I’m concerned it’s just as tasty. Like all flaky fish, pollack can break up during cooking; a quick solution is to salt it beforehand. Just cover the fish with rock salt and leave it to firm up for 30 minutes, before giving it a quick rinse and patting it dry. If you do this, remember not to salt the fish again before cooking. I love this combination of spicy sausage and meaty fish, but you can leave out the chorizo and finish the dish with extra vinaigrette. Ingredients (Serves 4) 4 100g portions of pollack fillet 12 large new potatoes, washed, with skin on 1tbsp diced black olives ½tbsp chopped basil 50ml vinaigrette 100g chorizo, chopped into lozenges 3tbsp olive oil Rock salt Method Fill a pan with cold water, a little rock salt and the potatoes, and bring to the boil. Cook for about 15 minutes, until just done. Drain the potatoes well, crush with a fork, and mix while still warm with the vinaigrette and olives. This ensures that they take on the full flavour of the vinaigrette. Set aside. Season the pollack with salt (unless you have previously salted it to firm up the flesh). Heat the oil in a non-stick pan (medium heat) and add the pollack, skin side down. Give the pan a quick shake to prevent the fish from sticking. To cook it should take about two minutes each side, depending on the thickness of the fillets. The fish is ready when you can easily push the handle of a spoon through it. Remove the fillets from the pan and place them somewhere warm. Add the chorizo to the now-empty pan and lightly sauté until it starts to release its oil. To serve, dress the potatoes with the chopped basil. Place the fish on top and finish with the chorizo lozenges and the oil from the pan. Any extra potato can be served on the side.
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April 22 2011, 10:23am | Comments »
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Turkey eggs make UK supermarket debut
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/04/10/turkey-eggs-make-uk-supermarket-debut
I like duck eggs myself, but not necessarily from Waitrose.
This article titled “Turkey eggs make UK supermarket debut” was written by Rebecca Smithers, for The Guardian on Sunday 10th April 2011 14.14 UTC They are one of the best-kept secrets of the baking world, but shoppers have never before been able to buy them on the UK high street. Next week, however, turkey eggs will go on sale in supermarkets for the first time in response to demand from consumers keen to cook with a growing range of speciality eggs. Retailers report healthy year-on-year sales of duck, goose, quail and even ostrich eggs as a more interesting and distinctive-tasting alternative to traditional hens’ eggs. Turkey eggs – which will make their debut in Waitrose – have never been sold by retailers because turkeys lay fewer eggs than hens and most of them are used for breeding the Christmas birds. The chef Jamie Oliver has used turkey eggs in his test kitchens. They are about one and a half times the size of large hens’ eggs and are strongly recommended for baking, giving cakes a light and fluffy texture. They are also suitable for soft boiling, scrambling and poaching. The Waitrose eggs buyer, Frances Westerman, said the supermarket had decided to stock the eggs in response to customer demand “Turkey eggs are the most asked-for speciality eggs amongst our customers,” she said. “They have excellent cooking qualities and, because they are they’re bigger than hens’ eggs, you need two instead of three to make a really light sponge cake.” The eggs will be on sale in selected Waitrose stores until late August, when the laying season ends, and will cost £1.99 for a pack of two. Later this month, the chain will also stock rhea eggs – 10 times the size of medium hens’ eggs, which take roughly 90 minutes to hard boil – costing £25 each. Selfridges sells the full range of eggs supplied by the Cornwall-based speciality breeders Clarence Court – goose, ostrich, hens, guinea fowl, quail and duck – endorsed by chefs and restaurateurs such as Mark Hix, who is keen to show the potential of eggs beyond boiling and scrambling. The store will be stocking gulls’ eggs when they come into season later this month, and says its food halls attract a high number of customers looking for speciality goods. The Selfridges chilled goods buyer, Elizabeth Hastrip said: “We’re also seeing a big spike for quail’s eggs at present – up 20% on this time last year. Goose eggs have only just come into store, but they’re performing about 20% above expectation at the moment.” Of other supermarkets, Sainsbury’s stocks duck and quail eggs and reports a year-on-year rise in sales of 10.9% and 1% respectively. Overall, sales of eggs in the UK grew by 2.6% last year, according to TNS Superpanel data, but Britons still lagged behind many other countries in egg consumption.
