Voodoo Doughnut, or life in the hole

There are two locations -

Voodoo Doughnut: 22nd SW Third Ave, Portland, OR
Voodoo Doughnut Too: 1501 NE Davis, Portland, OR

They say at Voodoo Doughnut the magic is in the hole, but what they don't tell you is that the area around the hole should be treated with love too. So don't go rushing in. Enjoy what you are about to be given. Every city has its places with a cult following - the pig out joints, the family favourites, the eateries that have been there since time began, and the drunken stumble that satisfies those food urges that you can only have at three o'clock in the morning after many, many drinks.

I've no doubt that 'Cat Daddy' (a.k.a. Kenneth) wouldn't thank me for describing Voodoo as a drunk hangout, but his two outposts are open twenty-four and twenty-one hours respectively so at certain times of the day, it's inevitable! I met the Cat at his newest venture, Voodoo Doughnut Too, which is out of downtown Portland in the residential north-east quadrant of the city. Opened at the start of this year on the fifth anniversary of trading, by a thousand person parade, you can't miss it, even if you wanted to. It's hot pink - always an eye catcher - and the interior is a kooky mix of schoolroom tables, coffin shaped sofas, pinball machines and blazing techno music. At certain times of the year, weather permitting, the Cat has held rock concerts, drive in cinemas and lets not forget that you can also be legally married there. That's right. Marriage vows and doughnuts. With a raised eyebrow and flaring nose I thought - after all, why not? Then came the stories of various doughnut related contests - a classic eating contest as well as a 'how many doughnuts can you stack on your penis' contest. "The official record is four", Cat told me "but one guy had five. He was disqualified for having a pierced appendage."

You should be able to discern that this is a very 'different' place. At times it feels as though the owners (the other being an unmet Trase Shannon) go out of their way to be deviant (before deciding upon doughnuts they considered, among other things, a vintage car tour of Portland, or a mother-in-law babysitting service). If you want to open a business, why be boring? Yet as fun and exciting as all the paraphernalia is, there's no point in titillation without the end product. This was a major concern to the Cat. "I had a background in bars, hotel management and the service industry" he said "but had never done any full scale culinary work. So the first thing we had to do was find out how to make doughnuts." Seems fair, I thought. They set out for Los Angeles, California where they learned how to handle a rolling pin and when to throw the flour, before returning to Portland. Here they refined, adapted, created and spun their own designs to create the signature Voodoo collection. They also tried a myriad of oils to be more 'healthy' but eventually Cat simply though "Sod it, it's a doughnut. It's supposed to be bad for you." Amen to that, brother. The rest, as they say, is history.

They were schooled well. I opted to try the classics: a simple glazed doughnut and an iced chocolate doughnut. If these were not right, I thought, what hope was there for the 'triple chocolate penetration', the 'butter fingering' or the 'cock and balls'? Of course, they were right. Slightly chewy but as soft as a baby's behind. Not too sweet, but sweet enough. I could have done three more, put it that way. I felt a little staid but well over fifty percent of doughnuts sold at Voodoo are the classics. Yet MORE evidence that people want simple food, done well. And in any case I was given a 'maple bar with bacon' for my travels and a more adventurous frame of mind.

All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable hour. The man had a dream and he's realised it. But a warning: even the seemingly timeless doughnut is not immune from global economic fluctuations. "Last year, the price of a sack of flour tripled." Cat mentioned, looking uncharacteristically serious. "If we can get Voodoo Too through the next six months, we'll be fine." Cue much gulping and difficulty on my part. Not sure what to say. I suddenly saw bank managers making aggressive phone calls and the Cat losing his innate cool. But then, the product is so good, the reputation so strong and the trail to the door so well trodden that there will always be people who want an old-school, fun, cheap date. I'll be taking the woman. And if you ever come to Portland, make sure you do too!

Unless you are a woman, in which case take your man, obviously!

Snow at Simpatica

You know things are hairy when your plane lands and everyone starts clapping. As we touched down into Portland, Oregon for Christmas at the in-laws, the visibility was so poor that we didn't know we were on the ground......until we were on the ground. Oregon is currently experiencing the biggest snowfall in forty years, which as far as I'm concerned is utterly wonderful and beautiful. It's re-igniting childhood fantasies of sleds on powder-soft snow, or giant snowmen with coal for belly-buttons.

