tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-227944232011-11-02T16:15:39.668ZThe woes and triumphs of a compulsive cook.Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.comBlogger1331100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-83549706668049618582010-04-29T20:36:00.000Z2010-04-29T20:36:26.358Z

For a year as a difficult teenager, I lived in the house of my godmother, her husband and their three children. It's a lovely house - a huge Victorian end of terrace monstrosity, painted pink, in the Dublin seaside suburb of Dun Laoghaire. One of the nicest things about it was the biggest kitchen I've ever been in, with lovely dark green cupboards and units lining one wall. Next to the sink were

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-29857665502369284782010-04-23T21:09:00.000Z2010-04-23T21:09:13.512Z

My motto, used to justify my dislike of parsnips, turnips, carrots etc, is "if it comes out of the ground, it should be a potato". Tonight, in a blatant attempt to curry favour with the Kitchen Accomplice, against all my principles, I offered to make carrot and coriander soup. My nerve nearly failed me when I found a recipe that referred to the "orange-peel flavour of the coriander", since it is

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-84172753984486422532010-04-17T21:20:00.000Z2010-04-17T21:20:24.222Z

Yeast bread has always eluded me - the dough fails to rise and it comes out inedibly tough. My lovely friends have on occasion choked down leaden loaves, pretending they're impressed, but you can't pretend an indigestible lump of undercooked dough is really bread. This time, however, was different. I used fresh yeast, strong flour and a Darina Allen recipe, spent twelve minutes by the clock

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-957307966810964052010-04-15T21:52:00.000Z2010-04-15T21:52:49.551Z

Many moons ago, I was at an exceptionally boring conference in Monaco. The one bright spot was a flourishing flirtation with an old acquaintance, who bought me a bottle of Becks in Jimmy's Bar, the most over-priced and unattractive venue I ever hope to drink in. €56 for two bottles of beer! We speedily left for more amusing pursuits, but I promised to repay him back in London. The retirement of

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-78165623027980751262010-04-09T20:36:00.000Z2010-04-09T20:36:21.022Z

My cheesemonger career never rose to the giddy heights of being allowed to design the display. Partly this was because I didn't often volunteer to be on the opening shift (rising in time for a 7 am start was never going to be my forte), but more because I never really developed a 'cheese aesthetic' as senior cheesemongers demanded. The new restaurant in Chelsea might have been designed to help me

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-54350715047079449182010-04-09T07:49:00.002Z2010-04-12T18:12:23.385Z

My latest plan is to make more packed lunches, but the Man says he rebels against the Tyranny of the Sandwich. So instead of buying lovely bread and expensive cheese or salami, I concentrate on thinking of other ways to get food to work without it getting all over my notebook or going undesirably cold. This is not the first time someone has faced this problem, as you will realise if you consider

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-60625947310443710982010-04-07T20:20:00.000Z2010-04-07T20:20:14.836Z

Growing up, artichokes were always seen as a great treat in my family. It only occurs to me now that there may be some link with the fact that they are a perfect excuse for eating lakes of melted butter. The ritual of pulling off the individual leaves, dipping their fat bottoms in butter and scraping off the flesh with your teeth (among my gap-toothed family, there was much comparison of the

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-52304752024028761522010-03-24T20:35:00.001Z2010-03-24T20:36:03.515Z

Near my office there is an Italian cafe run for the benefit of Italian and Southwark autistic people. I'm not sure what that means, but they do good sandwiches and delicious soups, and sell Italian products for Enormous Amounts of Money. Sadly for my bank balance, those products are generally so good that I cannot resist spending the money. Most recently I bought some beautiful coloured striped

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-30659192399366744622010-03-06T23:34:00.000Z2010-03-06T23:34:54.976Z

I've lived in London for an astonishing ten years now, so the miserable days when i lived out on the far-off reaches of the Central Line have more or less faded from my mind. The one aspect of living in Leytonstone that was an unalloyed pleasure was the wonderful, wonderful Singburi Royal Thai Cafe. Eleven years ago, Tony and Thelma bought a fish fry bar on Leytonstone High Road and started

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-41574495871321642692010-02-15T19:38:00.003Z2010-02-15T19:55:41.918Z

What's the ugliest vegetable? Celeriac certainly has to be a contender, and it fails to meet my basic quality test: if it comes out of the ground, it should be a potato.So what do with a hideous tuber that I don't like? Turn it into soup, of course, because I don't like soup anyway, so making it out of celeriac couldn't make it any worse.A bit of vague googling gave me the courage to plunge in

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-51467272216907039172010-02-06T09:45:00.003Z2010-02-06T09:54:08.050Z

Things have been quiet on the blog front for me recently. This is not due to lack of commitment but because we have been MOVING HOUSE. For me, of course, the main excitement of this is that we have a new kitchen. No longer a little windowless box with a crappy electric stove with only three burners working, but a proper room with a table and chairs, a breakfast bar (where I am now perched), two

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-91058161933102301092010-01-05T21:26:00.006Z2010-01-05T21:38:03.149Z

Colours seem to be strongly associative, so it often comes as a surprise that those associations can be relatively recent. Not long ago (like in the 1930s) it was thought appropriate to dress baby girls in pale blue and boys in pink or red, the stronger, more masculine colour. Likewise, if asked what colour a carrot is, virtually everyone would instantly visualise the colour orange, but