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April 10 2011, 12:41pm | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Bordeaux uncorked
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/03/23/bordeaux-uncorked
The city of Bordeaux is gleaming after a makeover and the region’s conservative vineyards are casting off their haughty image and welcoming visitors for city breaks in Europe.
This article titled “Bordeaux uncorked” was written by Oliver Thring, for guardian.co.uk on Tuesday 22nd March 2011 12.30 UTC The English have always liked Bordeaux. It presents them with a neat and nifty range of familiar French staples: old patissiers, echoey churches, pretty cafes with unsmiling waiters, old cobbled streets, and women who swoosh past, helmetless, on bicycles. For a couple of hundred years, this land, Aquitaine, was English, a chivalrous region roamed by troubadours and ravaged by plague and perpetual war. And it’s near the sea, of course, just a few miles over the dunes from the chilly Atlantic breakers. Or perhaps the English see something of themselves in the proud, reserved character of the Bordelais. This is a town that never bothered with tourism, that didn’t have to: it had already made its money on spices, slaves and grapes. In 1855, Napoleon III oversaw a list classifying the “best” Bordeaux estates, a census of allegedly top “growths” that still dictates the hierarchy and prices of specific wines. Twelve bottles of Chateau Lafite 2009, a “premier cru”, are yours today for around £14,000. Whatever else, the 1855 classification was a shrewd piece of marketing. It cemented Bordeaux’s entitled, Gallic haughtiness even as the town itself went to seed. A decade ago, Bordeaux’s buildings were soiled by age and neglect, the town a shabby sump of rotting docks and stagnant industry. Things are visibly changing. Modern trams now purr and whine through scrubbed boulevards; in the main square, the Corinthian columns of Victor Louis’s Grand Théâtre seem to glisten. Over at the Place de la Bourse, they’ve installed the “miroir d’eau” or water mirror, the most beautiful puddle in Europe. We stayed at the renovated Hôtel de Normandie (7 cours du XXX Juillet, +33 (0)5 56 52 16 80, hotel-de-normandie-bordeaux.com, rooms from €95, breakfast €15pp), brilliantly placed in the city centre and near the successful, funky wine school, Ecole du Vin de Bordeaux (3 cours du XXX Juillet, +33 (0)5 56 00 22 85, bordeaux.com, two-day course on Bordeaux wine from €218pp). The city is cleaning up the knackered old cathedral, too, which the Pope consecrated in 1096 in an early example of urban planning. Sweaty local students pedal tourists around the town in flimsy plastic rickshaws, pointing out the sights in broken, demotic English. Food But parts of Bordeaux still seem timeless. The old city is spliced by rue St Catherine, one of the longest shopping streets in Europe, flanked by boutiques and shoe shops. Near the big clock, one of the few surviving landmarks from the medieval period, a spice shop called Dock des Epices (20 rue Saint-James, +33 (0)5 56 44 41 57, dockdesepices.com) fugs the street with the smell of cumin and cassia. I bought some livid purple salt flavoured with local wine – it goes beautifully with fish. A rather grand cafe, Baillardran (55 cours de l’Intendance, +33 (0)5 56 52 92 64, other branches at baillardran.com), serves exquisite canelés, the local delicacy of tiny cakes of caramelised custard. La Tupina (6 rue Porte de la Monnaie, +33 (0)5 56 91 56 37, latupina.com, lunchtime menu from €16, evening tasting menu €60) is a stalwart side-street bistro that’s been open for almost 40 years. It was one of food writer Jonathan Meades‘s favourite restaurants, and it appeals to a very English ideal of French hospitality. Inside, a huge hearth roars and spits, roasting chickens and braising lamb, and there’s a vast board of pink, fat-studded charcuterie. The restaurant is famous for the heavy cooking of south-western France, but my starter was a huge slice of beef tomato, thick as a pack of cards, criss-crossed with padrón peppers, while a main of roast veal with vegetables was similarly light. They play birdsong in the loos, which is somehow a very French conceit. Another fabulous restaurant is Le Petit Commerce (22 rue du Parlement Saint-Pierre, + 33 (0)5 56 79 76 