I've eaten some great food since I've been here. Getting to Sel Gris was in itself a mission - cars in the Pacific Northwest are not designed for freezing rain and fifteen inches of cold snap - but once there it was well worth it. Being one of only five tables that had braved the weather to meet their reservations, the kitchen had plenty of time to produce excellent food for us. The place describes itself as 'bistro-style' which I would query - the waiting staff were far too formal to be 'bistro' and the food, although interesting, was much more contemporary than I would expect of a bistro affair. My Lyonnaise Salad was deconstructed to the extent that the wonderful braised, smoked bacon was placed on the side, and poached duck egg was served on top of some warmed Frisee. The signature French salt was a fantastic touch on the egg. Don't get me wrong - it was delicious - but to my mind, not bistro. The place borders on becoming pretentious, and I've no doubt that head chef Daniel Mondok has deliberately kept a leash on his creative instincts as he is aware that great food is ultimately very simple. Technically, the food was brilliant. The flavours were great. But for me - and I must stress that everyone else at the table loved the place - it didn't feel entirely whole.

At the other end of the scale is Simpatica. This was a dining experience that I enjoyed thoroughly. Christmas Eve brunch - a rare hanger steak, eggs over easy and a celeriac gratin - was utterly fantastic. The beef had a beautiful flavour and was tender although very bloody and the gratin was an inspired variation on the classic gratin dauphinoise. But the real clincher about Simpatica was the setting: the basement of an industrial warehouse, kitchen completely open, cooks in jeans and t-shirts, waitresses with big hearts and relaxed smiles. It felt somehow more real - and less forced. It felt as if someone was cooking purely for the love of cooking and letting the ingredients, many of them smoked and cured on the site of Simpatica's sister enterprise Viande Meats & Sausage, speak for themselves. It could have been the early morning bloody mary, but I felt utterly at home.

This is a key concept about good food. You must feel at home. If you're cooking for friends, cook what you crave, not what you think is expected. Don't go overboard - or do, if that's what you want. Take it easy. Relax.

A good book that puts this idea far more succinctly than I was given to me yesterday as a gift. It's called Roast Chicken and Other Stories. Give it a go if you get a chance.

Save Iceland, buy Skyr

As we all know the country of Iceland is going through some rather wobbly economic times at the moment. When I flew back from København I visited the currency exchange to get my hands on some US dollars and as I looked gingerly at the exchange rate - never a good idea in Denmark - I noticed that next to the Icelandic flag there was a line. Their currency has devalued so much that you can't actually buy or sell it! Their banks have collapsed, unemployment is rocketing and Britain even tried to use anti-terrorist laws to get it's money back. I've had a fascination for the place for many years but so far, no visit. As a child I would think: why on earth did people land there? It couldn't have been very promising could it? Furthermore, what did they find to eat, aside from fish? What could they grow? According to the Icelandic government website, traditional foods - thorramatur - include cured shark, singed sheep heads and "other delicacies".

But like many windswept people, heavily dependent on their cattle for survival, Iceland produces many excellent dairy products. One of the most common is Skyr, a type of thick yoghurt that has been strained from pasteurized, skimmed milk that has had rennet added. I came across Skyr for the first time yesterday and am now frantically trying to find out anything I can about it. The most information I could find is here. It is supremely high in protein, but tastes very 'clean' and ever so slightly sour. The usual rich, rounded flavour that you get from a typical yoghurt gives way to a milky, smooth texture that doesn't coat your mouth. It can be used in conjunction with both sweet and savoury flavours: last night I simply added some Acacia honey, this morning I made an open sandwich, the recipe is below.

Does anyone else know anything about Skyr? Perhaps there are some Icelanders out there who can give us some more details?

Open-Faced Chicken Sandwich with Skyr 'Mayonnaise'
Serves 2

Ingredients:
1 organic, free-range Chicken breast
1/2 Pink Lady Apple, sliced
Skyr, 1 dessert spoon
Horseradish, 1 teaspoon, grated
Wholegrain mustard, 1 teaspoon
A good handful Thyme leaves
Sour Dough bread, sliced
Maldon Sea Salt

Method:
1. Season your chicken breast and roast in a pre-heated oven at 180 degrees centigrade for 15 minutes, or until cooked through.
2. Meanwhile, mix the Skyr, mustard and horseradish together. Add a pinch of salt.
3. Once your chicken is cooked, remove the skin. Return the skin to the oven and render it until beautifully crisp.
4. Spread generously on a slice of Sour Dough.
5. Lay your sliced apple on top.
6. Slice your chicken breast on an angle, and lay on top of the apple.
7. Sprinkle with Thyme leaves and garnish with the crisp skin.