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-21638888389321631162009-12-30T21:45:00.004Z2009-12-30T21:58:46.531Z

My parents-in-law send and receive around 150 Christmas cards every year. Because they are artists, many of their friends are artists, so they get some lovely cards.We have received a grand total of eight Christmas cards this year. But that's ok, because we don't send cards at all. Slightly quixotically, we send little Christmas cakes. This year, I even made the marzipan myself. 150 would be

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-2781497322665537152009-11-25T23:11:00.002Z2009-11-25T23:19:30.164Z

We spent last week in the beautiful sitio real of La Granja de San Ildefonso near Segovia, a small but amazingly beautiful city around 100km from Madrid. Not only was the weather perfect but the speciality of the region is roast suckling pig. One restaurant even had a whole one sitting, a la Japanese restaurants except not made of plastic, in its window. Splatted piglet just doesn't entice.

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-4723560284871352842009-11-09T21:40:00.005Z2009-11-09T22:07:06.054Z

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Real Men Don't Eat Quiche. This is going to lead to disappointment tonight one way or another, because this is what we're having for supper:It's my very first attempt at quiche and either the Man is going to be disappointed because he's Real and will have to go supperless, or (far worse) I will be disappointed because he's not a Real Man!Anyway, I'm

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-72776467202265258952009-10-29T22:56:00.003Z2009-11-01T22:12:27.889Z

The parents of one of the Man's colleagues have an orchard. Or possibly just an apple tree, but at any rate, they had surplus apples this autumn, which somehow made their way to my kitchen, just in time for me to try out the newly-discovered tarte tatin possibilities of my silicone-handled skillets.Tonight I bumped into the reality that one should pay very careful attention to the instructions in

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-88701406233184034022009-10-19T20:46:00.004Z2009-10-19T20:58:02.859Z

Two simple mistakes and I ruined what could have been a masterpiece. The first was that I forgot to keep my pantry stocked, so when I came to make this hazelnut tart, I had no plain flour.Not a problem, I thought. I'll use wholewheat flour. That'll be grand.I'd forgotten the salutary experience of an evening at a local restaurant in Ireland where the chef had decided on a whim to make wholewheat

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-56889175607314512112009-10-03T21:30:00.004Z2009-10-03T21:40:29.918Z

One of the things I love most about food is how magic it is. Most of this is the kind of chemistry that happens when you boil an egg - clear liquid goo goes solid and white. When you add flour to melted butter and it forms a runny sauce, then you add liquid and it solidifies. You put cake batter into the oven and it disappears, leaving a cake in its place.This is all magic where it feels like you

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-13147155393129432572009-09-24T19:27:00.003Z2009-09-24T19:41:03.053Z

I have often wondered why there aren't more positive words for smells. There are lots of unpleasant words - stench, stink, mephitic, acrid, putrid - a few neutral or context-specific - pungent, earthy, sharp - and a handful of not very specific pleasant ones, such as aromatic and fragrant.This is in spite of the power of smell to make us happy, to trigger memories, to influence us. People trying

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-27183874376341544782009-09-17T19:43:00.006Z2009-09-17T20:09:03.143Z

I have mentioned before that my job has certain perks and that I take shameless advantage of the culinary ones.The latest was outstanding. I was invited to a dinner at the chef's table in Gordon Ramsay in Claridges, with the head sommelier (a champagne specialist), a delightful Italian waiter called Lello, the head chef, the senior sous chef and various other functionaries dancing smiling

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-4782955955867487302009-09-01T20:09:00.003Z2009-09-01T20:18:13.209Z

Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake, Baker's man,Bake me a cake as fast as you can.Perhaps my parents sang this to me too often in my cradle. There has to be some reason for my compulsion to bake cakes.Last night I decided my colleagues had gone too long with no cake or cookies, so I bought some blueberries and made Blueberry Streusel Cake from one of my favourite websites.Streusel is a staple of American

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-84372291343754453062009-08-26T19:46:00.003Z2009-08-26T19:54:01.948Z

You may remember my soup resolution - I haven't managed three times a week yet, but we did have soup twice last week. The second was a very elaborate sweetcorn and red chilli chowder, which I made with six ears of fresh corn.Sweetcorn always astounds me in how it lives up to its name, although I'm not convinced it's always a good thing how sweet it is. Sometimes it feels a little as though it's

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-62881936844041183262009-08-20T21:24:00.007Z2009-08-21T18:28:24.499Z

Have I told you about my arbitrary garden? For Christmas I was given a lovely wooden windowbox, containing nursery-bought thyme and sage, transplanted chives, mint and rosemary and a completely rogue tomato seedling. The thyme and sage fell early victims to my habit of forgetting to water them. The chives, mint and rosemary have survived but bear the ravages of the ordeal. The rogue seedling is

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-30938841680295674402009-08-20T21:12:00.006Z2009-08-20T21:23:41.588Z

The Kitchen Accomplice is very firmly a London girl, but even she enjoyed the freedom of my uncle's vegetable garden in Ireland. We were staying with my cousins, who live in the comfortable half of the house, but with full access to the garden. There we dug potatoes and horseradish, pulled carrots and beets, collected cauliflower and cabbage, even courgettes.In the greenhouse, we found perfectly

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-79021397763044053752009-08-18T21:03:00.002Z2009-08-18T21:06:00.546Z

My sister got married recently. Here is what she ate for lunch beforehand. Don't you think that's the most inappropriate lunch for a blushing bride?