58, le-petit-commerce.com, two-course lunch menu €12), a bijou fish place with rickety tables, brusque service and a refreshing lack of tourists. Wine Bordeaux’s wine industry has been typically slow to welcome visitors. Max Bordeaux (14 cours de l’Intendance, +33 (0)5 57 29 23 81, maxbordeaux.com) is a wine shop with a couple of spartan black and white rooms and almost nowhere to sit down. But you can drink some of the most expensive vintages in the world here on a relative budget: they serve it in 2.5cl thimblefuls. A scant sip of Mouton Rothschild is €15, and Lynch Bages and Château Margaux’s second wine are both only €4. It’s a cracking idea – borne, perhaps, of a sudden realisation that the world is threatening to overtake Bordeaux, that lazy reliance on history and standoffish tradition might no longer do in a future of cheap long-haul and boxed Rioja. Driving through the gnarled and corrugated vineyards of the Médoc, you can feel Bordeaux’s persistent sense of entitlement or noblesse oblige. Prim, privileged chateaux sit like dowager aunts behind forbidding iron railings and old stone walls, staring with miserly joy at the writhing lucre of the vines. Billboards of the most famous names in the wine world flick past: Latour, Lafite, Margaux, Pichon Longueville. The signs could just as easily say “Keep Out: visiting these places is almost impossible for ordinary people”. So it’s exciting that a few of the younger chateau owners are beginning to open up to visitors. The “tasting room” of Château La Tour de Bessan (Route d’Arsac 33460 Cantenac, +33 (0)5 56 58 22 01, marielaurelurton.com) is a rusty old telegraph building that somehow Tardises into a sleek, elegant space. They teach people how wine is blended here, letting visitors mix tannic and complex cabernet sauvignon with hot, boozy merlot. One rather grand chateau, Gruaud-Larose (33250 St-Julien-Beychevelle, +33 (0)5 56 73 15 20, gruaud-larose.com), even holds cookery courses alongside its wine tastings, while a wing of Château Marojallia (marojallia.com) is now a comfortable hotel. Perhaps the most innovative recent development is a place called, in bolshy Franglais, La Winery (Rond-Point des Vendangeurs 33460 Arsac, +33 (0)5 56 39 04 90, winery.fr). It’s run by a family of Algerian winemakers who came to Bordeaux in the 1960s. La Winery is a gigantic greenhouse branded in Trainspotting orange, its crystal panes in stark, intentional contrast with its forbiddingly opaque neighbours. They sit you in a bright room and you answer a series of questions to determine the wines you might prefer. The quiz asks whether you prefer pizza or curry, for instance, or the smell of “honey and apricot” over “loose tobacco and undergrowth”. A person working there told me, rather unsurprisingly, that they faced scepticism and hostility from the old Bordelais winemakers. La Winery’s approach might seem dumbed-down or gimmicky, but it makes a refreshing change from the esoteric babble of much of the wine world, and its very existence signals a partial shift from the reactionary model of the established Bordeaux wine industry. Outside the ludicrous prices of its most famous wines, Bordeaux faces a difficult task: how to retain its relevance against increasing competition from the rest of the world, a currency situation making export difficult, and a perception that it’s fusty and overpriced. But most Bordelais know they can ill afford to jettison the heritage that is the source of their fame. The true winners in this debate are visitors to the region, who can both experience a newly gleaming city and inspect those few vineyards that have opened their gates. Getting there
By plane: Easyjet (easyjet.com) flies to Bordeaux from Bristol, Gatwick, Liverpool and Luton; British Airways (ba.com) flies from Gatwick. By train: Eurostar (eurostar.com) from London to Bordeaux starts at £109 return.
Further information: Bordeaux Office de Tourisme (bordeaux-tourisme.com/uk)
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March 23 2011, 3:16pm | Comments »
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Consider pancakes
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/03/08/consider-pancakes
Pancakes or galettes for Shrove Tuesday. Have you shriven yet? Thought not. March 8th this year 20110 is Mardi Gras or Shrove Tuesday, pancake day or jif lemon day.