Five Guys = Burger Heaven

When one tries to define American cuisine, it's really impossible to do so. The Earth's most famous melting pot takes it's culinary influences from literally all over the world, and from almost every culture. Coupled with this being a relatively young country, a tangible American type of food really hasn't developed. If you had to choose one thing that America is famous for, it's probably going to be the burger, but even that has it's origins elsewhere with nineteenth century German immigrants bringing the "hamburger" along for their trip via the major port of, you guessed it, Hamburg. Since then, there have been numerous claims to who actually served the first hamburger, but for me the idea of the huddled masses clutching their cured beef between two slices of bread whilst braving the open waves of the Atlantic Ocean, destined for the 'new world' and who-knows-what is far, far more romantic. Although I'm sure they didn't think that at the time.

So from humble beginnings the hamburger - now known generically as the burger - has spread like wildfire all over the planet and is enjoyed daily by millions. As a consequence it seems to me that it has unwittingly developed a bad name. It's become a symbol for the globalized world, fast food and obesity. But the composite parts of a burger are actually perfectly healthy. Bread, fine. Salad, good. Ground beef, fine, and especially once it's cooked and the fat has been rendered out. Even Marco Pierre-White eats at McDonalds. So I think it's time to rise in defence of the burger, and stop assuming that it's a cardiac disaster. Now I'm not advocating that you eat a burger every day, as that ridiculous film 'Super Size Me' attests that people do. But as part of a balanced diet, then why not?

I occasionally eat at McDonalds. But by far the best burger I have eaten from a fast food joint was last night. Five Guys is a DC based burger franchise that over the last ten years has won numerous awards for the quality of what it serves, and you can see why. Good prices, delicious, never frozen hand made burgers, as many condiments as you want for free, and potato chips (from Idaho) that are cut daily and fried in peanut oil, giving them the most wonderful nutty brown colour and taste and then presented in these little cups. There was something honest about the food, and the people working there that instantly makes you relax. You just KNOW you're going to be fed well and as if to complete the picture, as I pulled apart my foil wrapped burger, the classic tones of Foreigner's "waiting for a girl like you" rang around the white-tiled walls. Perfection.

My Burger Recipe
Makes 2

Ingredients:
500g Minced Rump Steak, about 15% fat - add more if required.
2 Shallots, finely diced
A good handful of Thyme leaves
A good handful of Marjoram leaves
1 clove Garlic, crushed
A small squeeze of roasted Tomato puree
1 Egg, beaten
Maldon Sea Salt and Cracked Black Pepper

Method:
1. Pretty simple really. Place all the ingredients into a bowl and mix well. Get your hands in there. Then cover and chill in a fridge for about an hour. This is very important, it'll help the patties keep their shape.
2. Form into two patties. Brush them with olive oil, then fry on a lightly oiled non-stick pan for 4 minutes, either side. This should give you a medium finish.
3. Serve with whatever you like, but personally I eat mine with red onion marmalade and a soft blue cheese such as Dolcelatte.

Grits and Gingkos

There is a major crisis currently playing out on the streets of Washington DC. It is something that none of us, citizens or visitors alike are immune from. I caught my first whiff that there was a problem a few days when walking through the very cool neighbourhood of Adams-Morgan. No matter where I went, I could smell dog pooh. Needless to say I was getting completely paranoid. There were no traces of anything on my shoe, so was it me that was smelling? This went on every time I left the flat until eventually, this morning, over grits and a western omlette, I picked up the Washington Post. I was not alone. There have been record reports this year of the effect of the fruit from a Gingko tree that when dropped and crushed by passers by, smells like rancid butter. The district government even tried injecting the trees with 'massive hyperdermic needles' (imagine the scene) to prevent this - but it seems to have had the opposite effect. The trees have been bearing record levels of fruit. So we've got a few more weeks of flaring nostrils and quizzical looks at the soles of our shoes to endure yet.