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-67914815770486146242009-08-17T20:38:00.004Z2009-08-18T21:06:47.937Z

I am not a big soup fan in general, but recently I have decided to reconsider this principle.One thing that inspired this was a delicious carrot and coriander soup made by my lovely cousin Lindis - I have spent some twenty years avoiding carrot and coriander soup, but this was so delicious I had to have second helpings. I have also perhaps reached an age where comforting food that is nevertheless

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-54703043357157969902009-06-29T20:58:00.003Z2009-06-29T21:06:14.922Z

Happy Parisians sit in the street, Talking of what they have ate and will eat - that's me, or used to be.I have always scorned people who were bored with food, uninterested, only treated it as fuel, not bothered about what they ate. Apart from one very brief period of trauma in my life, when I barely ate for about a week, and didn't regain my appetite properly for several months, I have always

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-32119649923331951612009-06-24T21:31:00.005Z2009-06-24T21:46:45.866Z

While discussing the limits and attraction of representationalism, Terry Eagleton asks: "Why do we take delight in an image of a pork chop which looks exactly like a pork chop?"My answer is: "I'm not sure, but I take delight in a pork chop itself because it smells like a pork chop. And tastes like one."Tonight we had a very simple supper - grilled pork chops with a sauce made of mustard and sour

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-41121690268096112052009-06-18T20:53:00.003Z2009-06-18T21:04:54.567Z

I made this last weekend, my first ever attempt at making sorbet. It was remarkably successful, given that it was done at the last minute, with no special equipment and a tiny and overcrowded freezer to make it in.Darina Allen's Lemon Balm SorbetFor four people; small, delicate servings110g sugar300ml water1 large handful of lemon balm leavesfreshly squeezed juice of 1 1/2 lemonsBring the water,

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-37811022243972700702009-06-15T18:20:00.003Z2009-06-15T18:37:06.727Z

Luckily it didn't occur to me till after the fact that the cheese fondue is surely the dish of the film The Ice Storm. It's one of my favourite films ever, but mostly because it makes you not want to do anything the characters do EVER.Anyway, we were having people to supper on a weekend when the Accomplice was around, so I asked her if there were anything she would like to see on the menu -

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-21708747222459063112009-06-09T21:16:00.003Z2009-06-09T21:29:35.441Z

This is boasting by proxy - I'm showing off about what fantastic cooks my friends are. Friends of ours, M and K, invited us to dinner last weekend. M has been on a diet (they're getting married in seven weeks) so he's been starving himself for a while. And so, as you can imagine, he spent a whole lot of daydream time planning the menu.After copious amounts of champagne, we started with a lamb

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-47512133665393970042009-06-08T07:44:00.003Z2009-06-08T07:49:26.731Z

I like to be inventive with the odds and ends in my fridge - sometimes it's not even very difficult to work out what to do with some leftover blueberries and some rather elderly yoghurt. Smoothies for breakfast - what could go wrong?So I whisked them up with my magic soup gun and laid the breakfast table while the Man was still in the shower. Since that can be up to 40 minutes before he is ready

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-24958669441949171192009-06-02T20:38:00.003Z2009-06-02T20:47:07.601Z

Everything I've ever read about quinoa tells you how to pronounce it, so I'm not going to add my mispronunciation to the general melee.I had always assumed it was horrible, or at least indigestible, just like all the other stodgy, worthy stomach-ache-inducing foods health fiends try to persuade one to eat. But recently Jane, a blogger whose taste I trust, said she had cooked quinoa for dinner

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-57068184189014486292009-06-01T19:42:00.004Z2009-06-01T21:02:49.185Z

When I worked at Neal's Yard Dairy, one of my favourite dishes was Coolea cheese melted on Staffordshire oatcakes - this was easy to have for lunch given the ingredients were to hand and our only cooking equipment was a George Forman grill.Ever since, I have a tendency to buy the oatcakes approximately every third time I go into the dairy. Unfortunately I don't have a grill at home, the Man is

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-54179952392941282772009-04-30T16:58:00.005Z2009-04-30T17:13:10.577Z

I am feeling very mediocre cooking-wise at the moment. An impulsive foray into the world of macaroons resulted only in flat things that looked like dollshouse cowpats and refused to come away from the greaseproof paper. In the same weekend, the Kitchen Accomplice made perfect double chocolate chip cookies, delectable raspberry sorbet and the most beautiful-looking pink grapefruit marmalade you

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-87598201817199749662009-04-23T20:05:00.004Z2009-04-23T20:32:07.979Z

When my cousin Thomas was small, our mutual grandmother was concerned he was eating too much junk food. As a moral lesson, she trained her Pekinese dogs to do a new trick. You put a piece of food (they particularly liked bits of Victoria sponge) in front of them and said 'Junk food'. They would sneer. 'Crisps' - the same reaction. 'Burgers', 'chicken nuggets', 'chips' or 'biscuits' would all be

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-28673482394252951772009-04-22T21:33:00.004Z2009-04-22T21:43:46.082Z

Remember my valentine cake? Made (partly) out of red velvet cake? Well, I thought it was time to try out the cake properly.It's a funny thing with baking soda and vinegar - surely they cancel each other out? I used this recipe for red velvet cake - which I won't repost here - from one of my favourite baking websites.The recipe calls for pints and pints of extraordinarily rich 'creamcheese