This article titled “Consider pancakes” was written by Oliver Thring, for guardian.co.uk on Monday 7th March 2011 15.00 UTC To shrive is to gain absolution for your sins through grovelling penance and the tittle-tattle of confession. When a priest shrives you he listens open-mouthed to what you’ve done, and when you shrive you tell him the lurid details. Guilt and reward, the shifts and cycles of sin and forgiveness, of lean times and fat, are central to the Christian way of thinking. And Shrove Tuesday marks the end of shrovetide, the last fat hurrah before the gloom of Lent with its warnings of the evils of milk. Before then, though, we feast. The pancake is prehistoric. Grinding boring but nutritious grains into flour, blending them with protein-rich liquids such as milk or eggs and cooking the mixture made for an extremely palatable food, and it seems likely that pancakes were among the first things humans learned to cook. Once you’ve got fire in your caveman arsenal it’s easy to heat a piece of flint or slate to make a basic griddle. The Roman food writer Apicius describes a batter of eggs, milk, water and flour which was fried and served with honey and pepper. It sounds rather good. Shrove Tuesday is only around 1,000 years old, so people brought pancakes to it rather than the other way round. For once the old wives’ tale is true: the cakes were a useful way to use quick-spoiling foods such as milk and eggs that were forbidden in Lent. The earliest surviving English pancake recipe dates to 1430, but recipes don’t begin in earnest until the 1600s. This may be because the food had only then spread to the educated classes, or perhaps pancakes had only recently returned to general popularity. Either way, by the 18th century milk and occasionally cream had become the main liquids for the batter: before then, brandy and wine had been just as common. In Brittany people often still add beer to crêpe batter, and the drink remains a useful alternative for lactose intolerant pancake-eaters today. This being a country wedded to quaint eccentricities, a number of traditions have developed around pancake day. In Olney, Bucks, villagers have organised a now famous pancake race almost every year since 1445. Only women compete, wearing “the traditional costume of the housewife, including a skirt, apron and head covering”, and running 415 yards (380m) while flipping their pancakes to the peal of the shriving bells. The winner used to receive a prayer book but in these pinched and godless days the prize is a kiss from the verger. The largest pancake ever flipped was made in Rochdale in 1995. It measured 15m across and weighed three tons. Aldo Zilli is also a prize tosser, having flipped a pancake 117 times in a single minute in 2009 in a successful assault on the world record. The crêpe is probably the archetypal pancake; thin, wheat-based versions are by far the most common around the world. Eastern Europeans and Scandinavians have developed an extraordinary fondness for jam- and cream-filled crêpes, and many Swedes eat them every Thursday after the traditional pea soup. In Galicia, crêpes are called filloas and are made with pig’s blood instead of milk, which turns them the colour of black pudding. I love Ethiopian injera for its doughty determination to stretch the gastronomic limits of the crêpe: the food becomes an enormous and soggily impractical plate. The world is awash with pancakes, from the bao bing, those limp dry discs used for Peking duck, to bulging tortillas, pooris, boxties, latkes and blintzes. A breakfast of American pancakes, maple syrup, blueberries, bacon and fierce black coffee is about as fine a start to the day as I can think of, and it would be a fine thing if British high streets could welcome the American pancake chains as wholeheartedly as they’ve embraced their burger joints. I also have a special fondness for drop scones, those Scottish pancakes so delicious at teatime with butter and syrup. What kind of pancakes will you be enjoying, and what’s your favourite topping?
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March 8 2011, 7:36am | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Cornish pasties are no one’s patsies
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/03/04/cornish-pasties-are-no-ones-patsies
More on the Cornish Pasty, just in time for St Piran’s Day tomorrow March 5th.