As I said, I was eating brunch at the time when I was able to breath a huge sigh of relief. I didn't need to change my shower gel. Anyway, why can't people cook omlettes properly? This one wasn't bad, per say, in fact it was quite tasty. The smoked ham - cheddar cheese - green peppers - onions combination was quite satisfying. But it wasn't cooked properly. And by properly I mean slightly under-set in the centre. While I was at Ballymaloe, we learned that an omlette should take less than a minute to make once it hits the pan. Any longer and you know it's probably going to be too set, as was this. The grits however, were a revelation. A strange texture, somewhere between polenta and cous-cous, served very wet. They need seasoning and I can quite imagine serving them with shedloads of Parmesan stirred through, but these ones were plain. Somehow though, they were delicious piled on some toasted rye bread. I'll post a recipe once I find one.

Advanced warning of some upcoming posts: look out for reviews of Ben's Chilli Bowl, Julia's Empanandas and Five Guys - all legendary DC food joints!

Kobenhavn, city chic

This is my second visit to Kobenhavn, the first occurred twelve months ago. It was a three day visit as part of a 'grand tour of Scandinavian capitals' that only got as far as Denmark and Sweden, due to a lack of money. But although short on time, it left a lingering impression of an opportunity missed, like watching a film and faling asleep for the last twenty minutes. It's an incredibly 'cool' place - there are hundreds of tall Aryan looking boys and girls strutting around with an almost innate sense of style and grace, the reputation for design is not a myth with the clean lines of mimimalism occasionnally giving way to eighteenth century granduer. The pace of life is sunny afternoon on a beach and so it should be, with Denmark consistenly being ranked as one of the happiest places to live on this little planet of ours.

I spent most of the last trip jaw-dropping with amazement that every person we ran into spoke English. And by 'speak' English I mean perfect fluency. This time I thought I'd be clever by trying to find someone who couldn't. Complete failure and major case of egg on face. My main tactic was to trawl the numerous Pølser Stands (popular with both Danes and tourists alike) and quiz the vagabonds running them. Not a hint of a difficulty and as a result, no need to reign in my near obsessive enthusiasm for the humble Pølser due to linguistic embarresment. For the uninitiated, the Pølser is a national variation on the common hot dog, but is so much more than those dodgy boiled Frankfurters we get in the UK. Pølser with bacon. Pølser with cheese. Pølser with pickled cucumber and little, teenee-weenee bits of onion. Pølser with mustard. Pølser with remoulade! Big ones, small ones. The list is endless. Yes they are mass-produced and yes, they're not organic or even local. But by God they're good and sometimes you have to hold your hands up and admit you're occasionally wrong. If you want, take a look at the website of the company that produces them - but it doesn't really do them justice. A slightly more refined lunchtime snack that the Danes enjoy is the more well-known Smørrebrød - an open sandwich with a rye bread base. You can enjoy these at any number of eateries throughout the city. They have a myriad of toppings including smoked salmon, roast beef, pickled herring, eel - the list is essentially endless. My personal favourite was 'Leverpostej' - warm liver pate serves with sauteed mushrooms.

Danish cuisine has a tradition akin to many northern European countries featuring products well suited to it's climate such as barley, potatoes, berries, mushrooms and locally produced dairy products. Although famously liberal in relation to social values, it seems the Danes are staunchly conservative in relation to their food. There appears a pleasing rejection of health fads. For example, a lack of refrigeration would have meant few fresh fruits and vegetables in main meals. Those things that could be preserved were either pickled or smoked, hence pickled cucumbers or fruits with fish dishes. Food is hearty in Denmark - such as the national dish 'Frikadeller' - a type of meatball with potatoes and brown sauce. Whatever that is. But of course there are now refrigeration processes in Denmark. Consequently, there has been a boom in 'top-end' restaurants in Kobenhavn that demand refinement and a light hand. Diners no longer want to be rolled out of the restaurant. Two of the most famous are Søren K which can be found in the 'Black Diamond' on the city's canals; and Noma whose head chef is Rene Redzepi, formerly of El Bulli. The picture above was taken at Pastis (no website). It can be found at Gothersgade 52. You can see a 'juledessert' that consisted of a rich fruit cake, rice pudding, clementine sorbet and vanilla syrup, garnished with hazelnuts and cherries.

It.

Was.

Deadly Good.