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-18770751661832688452009-04-21T19:49:00.004Z2009-04-21T19:55:49.346Z

When I get home after work, I am greeted at the door by two furry kitties. They surge around me as I climb the stairs, squeaking their greeting. On Thursdays, the feeling of welcome is hugely enhanced by the presence of the Kitchen Accomplice and the consequent delightful aroma of baking that greets me alongside the felines.I'm not that much of a cake eater, but who could resist these tiny jam

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-48884948335276337122009-04-19T20:52:00.004Z2009-04-19T21:07:18.502Z

Although the Kitchen Accomplice loves spicy food, it is never a good idea to try pleasing her with curries, because she just compares it with her grandmother's and dismisses our poor efforts as 'bland, bland, bland'. This is particularly sad for the Man, who is quite proud of his tarka dal (not in the least bland to my mind). My plan is that we should have a cook-off - each of us has to produce a

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-15839162657927017632009-04-07T21:01:00.002Z2009-04-07T21:13:10.259Z

Although pasta with pesto is an easy and not too unhealthy supper, my heart always sinks at the thought. Unfortunately, it's all too frequent a solution to the problem of what to feed the Man and the Kitchen Accomplice if no planning ahead has been done - all too regular a situation.Last week I came up with an alternative, just a little bit less straightforward, significantly healthier and much

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-73184876689484530972009-03-16T19:07:00.006Z2009-03-16T19:59:42.815Z

Some time ago, I was given a cookie jar for work. That is to say, I as a journalist was sent this cookie jar as a freebie. It contained some digestive biscuits, which I gave to my colleagues, and I have entirely forgotten who sent it. Anyway, I keep it stocked with cookies of various sorts depending on whim.At the moment, the popular vote seems to be for ginger cookies, made with ground ginger,

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-34504355395190879892009-03-10T18:57:00.004Z2009-03-16T19:58:44.075Z

I'm normally a staunch member of the 'Down with Raisins' fraternity, but there is one exception. Tea bread, which is really cake made with raisins soaked in tea, somehow persuades me it is acceptable. Perhaps this is something to do with having been introduced to it by a very close friend when a teenager - not a boyfriend (always so much less romantic than the imagination), but a boy nevertheless

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-55522889552535854472009-02-15T21:16:00.002Z2009-02-15T21:24:29.153Z

The recipe for the elaborate Valentine's cake was a bit sketchy on some of the details, especially about amounts. This led to my making two layers of red velvet cake when only one was necessary and more than double the amount of cream cheese frosting.So I had the inspired idea of slicing the second layer into two very thin layers, then using a heart-shaped cookie cutter to make lots of little

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-14247162302989803062009-02-14T00:20:00.003Z2009-02-15T21:26:11.588Z

It's a little different from the Bakerella version. For a start, it's not as perfect or pretty. I'm not a perfectionist, which means that what I do is rarely to a very high standard. On the other hand, I do a lot of things, even if sometimes they are a bit slapdash. Another excuse for its less than perfect appearance is that I used marzipan instead of fondant to make the cardboard box. I've never

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-79410730447780564122009-02-10T22:10:00.002Z2009-02-10T22:19:30.283Z

I have very ambitious plans for a Valentine's day cake. Before you get all upset, I should reassure you that I haven't gone all soppy and conventionally romantic. This is pure self-indulgence as I take on a patisserie challenge. The Man will eat at most two or three slices, but if it works, I'll make it again the following week for a friends' wedding.Anyway, the idea comes from a random blog, (I

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-21879129992646418212009-02-09T21:30:00.002Z2009-02-09T22:12:38.562Z

Now, I hate to come over all Bah Humbug, but one of the downsides of Christmas is that there's all this traditional food and I don't like any of it.Turkey? Yuck. Dry and nasty-flavoured.Brussels sprouts? Euch. Bitter and watery.And mince pies, Christmas pudding, Christmas cake etc all have dried fruit in, making them a no-no from my point of view. Admittedly a picky point of view, but valid, I

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-32983586346857680722009-02-08T20:28:00.003Z2009-03-07T19:08:44.076Z

I haven't been posting much on the blog, partly because things have been busy at work, what with the end of the world as we know it (I'm a financial journalist) and partly because I'm having to fight for space in the kitchen.My wonderful stepdaughter is going through a manic baking phase, which has the unexpected consequence that she has a devoted fan club both in my place of work and her

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-77781411654013612002008-07-31T21:07:00.003Z2008-07-31T21:15:25.291Z

Is it fair for a restaurant to have only a set menu, admittedly with a wide and excellent array of choices, but with only a three course option?If you didn't want a large and elaborate pudding after two delicious but substantial savoury courses, the options were to pay a £4 supplement for cheese, or accept that you've paid £40 for two courses.This does not seem entirely fair play to me. I suppose

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-36895070615578310132008-07-29T22:10:00.003Z2008-12-10T01:32:54.173Z

Growing up with American children’s books, I have an image of fruit pies as the epitome of healthful plenty. Peach pie, apple pie, blueberry pie. They must have beautiful golden crusts, possibly with latticed tops and come with thick cream. Ideally they are made with fruit that you have picked yourself, and obviously they must be made by a plump and smiling housewife.I had never eaten such a

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-11469477415251890762008-07-16T22:54:00.002Z2008-07-16T23:10:47.815Z