This article titled “Cornish pasties are no one’s patsies” was written by Lesley Gillilan, for guardian.co.uk on Tuesday 22nd February 2011 17.20 UTC If I was a Cornish nationalist I’d be out there waving St Piran’s flag, singing verses from Trelawny ( … a good sword and a trusty hand, a faithful heart and true, King James’s men shall understand, what Cornish lads can do … ). I’m not. But I am Cornish, so it’s good to know that my native county finally has the monopoly on the denomination of our regional dish. For nine years the Cornish Pasty Association has fought for Protected Geographical Indication (PGI) status. Now, hurrah, only pasties made in Cornwall can claim a Cornish identity. Under EU law, PGI foods must be “produced or processed or prepared within the geographical area”. So no more copy-cat Cornish pasties made in, I don’t know, London, or Leeds, or even Le Havre. No more nonsense at the British Pie Awards, either (there was a bit of an outcry from the Cornish camp, when Chunk, a pie-maker from Devon, won first prize in the Cornish pasty category in 2009). And the directive doesn’t stop at the pasty’s origins. Like Swaledale cheese, Melton Mowbray Pork Pies or Arbroath smokies (all British foods with PGI status) there are certain qualities, traditions, to uphold. So what you’re looking for is this: under new protected status, a genuine Cornish pasty must be made in Cornwall. It must have a distinctive “D” shape, crimped on one side (never on top); the filling should be “chunky” (minced or roughly cut chunks of beef – representing no less than 12.5% of the content); add potato, swede (in Cornwall, some of us call it turnip), onion and a light seasoning, packed into a pastry case (“golden in colour, savoury, glazed with milk or egg and robust enough to retain its shape”) and slowly baked. Purists might say that the meat should be beef skirt (not steak), and the pastry should be short-crust. I’m pretty sure that 19th century tin-miners – who cooked up the original pasty as a handy form of packed lunch – would have been glad of any meat content (I believe they used to put apple at one end). But I agree with the Cornish Pasty Association, no artificial flavourings nor additives should be allowed. Now, I do like a good pasty, I really do. My husband reckons I’m genetically programmed to sniff one out the moment I get within a mile or two of, say, Bodmin Moor. And it’s kind of true. As soon as I cross the border (welcome to Kernow, goodbye Devon), I get an itch, a hunger for a hot pasty. And it’s a hunger that, after years of practice, I can quickly satisfy. Two miles into Cornwall on the A30, there’s a couple of butchers in Launceston who make a half-decent oggie; on the A38, I’d recommend Paul Bray & Son in Tideford (10 minutes, the other side of the Tamar Bridge). But I have to say, I’ve kissed a lot of frogs during my long quest for the handsome prince of pasties. Laying down the law on quality is all very well, but there’s a lot of genuinely Cornish pasties out there that couldn’t satisfy a single one of the directive’s must haves. Steak, yes, but just a solitary chunk lost in a sticky potato stodge; or lots of rather grey meat that looks like it’s been boiled, or been through a hot-wash cycle. Add gristle. Add heavy, lardy pastry (pet hate: chomping through a wall of the stuff before you hit the filling). Light seasoning? How many post-pasty hours have I spent looking for pints of water to drown the salt. Personally, I wouldn’t touch a Ginsters. Genuinely Cornish, yes, but I’ve seen and smelt the factory (in Callington, since you asked). What about the ubiquitous West Cornwall Pasty Company? Yep, they are all “hand-made” in Falmouth. Based in Buckinghamshire, though – with outlets in Leeds, Norwich, Reading station, Bristol, Bath (thank goodness, because I do get an urge for a pasty when I’m a long way from home). The important thing – I’ll just get the flag out – is that no jumped-up, made-in-Slough, mince-and-mash, flakey-pastry, crimped-on-top, just-pretending-to-be Cornish pasties can take our name in vain. It’s got to be proper Cornish, OK. With that in mind, here are 5 of the best (in my opinion) places to go for a pasty. Sarah’s Pasty Shop, Buller Street, Looe Since Sarah retired, daughter Lucy carries on the family bakery – knocking out delicious, pasties: rich, moist and packed with quality local produce. Ticks all the boxes – wouldn’t share mine with anyone. • 01503 263973 Village Butchers, Trevellan Road, Mylor Bridge, near Falmouth Big, blokey steak pasties made on the premises by this traditional, family-run butchers. Bit out of the way, but they do good sausages too. • 01326 373713 Horse and Jockey, 41 Meneage St, Helston Proper old-fashioned bakery in down-town Helston, making proper Cornish pasties with beef skirt and veg, wrapped in short-crust pastry. If you get there in time to beat the queue, ask for small or medium – the large is, um, large. • 01326 563 534 The Count House Café, Geevor Mine, Pendeen The pasties are not 100% reliable (go early, before they go limp from hanging around on the cafeteria-style counter), but they are utterly authentic, homemade by Mrs Margaret Burford. The views are fantastic, too (eat your oggie overlooking the Atlantic) and as part of the Geevor Tin Mine museum, you couldn’t get closer to the pasty’s roots. • 01736 788662, geevor.com Ann’s Pasties, Sunny Corner, Beacon Terrace, The Lizard On the subject of pasties, baker Ann Muller, could talk you under the table; her mum wrote a book about them and it runs in the family. Her pasties – made in a shop behind her Lizard home – are among the best, and if you ask nicely (after the lunchtime rush) she’ll show you how to make them. • 01326 290889, annspasties.co.uk I’m sure opinion will be divided on the subject of where to find Cornwall’s finest oggie. Where do you go for a proper pasty?