I can't reccommend Kobenhavn highly enough. When I'm there it feels like coming home. The Danes go all out to try and create 'hygge', what in Wales we would call 'cwtch' or in English we'd call cosy. But it's not something that just happens. It's an ideology, a lifestyle, a being.

And from what I've experienced of this great city, they succeed.

Århus, the city of smiles

First off, apologies for not having posted in some time. I know regular readers will have been losing eons of sleep over this, but I have been slightly nomadic recently. Initially intending to re-locate to Scotland, I've found myself in Denmark - one of my most favourite countries - re-booting my relationship with the girl from the Hazelnut Tart post.

We've been based in København - a future post will come on that - but for now I'm in Denmark's second city, Århus. Known as the city of smiles and as the cultural capital of the country, the place has an energetic beat largely due to its student population of 40,000. Out of a total of 300,000. Bet the locals are happy! The atmospheric old town ("Den Gamle By") is a living museum of houses, shops, gardens and kitchens and well worth a visit for a feeling of Danish life in centuries past, and the pedestrianised centre nods a head to it's students with it's array of shops, bars and clubs. It feels like a city pulling in two seperate directions, with one half storming toward the future and another clinging to it's proud tradition as a major port and centre of artistic prowess, making the future all the more fascinating.

It's fair to say that Denmark is not renowned for it's culinary tradition, save Pork, Cabbage and Smoked Fish. However, as I happen to adore Roast Pork, Red Cabbage and Smoked Fish all is well in my stomach. Last night we ate at a lovely little French bistro called "Sct. Oluf" with only four things on the menu. I've often wondered about this as a concept - a no choice restaurant where you sit down and 'get what you're given' - perhaps the diner, abdicated of all control, would enjoy simply being fed. As an indicator the place was rammed, cheap and good. And you'll soon learn that cheap, good food in Denmark is like gold dust. I ate Potato Soup, a braised Veal stew (achingly tender) and some Christmas pudding that consisted of an Amaretti biscuit base, stewed apples and a vanilla cream. All for 149Kr or just under 20 pounds (no pound sign on this keyboard!). Bargin. Note that the ingredients involved in those three dishes are not expensive. Yet another example that simple food, cooked well is all most people really want. If you want to go there it's on Mejlgade, number 33. No website, of course.

I also managed to steal a recipe for Red Cabbage, Danish style and in my opinion, the best there is to be had. It's bang in season at the moment and very 'Christmassy':

Klassisk Rødkal - Classic Red Cabbage
Serves 6

Ingredients:

1 Red Cabbage
2 Oranges, Skin and Juice
1 Cinnamon Stick
3 Star Anise
4 Bay Leaves
2 Cardamom Pods
200g Soft Brown Sugar
300ml Pear Juice or Blackcurrant Juice
200ml Cherry Vinegar
400ml Red Wine
Sea Salt, to season

Method:
(NB: As this recipe is translated by me from the Danish, I'm giving you my method for cooking. I only just mananged to work out the ingredients! It's quite time intensive, but not labour intensive. You just need to keep an eye on it.)

1. Remove the core and slice the Cabbage into fine shreds. Set Aside.
2. Quarter your Oranges and then slice lengthways so you have little triangles. Set Aside.
3. Find a large, heavy dish with a lid. Add your Cabbage and Oranges and a splash of water. Place on a medium heat for ten minutes to get it started.
4. Now add all your other ingredients (except the salt) together. Stir well and return to the heat. Make sure the lid is well sealed - use a tin foil seal under the lid to help if necessary. It's really important to keep the heat in. Stir every now and again. If the liquids are boiling off too quickly, reduce the heat. We want the cabbage to braise. Pre-heat an oven to 200 degrees centigrade.
5. After 20 mins transfer to the oven for roughly an hour. Stir every 20 mins or so. The end product should be soft and juicy.

This is one of those dishes that tends to taste better the day after, so the longer you leave it after cooking the better: it allows the flavours to infuse further. If you're re-heating, do so on the hob on a gentle heat and keep it moving. Don't let it stick!

"Wood Fired Oven" Bread

If anyone can help me answer this, I'd appreciate it. There was a cooking programme for kids on the BBC - must have been around 1989 - and it had a blonde lady presenting it. What was it? Anyway, she showed us all the wonder of toast, with butter - and that was my first ever solo cooking moment. Since then, I can safely say i have munched my way through more toast than anything else! Try it with Avocado and Marmite: sounds gross, tastes amazing!