I have always had a difficult relationship with breakfast, although now that I no longer have to go to school or a job I hate, it has become easier.Nevertheless, it is hard to settle on a working-day breakfast that makes me happy (weekend breakfasts are another thing altogether and a joy to consider).At the moment the steady compromise is muesli with milk and a mug of black coffee.The milk is a

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-70274062169736288002008-07-07T21:11:00.002Z2008-07-07T21:42:52.080Z

According to One who Knows, food in Turkey is all about the salad. The meat is good, but a bit same-old, same-old after a while. The really exciting thing is the salad, made from ultra-fresh fruit and vegetables, grown full of flavour under the Mediterranean sun.Here in Dalston, it's all about the meat. Our nearest restaurant is luckily also one of the best. Mangal 1, so-called to distinguish it

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-11655992631291468602008-07-03T20:45:00.002Z2008-12-10T01:32:54.391Z

One of my discoveries this summer has been how well Berkswell cheese goes with asparagus. Berkswell is an English sheep's cheese, a little like Manchego. It is mild and sweet, like most sheep's cheese, with a subtle nuttiness that means its flavour flows into that of the asparagus without a harsh contrast like that of Parmesan.Tonight I was taken with the idea of simple luxury, so we had

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-19311177590774826512008-07-02T21:30:00.003Z2008-12-10T01:32:54.534Z

When I was about ten, I had an impassioned argument with my father about which was better, strawberries or raspberries. At the time, I couldn't understand how anyone could fail to accept the supremacy of strawberries, so sweet and juicy, warm from the sun.Hot, sticky hours picking raspberries for my grandmother had left me prickled by the canes and covered in horrid little orange mites. I had no

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-81338138271990940112008-06-16T06:59:00.003Z2008-12-10T01:32:54.959Z

I am always impatient for the seasons to change. I love the liminal, the edge seasons of spring and autumn, but what I like most is the changing, spying signs of a difference, leaves, flowers, fruit, that weren’t there yesterday. A tang in the air as autumn approaches or the realisation that the watery sunshine now has some power in it.One of my favourite signs of summer is the creamy white

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-86028786419790312692008-05-27T22:48:00.002Z2008-05-27T23:02:13.175Z

Sung to the tune of 'Clementine':Found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut just now.Just now I found a peanut, found a peanut just now.It was rotten, it was rotten, it was rotten just now.Just now, it was rotten, it was rotten just now.Ate it anyway......Got a stomach ache...Called the doctor...Penicillin...Didn't work...Operation...Died Anyway...Went to Heaven...Wouldn't take me...Went the

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-14899118695702405532008-05-20T20:57:00.003Z2008-12-10T01:32:55.679Z

One of the joys of living in Dalston, a not particularly salubrious but lively neighbourhood in Hackney, east London, is breakfast in the many Turkish and Kurdish cafés around.My current favourite is Café Evin (which I think means 'home' in Turkish). The chief attraction of this particular venue is that there are two lovely women called Fatma sitting in the window all morning making goezleme or

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-42861962185158211192008-05-15T21:06:00.003Z2008-05-15T21:19:27.013Z

We've been on a bit of a health drive in Compulsive Cookery Towers, so I've been struggling to think how to cook meals that are low fat, low salt but still not depressing. It's not easy.As with all cooking, good ingredients are key. Skinned chicken thighs from my favourite poulterer are surprisingly good fried in a dry pan: luckily I have excellent non-stick pans. Tonight's meal was typical (of

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-12520752242474539272008-04-29T20:59:00.003Z2008-12-10T01:32:55.834Z

One of the best things about my job is the gastronomic opportunities allied to being a financial journalist. The most reliable source of delicious catering has been BNP Paribas Securities Services, a division of France's largest bank that does things that no sane human being is interested in. Bizarrely, they have some very nice people working for them, and they throw excellent parties.Tonight's

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-42589656703920660652008-04-28T22:46:00.003Z2008-04-28T23:05:37.763Z

Tapas or 'grazing menus' are very fashionable in London at the moment, which I have always found difficult, as a greedy person. I tend to feel short-changed when I don't get a whole main course, ideally with several side dishes.In Spain, it works quite well. You go into a bar; it's easy to find a seat. Then you order drinks and point to several different little dishes, which will fill in the

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-48984719131502853562008-04-28T22:28:00.002Z2008-04-28T22:31:00.799Z

Hello everyone. Sorry for the long silence. I've eaten a lot in the meantime, although I haven't been cooking anything interesting, as work has been a bit demanding. But I'm back now and plan to keep you all updated on all the delicious food and fascinating foodie thoughts that occur to me.