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March 4 2011, 9:41am | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
The ultimate Cornish pasty recipe
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/03/03/the-ultimate-cornish-pasty-recipe
Cornish pasty recipes have always been controversial, and now there’s an EU Protected Geographical Indication status to content with as well. Better get it right for St Piran’s Day on March 5th. I support the top crimped pasty myself, currently outlawed, but not the Cornish Vegetarian Pasty which is a contradiction in terms.
This article titled “The ultimate Cornish pasty recipe” was written by Felicity Cloake, for The Guardian on Wednesday 23rd February 2011 19.59 UTC Now the Cornish pasty finally has its legal protection from the pretenders across the water (that’s Devon), you’d think there wasn’t much debate as to how to make the things; even the position of the crimping is firmly enshrined in EU law (down the side, never at the top, if you’re wondering). But much is still up for debate. For a start, the ruling is puzzlingly vague on the subject of pastry: it must be golden, savoury, and robust, but as long as it fulfils those criteria, it could be anything from filo to flaky. In practice, a pasty is always made with shortcrust, the simplest sort, and, romantics allege, the only one hardy enough to survive being dropped down a mine shaft – although who’d want to eat it afterwards is questionable, given the high levels of arsenic in many of the county’s tin mines. This shortcrust can be made with butter, but lard will give a crisper, more authentically plain result, and using bread flour, as suggested by the Chough Bakery in Padstow, helps to make it even stronger. Then there’s the filling: forget lamb or cheese or even (St Petroc forbid) tandoori chicken. From now on, a Cornish pasty must be made from beef, and hearty chunks of it too, not the minced stuff favoured upcountry. The Cornish Pasty Association, which submitted the PGI bid, suggests skirt, a flavourful cut that stands up well to relatively slow cooking – Mark Hix recommends rump or rib, but I think they’re too fancy for this historically thrifty dish. Because skirt has very little fat on it, it makes the pasty pleasantly juicy, rather than greasy. Carrots are a definite no-no: instead a hearty mixture of potato, swede and onion forms the backbone of the filling – although a Cornish pasty must be no less than 12.5% beef, it’s important not to overdo the meat at the expense of the more traditional root veg. A waxy variety of potato, such as maris peer, is vital if the chunks are to maintain their shape during cooking, Both meat and vegetables should be raw – any attempt at a fancy gravy is heresy, although seasoning is permitted. You may however, on high days and holidays, add a dollop of clotted cream or knob of butter before crimping together the pastry in the time-honoured fashion. Oh, and of course you must be baking west of the Tamar. Otherwise you may as well not bother.
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March 3 2011, 4:05pm | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Nain’s bara brith recipe
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/03/01/bara-brith-recipe-stdavidsday
As it’s St David’s Day today, here’s a bara brith recipe. It’s odd though, because I would have sworn the recipe would contain some tea in itself, as well as being the perfect accompaniment.