There was a debate between Peter, Orlando and I regarding bread: was it the first foodstuff created by man? It was certainly one of the oldest - the ancient Egyptians used to buy a bread called 'ta' from stalls on dusty streets, and history even has a loaf of bread from the first century AD that survived the wrath of Mount Vesuvius. It looks a bit highly baked mind you.

All cultures have their own version of bread. The basic componants - water and grain flour - can be found in different forms all over the planet and these have given rise to Mexican Tortilla, Indian Chapati, Middle-Eastern Pita and Irish Soda Bread among others. It can be leavened or unleavened, toasted or eaten freshly baked, served with sweet or savoury and at any point during a meal. It's also a great leveller - all stratas of society enjoy bread be it a cheaper supermarket white slice job or an artisan, hand made sourdough. For what it's worth, my preference is for those achingly delicious Italian breads such as Foccacia and Ciabatta that are at their best (in my opinion) when stale and tossed through an amazng tomato salad.

Anyway, the reason for my ramblings is Orlando. He showed me a great technique where you bake a loaf of bread inside a casserole pot - giving it a wood fired oven finish. It really worked, and here is the (it's his not mine) recipe for you to try:

Raynaudes 'Wood-Fired Oven' Loaf
Makes 1 Loaf

Ingredients:

Walnut-sized piece of fresh yeast
300ml luke-warm water
450g strong flour
50g cornmeal
A heavy, oval casserole dish.

Method:

1. Dissolve the water in the yeast. Put the flour plus a touch of salt into a food processor, turn on. Gradually add your yeast mixture. Once it's all combined, mix for a minute or so, then stop. Remove and knead by hand for a minute.
2. Put the dough into a greased bowl, cover and let it rise until it has doubled in size.
3. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface, shape it into a rectangle. Roll up and fold under the edges - you should have a shape like a rugby ball.
4. Cut a piece of greaseproof paper about twice the size of the casserole pot, sprinkle with the cornmeal. Put your loaf onto it, then cover and leave to rise until it's one and a half times it's original size.
5. Put the empty casserole dish into an oven to heat - about 230 degrees centigrade.
6. Remove when the loaf has risen, quickly transfer the loaf, still on the paper, into the hot dish. Cover with the lid.
7. Bake for 30 mins, then remove the lid for a further 10 minutes.
8. Cool on a cooling rack. Do not eat until it's cold!

Grasshoppers and the Pyrenees (or Saturday at Raynaudes)

Returned from Orlando and Peter's place the other day to an interrogation from friends and family. Simple, thoughtful questions like: "Well, did you get the job or what?". Nothing about the sweeping French countryside, the 12th century bridges, the picture postcard hamlets dotted around any high ground people could lay their hands on, the 20 degree sunshine, lunches with the Pyrenees or the tyre-slashing dog owned by the neighbours that attacked me on Peter's bike! And nothing about the wonderful food. No, just "When are you going to pay some rent, poor boy?"

Arrival in Toulouse went as well as could be expected. After managing to locate the taxi desk, and mumbling my name in French, I was escorted (briskly) to a waiting bus along with the driver, and four other travellers - three office workers from Paris and a dark-haired, cigarette smoking girl from Marseilles. Very Betty Blue she was. They were all dropped off in Albi at which point the driver then checked where I was going. This was swiftly followed by much "mon dieu-ing" and huffing and puffing and fiddling of Tom-Tom. No, I didn't want to be dropped in Monesties, I needed to go to Raynaudes. Yes, Raynaudes. RAYNAUDES.

Decades later I was greeted by Peter - tall, slim and understated. Orlando bounced in and fed me (I was STARVING by this point, so hungry I was shaking) a lovely pan-roasted chicken breast and wild mushrooms. Apparently in France, all pharmacists are trained in the art of mushroom foraging, so you can turn up with a bag you've picked yourself and they'll separate them into a 'Oui' and a 'Non' pile. How great is that???? There then followed a brief discussion about what I'd be doing over the weekend, but essentially this involved assisting wherever possible. Breakfast for the next three mornings, and the evening meal on Sunday, the last service of the season. And I'd be cooking lunch for them tomorrow.