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-18951084844423714882007-12-29T22:12:00.002Z2009-03-07T19:10:02.195Z

My current favourite kitchen accomplice is vegetarian, doesn't like courgettes, aubergines or mushrooms, and has a very precise palate. There's no point trying to slip parsley or coriander into a dish - the Accomplice will notice and pick them out. If she doesn't like the food offered, she politely declines; if an idea is mooted that she doesn't approve of, such as anything with raisins in, she

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-72776477536313536212007-11-30T19:51:00.000Z2007-11-30T20:06:16.739Z

On paper, the new (ish) restaurant chain Leon seems like a Good Thing. It uses organic food, makes it fresh, offers a comfortable space to hang out in that is open all day and serves coffee, food and beer at any time.So far, so good. Their fresh lemonade is nice and their coffee not bad. And all of their food is entirely unappetising to me. I felt like a complete grouch as I scanned the menu. For

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-7803055830500154002007-10-28T22:43:00.000Z2007-10-28T22:48:44.927Z

When I was little, we often used to have melted cheese on toast, which we called Cheese Dreams. There is a smidgin of truth in the theory that cheese gives you nightmares: apparently eating cheese just before going to sleep can increase your amount of REM sleep, during which you dream. This does not alter the proportions of normal dreams to nightmares, but if you are prone to bad dreams, they are

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-35111645444828462642007-10-09T21:57:00.000Z2007-10-09T22:09:53.134Z

There were two secret ingredients that made this evening's cottage pie delicious. Having put some potatoes on to boil, I set to work to make comfort food.I chopped and fried an onion and a carrot in beef dripping from Sunday's roast. When they were soft, I added a couple of chopped portobella mushrooms, and put some salt and black pepper in the mix. Then I ground the leftover beef, mixed it in

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-17835176723508655122007-10-08T20:34:00.000Z2007-10-08T20:37:48.835Z

Remember my search for Israeli couscous? I finally found a good source: the Sainsbury in the Kingsland shopping centre. It has a Jewish foods section (about two feet of shelving, but it counts), and when I went to buy noodles for savoury kugel, I discovered Israeli couscous on special offer. I hope that doesn't mean they were discontinuing the line. It went remarkably well with mutton chops and

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-37466413790392450332007-10-05T22:09:00.000Z2007-10-05T22:12:13.053Z

Do you eat with your eyes? Does the appearance of the food matter more than the flavour, and can you tell the difference? This is the question posed by Clerkenwell restaurant, Dans le Noir, where diners eat in a blacked out dining room, served by blind waiters. Not an original concept – there are similar establishments in Amsterdam, Paris and Berlin – it is nonetheless intriguing.And not a little

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-52672492755180188912007-05-21T18:13:00.000Z2007-05-21T18:37:52.365Z

This post is a couple of months late, for which I apologise. I spent a delightful weekend in southern Sweden with my friend Kamila and her cousin Helena. It was a musical interlude, as Kamila was singing the lead role in a modern opera, I did some voice recording for a Finnish composer and we had to watch the Swedish competition for the national Eurovision entry 2007.Last week the actual

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-21109481781505986462007-05-02T10:39:00.000Z2007-05-02T10:40:01.337Z

Cafeteria food never sounds very appealing. Usually, its USP is the convenience of being able to eat without leaving the building. A tide of increasingly high standards for food in London, however, seems to have lifted even this waterlogged boat. One restaurant previously enthusiastically reviewed in this column, Delfina, started life as a canteen serving a set of artists’ studios, and another

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-64980812059843204142007-03-12T20:47:00.000Z2007-03-12T20:49:43.642Z

Apparently Eau de Stilton was just setting the trend. I have found a new set of his'n'hers perfumes made by the Wines of Spain promotional board. Women get some grape I can't remember and men get Tempranillo. Q. Who goes out wearing wine and cheese scents? 'A. People who want to smell like me without putting on weight!

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-58480124207911100762007-03-12T20:46:00.000Z2007-03-12T20:47:14.487Z

I think I might be a Swede, really. For lunch today I had herring and mild cheese on black bread and enjoyed it. Do you think there are support groups for this?

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-80809409439520374682007-02-02T19:44:00.000Z2007-02-02T19:51:50.026Z

Some people regard the City of London as an exclusive club, a closed system that is inimical to outsiders, and in some senses, they are right.The advantage of this, on a social level, is that once you are in, you are in and no questions asked.For years, I have longed to visit one of the great institutions of the City, Sweetings fish restaurant, but was always put off by the fact that it is so

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-36127222944249727592007-01-29T22:39:00.000Z2007-01-29T22:42:24.050Z

What do you want for your birthday? What should he pick up in duty free to make you happy?A bottle of expensive perfume - Eau de Stilton would be perfect.Isn't it sad that it's ten months till my birthday?And do you think they make a bubble bath?

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-14014826431617149452007-01-25T22:38:00.000Z2007-01-25T22:40:01.549Z

One of the greatest cheese debates is whether it matters if you make the cheese with raw or pasteurised milk. Food safety and taste are the two main heads on which people argue, but in the case of cheeses that are PDO (protected denomination of origin), it may in fact be a business issue.I recently tried a new unpasteurised blue cheese. Not just new to me, but an experiment on the part of its

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-37178938318181660212007-01-18T09:03:00.000Z2007-01-18T09:20:53.433Z

Over the last month or so, I've been far too busy cooking and eating to find time for writing on compulsivecook. Among the highlights have been a fabulous roast of beef on Christmas Day, a ten course meal on New Year's Eve near Nice, including a traditional Saarland-style barbecue where the marinaded pork was laid on a circular grill suspended spinning above the coals and a whole heap of foie

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-20320000690602629822006-12-12T21:48:00.000Z2008-12-10T01:32:56.753Z

They were labelled 'Egg Mushrooms, England' on the stall, and they do indeed look quite ovular. Touch them, however, and the impression changes. Their velvety skin encloses a thick layer of gel surrounding a small firm capsule. The people on the stall had no idea as to what they might be, how to cook them or whether they might be palatable. Naturally I filled a brown paper bag and set off to