This article titled “Nain’s bara brith recipe” was written by Bryn Williams, for guardian.co.uk on Tuesday 1st March 2011 09.00 UTC We could never go to Nain’s house without having a cup of tea and a slice of bara brith. I love to eat it warm, spread generously with salted butter or with a wedge of cheese. Makes 1 loaf 15g fresh yeast 225ml lukewarm water 450g plain flour, plus extra for dusting 60g lard 60g soft light brown sugar 175g currants 30g candied peel, finely sliced You will need a 900g loaf tin lined with greaseproof paper. Dissolve the yeast thoroughly in the lukewarm water. Mix the flour and the lard together in a large bowl, rubbing the lard into the flour with your fingertips until the texture resembles breadcrumbs. Then stir in the sugar, the currants and the candied peel. Now pour in the yeast-infused water and mix well until you have a cohesive dough. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead it for a good 5 minutes. Work the bara brith into a long sausage shape to fit the loaf tin. Place it in the lined tin, cover with a tea-towel and leave in a warm place until doubled in size, about an hour or so. Preheat the oven to 180ºC/350ºF/gas mark 4. Bake the loaf for 40 minutes, or until golden all over. Turn out onto a wire rack and set aside to cool. • This recipe is taken from Bryn’s Kitchen by Bryn Williams (Kyle Cathie Ltd, £25). Buy a copy from the Guardian bookshop for £20
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March 1 2011, 3:49am | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Pub of the year award goes to a London local for first time
The Harp is still Central London’s best Cider pub too. The Harp - London Cider Pub
This article titled “Pub of the year award goes to a London local for first time” was written by Ben Quinn, for The Guardian on Wednesday 16th February 2011 00.05 UTC With its reputation for glitzy musicals and crammed weekend shopping, the bustling tourist magnet that is Covent Garden might seem an unlikely location for the latest official place of pilgrimage for beer purists. Yet in a first for London, a cosy bolthole in Chandos Place, near Trafalgar Square, has been named Britain’s pub of the year.by the Campaign for Real Ale (Camra). It was standing room only at what Camra described as a “true gem” where a cross-section of local workers, including musicians from nearby theatres, mingled in a narrow bar area adorned with mirrors and theatrical memorabilia. Undisturbed by either television or music, staff handed patrons samples from a range of eight real ales and imparted taste advice with all the authority of a master sommelier. “They look after their regulars very well – that’s the secret,” said Martin Knowles, a tubist from the English National Opera, sipping a pint of Darkstar Hophead with colleagues under the whir of a fan. Upstairs, a handful of drinkers relaxed in a small carpeted lounge area as the owner, Bridget Walsh, praised “good staff” for The Harp’s 17-year-old reputation. “They are the backbone, but we also pride ourselves on the range and quality of our real ale,” said Walsh, a real ale pioneer, who fretted slightly about the potential upsurge of interest in her pub, which outshone rivals from some of the more traditional real ale heartlands. Runners-up in the national pub of the year competition were Taps in Lytham St Annes, Lancashire, the Beacon Hotel in Sedgley, West Midlands, and the Salutation Inn in Ham, Gloucestershire. Julian Hough, Camra’s pubs director, said the most impressive aspect of the Harp was its appeal as a true local, “even though situated in the tourist heart of the capital”. He added: “What makes a great pub is the ability for it to welcome both regulars and first time customers alike and this is something it does to perfection.” Situated close to Charing Cross station, the pub has been no stranger to awards in the past and has long been regarded with fondness by ale connoisseurs seeking a refuge to quench their thirst in the heart of the city. Beer choices generally include a mild or porter, Dark Star and London micro-brewery seasonal while real ciders, perries and malt whiskies also feature strongly. Completing a package that won over the notoriously choosy real ale drinking fraternity are award-winning real sausages in baps. Kimberly Martin, Camra’s London regional director, said: “I never ceased to be impressed or surprised by the continuing success of a pub staffed by individuals so passionate about the real ale industry. The Harp is a perfect example of how the London cask beer scene is reaching out to new drinkers.”