7:30am, Saturday. Breakfasts were relatively straight-forward. Freshly baked croissants alongside a fruit salad and home made yogurts, cereals etc. Once again I was reminded that simplicity doesn't mean boring. Just make it the BEST fruit salad you possibly can - make sure the fruit is at room temperature, the grapefruit segmented properly, the pears ripe - and people will remember it. Just think of all the times you've stayed at a B&B and been given that grim, pappy excuse for bread. That's boring, not bread itself!

Lunch was a relaxed affair and deliberately so. I chose to concentrate on flavour combinations and a well planned menu, rather than anything technically NASA-esque in it's difficulty rating:

Spaghetti with Tomatoes, Capers and Mint
Lamb Cutlets with a Sherry Vinegar sauce and Wilted Greens
Warm Orange Salad with a Honey, Rosemary and Chilli Dressing

One major issue was the cooker. Orlando has a fancy hob with no discernible 'knobs' to twiddle or 'buttons' to press. Just a Star-Trek style panel that you apparently need to glide your finger over to achieve the desired effect. Needless to say I was prodding, fiddling, poking (swearing), and starting to look a bit frantic before Orlando showed me the way. Lesson 1: ensure you understand technology before trying to use it. All in all though, the food came out as I expected and I was happy with the end result. The weather was fantastic, the Pyrenees were standing proud representing the physical barrier with Spain, there were Grasshoppers jumping onto bone dry leaves, making a little 'thud' noise as they landed. Silence allows you to hear so much more. Maybe that's why we Brits love and hate France so much. We may mock their 35-hour weeks and general laziness, but how many of us wouldn't die for such a lifestyle?

Here is the pasta I cooked - fast, easy and utterly brilliant.

Spaghetti with Capers and Mint
Serves 4

Ingredients:
500g Dried Spaghetti
400g Fresh Tomatoes, skinned and de-seeded
200g Shallots, finely chopped
Olive Oil
Garlic Glove, lightly crushed
A small Handfull of Capers
A large handfull of Mint, shredded
Sea Salt, Cracked Black Pepper and Sugar

Method:
1. First skin your tomatoes. Put a little cross on the bottom of each one. Place them in a bowl of boiling water, leave for a minute or so and then remove. The skin should now rub off easily. The remove the eye and seeds. Roughly chop and set aside.
2. Heat your oil. Then add your garlic clove. Once it starts to brown, remove and discard. You'll now have a lovely Garlic Oil.
3. Add your shallots, soften. Then add your tomatoes. Taste and season. Don't be scared of adding sugar, it'll bring out the flavour of the tomatoes.
4. Let this simmer gently for 15-20 minutes. This will intensify the flavour.
5. When it's ready, cook your spaghetti, in a large pot of boiling, salted water.
6. As soon as the pasta is cooked, add the capers and mint to the sauce.
7. Drain your pasta and add to the sauce.
8. Eat straight away, serve with Parmesan or some other hard cheese such as Pecorino.

Le Manoir de Raynaudes

Yesterday, the journey began properly. I'm off for three days to visit my good friend Orlando at his wonderful and award-winning Manoir de Raynaudes in the wild, spartan region of south west France about an hour north-east of Toulouse. Ostensibly I'm there for a job interview - Orlando needs a cook for six months next summer - but I'm also looking forward to spending more time with him and to meet his partner, Peter, of whom he spoke whilst we were tucked away in Devon recently on a food writing course. Orlando was undoubtedly one of the stars of the show. As a tutor he gave us concrete, sometimes brutal ("...you may find at the end of this course you really DON'T want to be a writer!") feedback and he otherwise entertained us with his pianistic expertise and stories of his time as editor of the BBC Good Food magazine.

But the main reason I'm going there is to try and work with him next year. It would be a huge honour. Orlando has transformed himself from an amateur cook to passionate professional and in the Manoir has created a table widely considered one of the best in the south of France. He sources many of his ingredients from the fruit, vegetable and herb gardens he has established in the grounds of the Manoir and cooks them with love and attention. His intention, always, is to give people the "best meal of their lives." Not much to emulate then. Gulp.