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-71351493329928564042006-12-10T21:50:00.000Z2006-12-10T21:54:53.624Z

Have you ever looked forward to something so much that you were sure it couldn't live up to expectations? Eating at Heston Blumenthal's restaurant the Fat Duck was one of those experiences for me, but he didn't let me down.Nestled in a small town half an hour by train from London, the Fat Duck looks unpretentious to the point of being self-effacing from the outside. On entering, you are conscious

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-50541382470250051082006-11-22T21:52:00.001Z2006-11-22T21:52:59.615Z

There are occasional campaigns to revive the British tradition of eating mutton, but they never seem to get very far. This doesn’t seem too surprising, given that the British seem to value tenderness in lamb far above flavour, although that may also explain why the mutton stalwarts continue to fight the good fight.Having spent years failing to find lamb in the UK that carries the savoury depth of

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-875279188001127422006-11-19T17:25:00.000Z2006-11-19T17:33:57.065Z

This delightful Italian deli gives the impression to the casual customer that it is most interested in salami and different hams (to great effect), and the counter of cheese at the back can seem like an afterthought. However, take a step back and it's clear that the owners have a fine sense of priorities.CHEESE NEVER SLEEPS!I'm not at all sure that I know what this means, but it feels like my

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-45124060979227753842006-11-01T15:48:00.000Z2006-11-01T15:52:09.581Z

I have mentioned my favourite cookbook, The Joy of Cooking, before, and I may even have written about the difficulty of choosing between the different editions available. There is now a new version,, but the reviews don't convince me that it's worth getting one sent over from the States specially. This review doesn't mention that there is also a UK version of the 1997 edition - but if you're that

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-15050512532663460742006-10-24T19:23:00.000Z2006-10-24T19:31:51.862Z

Tolkien’s hobbits were inordinately fond of mushrooms. Although I don’t think of myself as hobbit-like in any other way, I sometimes worry that there is something sinister about how much I like eating fungus. My first experience of eating fresh truffles was at a reception held by a French investment bank. I couldn’t tell you which one, anymore than I can remember anything about the speech that

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-2124342396382428242006-10-19T19:58:00.000Z2006-10-19T20:16:46.530Z

The morning after a delightful evening at which my wine-writer friend supplied the drink and my affineur friend the cheese, I opened the fridge to get butter for toast. Even though the fridge door was only open for perhaps thirty seconds, this was long enough for an invisible fume of dank, drain-like smell to escape, hover a minute or so in the kitchen, then wind its poisonous way through the

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-83432256386405385062006-10-18T19:49:00.000Z2006-10-18T19:58:21.377Z

I had all sorts of clever and profound things to say about the importance of introducing children to good food early on. I was also planning to boast about my friend who devoted a large amount of her maternity leave to steaming and puréeing organic fruit and vegetables, then freezing them in ice-cube trays so that Baby Louis would be able to have gourmet mixtures at every meal (apparently six

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-25570144916151905972006-10-16T19:39:00.000Z2006-10-16T19:46:11.672Z

One of the best things I have ever heard on radio was yesterday's Food Programme on BBC Radio 4. This is partly because it was dedicated to the potato, a topic close to my heart, but mostly because they were featuring an entirely straight-faced report on the 6th annual Festival for the Recognition of Sauté Potatoes with Onions as a Main Dish. Go to the website, listen again, and never again

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-44513126831711544422006-10-16T19:21:00.000Z2006-10-16T19:37:58.857Z

Have you ever noticed that, in languages other than the irrepressibly irregular English, it is the most commonly used verbs that are least regular? To a student, this can seem like a willfully excluding trait, putting the highest hurdle first; but of course it is perfectly understandable that the words that are most used are those that get rubbed into different shapes. Those shapes may seem

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1160514285467494592006-10-10T20:58:00.000Z2006-10-10T21:08:09.923Z

Thank you to Mat, who tracked down real Israeli couscous for me! It’s simple to cook and tastes exactly as it does at the Table, where I first came across it. Now my only query is: what is the other stuff that I found? It’s more porous than the Israeli couscous and took forever to cook. It might be nice as a thickening in stew, I suppose, if one liked that kind of thing.

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1160467598435459692006-10-10T08:04:00.000Z2006-10-10T08:06:38.450Z

My grandmother, continually angry at being forbidden the high cholesterol of full fat dairy produce, reminisces about the days in the 1950s when her farming household consumed two pounds of butter a day. “One for your grandfather and one for the rest of the men.”For the last forty years or so of his life, she never spoke to and rarely of my grandfather, so this snippet was memorable. She doesn’t

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1160339813497607552006-10-08T20:33:00.000Z2006-10-08T20:36:53.510Z

A colleague of mine recently went to the restaurant Dans le Noir, where blind staff serve you in the dark. She reported that it was disappointing to discover that her other senses were not stimulated by the deprivation of sight, and that she would not care to repeat the experiment.‘Experiment’ is my word, and expresses the only way I think one could approach such an experience. Such temporary

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1160092407636911362006-10-05T23:52:00.000Z2006-10-07T13:22:43.090Z

Charles Campion is indubitably an accomplished restaurant reviewer, while only the most embittered begrudger would claim that Heston Blumenthal is other than a gifted and massively dedicated chef.Campion however seemed blind to one of the most basic issues surrounding food, while Blumenthal was adept at avoiding the question of why Campion’s teenage children seemed open-minded at a sixteenth