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February 15 2011, 6:29pm | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Consider the crab
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/02/10/crab
One of my favourite ways to eat crab is as part of a seafood paella or crab couscous. But then again, if you have enough quantity of nice big pieces of white crab meat then you can’t really beat a crab doorstep sandwich. When I go to the fishmongers stall at Romford market, there is usually a choice between some huge Cornish edible crabs at about £13.50 each, cooked but undressed, or the little Cromer crabs dressed and packaged for £2.50 or £3.00. Some of the dressed crab has been frozen though, and the compulsory ingredients listing reveals that potato starch has been added to the brown crab meat. You don’t get much white. The undressed crab, on the other hand takes about half an hour or so of work to extract all of the crab meat from the various body parts including legs claws and those peculiar cavities they have withing the main body shell.
This article titled “Consider the crab” was written by Oliver Thring, for guardian.co.uk on Tuesday 8th February 2011 09.30 UTC If ever humankind so destroys this smogged and wheezing world that we have to colonise a new planet, and find one, and settle there, we might be surprised to find crabs waiting to meet us. Something about the decapod form seems especially well suited to survival, and crabs have evolved independently and repeatedly for millions of years. The 4,500-odd species of crab are superbly adapted for a multitude of habitats. They live in tropical and sub-tropical lands and in every sea in the world except the Antarctic, though even that could soon change. They range from the oyster crab, smaller than a pea, to the Japanese spider crab whose leg span can reach almost four metres. Some of the most lumpen ones are coconut crabs, named for their ability to crack coconuts with their pincers and which live on coastal lands from Kenya to the south Pacific, climbing trees and stealing pans from kitchens. Crabs feature in the cooking of every territory they occupy, scuttling their way into woks and casseroles from here to Micronesia. The crab we know best in this country is Cancer pagarus, with the pedestrian pseudonym of “edible crab”. They’re useful because, like the delicious Dungeness crab of the Pacific northwest, you can eat the meat from both their claws and bodies. The word crab in fact descends from those claws, coming ultimately from the Indo-European root “gerbh”, meaning to scratch or carve. (A useful tip if ever a crab pinches your finger is to tickle its belly. This supposedly makes it release its grip but you’ll forgive me for not having tested it myself.) If a crab loses its claws it will die slowly of starvation, but if it loses one then, remarkably, it’ll grow another. That’s because all crabs – indeed all crustaceans – moult their exoskeletons as they grow, forming new and stretchier “cuticles” under the old ones and squeezing their way out. There’s a video of a giant spider crab moulting here, a deeply unsettling spectacle. A newly moulted crab fills itself with water and then slowly replaces that water with muscle. This has an important result in the kitchen: up to 50% of the weight of a recently moulted crab will be water, while an actively growing animal has much denser, sweeter flesh. Recently-moulted crabs are the stock-in-trade of the soft-shell industry: the best are the blue crabs from the eastern seaboard of the US and Canada, and you also get delicious ones from the Venetian lagoon. Preparing a soft-shell crab for the table is a rather brutal process, and in any case you’re unlikely to get them fresh in this country. Cleaned soft-shells freeze well, and that’s the only practical if pricey way of getting hold of them in this country. They’re delicious deep-fried in a simple batter but I like the look of Atul Kochhar’s recipe using mustard oil and serving them with a sweet chilli chutney. Female crabs tend to have more meat than males and the pregnant ones or “berried hens” supposedly have the best flavour of all, but the Marine Conservation Society says that pregnant females should never be caught. There is currently a dearth of information on European crab stocks and we can’t say whether they’re being overfished: “it will be several years before enough data is gathered to gain a good understanding of the trends in landings”, in the MCS’s words. But one advantage is that, unlike fish, crabs are always caught live, so immature ones can be thrown back into the sea until they’re big enough for the pot. One of my favourite recipes is crab with linguine, quick and easy as anything, and the European version of the chilli crab dishes ubiquitous in Singapore. According to Niki Segnit’s magisterial Flavour Thesaurus, apple, avocado and citrus are some of crab’s favourite companions, but I’m sure you have your own preferences. What’s your favourite way to eat a crab?
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February 10 2011, 6:30am | Comments »
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