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1160091408504543382006-10-05T23:34:00.001Z2006-10-05T23:36:48.516Z

Tonight I went to hear a demi-god of contemporary cooking and was confronted with a veritable god of the pantheon. Evening Standard reviewer Charles Campion was soi-disant ‘warm-up’ for Heston Blumenthal, who casually referrred to ‘Harold’ in the audience. This was Harold McGee, author of McGee on Food & Cooking, for whose signature I queued up with a collection of similarly awestruck foodies. I

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1160052025823065002006-10-05T12:38:00.000Z2006-10-05T12:40:25.836Z

"If you take school dinners,Better set 'em aside.A lot of kids didn't.A lot of kids died."There is a lot of debate about school dinners going on in the UK at the moment, but it can be hard for a foreigner to engage with it.How shocking we are supposed to think it that there are schools that have no kitchen at all! But no school I ever went to in Ireland had a kitchen. The more luxurious ones had

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159917707028049422006-10-03T23:15:00.000Z2006-10-04T07:20:41.746Z

03/10/2006 Originally uploaded by clashsophia. What a great evening! This is why I like living in London, against all the odds. This evening had three excellent events, so my only problem was to decide which of them I could get to and which had to fall by the wayside.It started with a drinks party at Nobu, where the canapés lived up to expectations and my glass of champagne seemed

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159815569847727712006-10-02T18:55:00.000Z2006-10-02T18:59:29.863Z

I have always been a fan of gathering the wealth of the hedgerows, although I may have been a little spoilt by the ready availability of sorrel, blackberries, raspberries and fraughans (the Irish word for little wild blueberries) along the little-used roads surrounding the farm where I grew up.Even in London, I am not to be deterred from gathering nature’s bounty: gallons of elderflower cordial

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159544520958747172006-09-29T15:40:00.000Z2006-09-29T15:42:00.973Z

As a teenager I maintained a feverish correspondance with a friend that involved all sorts of games about decorating the envelopes in various ways.At one point she unearthed a collection of vegetal poems that made their way to me, one on the back of each letter. I have forgotten them all, but the image of the glamourous aubergine in its purple zootsuit lingers.As an adult I have managed to calm

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159481292038015002006-09-28T22:07:00.000Z2006-09-28T22:08:12.060Z

The main reason I took the Billingsgate course was that I have always felt intimidated by the idea of buying, preparing and cooking fish; I hoped that being shown exactly what needs to be done to a fish would give me confidence when faced with a fishmonger’s slab.Yesterday I put this to the test, buying sea bream and accompanying ingredients , asking the fishmonger just to scale the fish (I did

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159303779606464612006-09-26T20:30:00.000Z2006-09-26T20:49:39.670Z

This is a heavily adapted version of the recipe for Spaghetti Bolognese in my favourite cookbook of all time, The Joy of Cooking.Joy of Cooking Spaghetti Bolognese2 rashers of bacon1 carrot1 onionbutter500g mince2 tbsp tomato purée2/3 cup stock or white winestrip of lemon peel2 bay leavesgrated nutmeg100ml double creamMince or chop finely the first three ingredients and fry them gently in butter

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159272270171156272006-09-26T11:46:00.000Z2006-09-26T12:04:31.153Z

Last night I offered to cook, planning nothing elaborate. However, the Man said he wouldn't be free till 9 o'clock (which translates in real time as 'Sometime before ten, probably') so I ended up with a couple of hours on my hands.Most people would sensibly use this time to catch up on other important tasks, calling friends, relaxing with a book or a film. Foolish compulsive cooks see this as an

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159121042596246242006-09-24T17:35:00.000Z2006-09-24T18:04:02.700Z

Apparently it was a duchess (Anna, Duchess of Bedford) who invented the tradition of afternoon tea to help her through the longueurs of the eighteenth century. “A sinking feeling” around four or five could be staved off by having tea and some light snacks brought to her room.Its place in English culture is undisputed, but for the Anglo-Irish it could be seen as even more emblematic. Allegedly

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1159012427734044972006-09-23T11:53:00.000Z2006-09-23T11:53:47.746Z

At the moment, food seems to be the subject of much media debate here in the UK, and is possibly even a common topic in discussions between real people.Mostly these are positive debates that look at aspects of food and people’s attitudes to it, but recently there is also a thread of the argument that says “Food is just functional. Just shut up and eat.”In some ways this is a compelling argument.

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1158878667042375482006-09-21T22:40:00.000Z2006-09-21T22:44:27.113Z

Yesterday’s silence was due to utter but happy exhaustion after a day at the Billingsgate Seafood Training School . Rising at five is not my favourite way to start the day, and I wouldn’t normally consider eating jellied eel before eight o’clock in the morning, but it was all part of a wonderful day learning more than you would have thought possible in a single morning on the subject of

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22794423.post-1158695917635016532006-09-19T19:43:00.000Z2006-09-19T19:58:37.726Z

With twenty minutes to kill between lunch in a Lebanese fast food joint on the Edgeware Road and a press conference near Marble Arch, I decided to have a coffee. Instead of resorting to a coffee-chain such as I could patronise any day, it seemed like a nice idea to go to a little independent café on New Quebec St. It seemed promising that the waitress greeted the customer ahead of me familiarly,

Compulsive Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935009989272161236noreply@blogger.com0