I sit on a packed train from west Wales to Bristol, where I'll transfer onto a plane that'll whisk me to Toulouse. I feel very jet-set, if a little disorganised. I wonder if this is the future? An endless meandering from kitchen to kitchen, and if I will eventually settle on my own version of a gastronomic getaway? Or I am living a pipe-dream? I know I can cook, and cook well. I know I have a good palette and that I can season. But I can also get carried away, and probably need to learn a little control! I've been reading huge amounts of Skye Gyngell's work recently. She exemplifies what I see as a complete cook: respect for her ingredients, seasonal where possible, taste above presentation and simplicity over complication. She appears, at least, the embodiment of confidence, but I also wonder if all cooks are fundamentally insecure? They have an innate desire to please, to titillate and to satisfy, but do they ever really indulge in self-congratulation? After all, the day you stand still as a cook is the day you lose your edge. You can't hang around and marvel at your achievements. This is their adrenaline rush - that you are only as good as your last service, and that one bad meal can destroy a reputation.

So it's an exciting but terrifying world I am entering. First things first though, get myself to Toulouse, then scramble my way onto a bus that'll whisk me to the middle of nowhere, France. And all with no French. Did I tell you I only speak Welsh and English? No? Then let the adventure begin.

Hazelnut Tarts (and the French)

As usual, there's a story attached to this. A few years ago, in the early days of meeting an amazing woman, she presented a Hazelnut Tart for us to munch on as a mid-afternoon snack on a freaky October afternoon in Edinburgh. It was the "most wonderful" Hazelnut tart she had EVER TASTED, she said. Even though it was a pre-packaged job, I have to admit that the pastry was great, the filling moist and the result sumptuous. And then the killer. The tart had been acquired whilst on a trip to see a Frenchman. Pathetic, I know, but then the distance between food and sex, as far as I can see, is about the width of my little toe. I was most perturbed.

Since then, I've been on a mission to bake the ultimate Hazelnut Tart so that I may no longer be defeated by some suspicious, foreign effort. I would parade my creation down the Champs-Elysees shouting "la vie longue la tarte Galloise" in triumph. This would then go down in the annuls of history as the most important victory over the French since the Duke of Wellington spanked Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

If only it were that simple, however. Baking, I would admit, is not my first love. I'm certainly a highly competent pastry chef, but it doesn't come naturally to me in the way that say, a brothel is natural to a Parisian. But my time at Ballymaloe certainly provided me with some excellent ground rules, like ensuring all of your ingredients are chilled before making pastry, or the importance of blind baking. Baking, and dessert-making in general, is much more technically challenging than putting a stew or soup together. When a bread recipe calls for half a teaspoon of baking soda - that's what you use - any more and you'll end up with soapy yellow blotches through your end product. Such precision can feel stifling but it's further evidence that cooking is not all about "passion" or an innate "feel" for what flavour combinations work well. You must also have a level of technical skill to be a complete cook.

It's also important to be humble. You can't re-invent the wheel. And it seems to me that a confident cook will do very little to the ingredients that he is given, and let the ingredients speak for themselves. One such cook, whom I hugely admire is Skye Gyngell, head chef at Petersham Nurseries and this is her recipe (re-written by me) for a lovely Hazelnut Tart.

Hazlenut Tart
Serves 8-10

Ingredients (for the pastry):

250g Plain Flour
125g Unsalted Butter, grated
30g Caster Sugar
1 free-range Egg
1 free-range Egg Yolk
Zest of a Lemon
1/2 tsp Vanilla Extract

Ingredients (for the filling):

300g Shelled Hazelnuts
300g Caster Sugar
3 Whole Eggs
Zest of a Lemon
300g Unsalted Butter

Method (NB: this is my method):

1. Pre-heat the oven to 190 degrees centigrade, then toast your hazelnuts.
2. While they're toasting, make your pastry. Put all the WELL CHILLED ingredients into a food processor. Pulse, and eventually everything will come together to form a ball. If not add some ice-cold water, very sparingly. Wrap in cling film and chill in the fridge.
3. Meanwhile, make the filling. Put the nuts in a blender and pulse - keep them coarse, you want your end result to have some texture. Then add all your other ingredients and pulse until combined.
4. Now remove your pastry and roll on a lightly floured surface. Look for a thickness of about 3-4 mm.
5. Roll onto your pin and drape it over a ten-inch tin. Gently press into the sides. I leave pastry draping over the edge as it will shrink during cooking and you can trim it up afterwards.
6. Blind-bake for 15 minutes, or until almost cooked through. Remove and cool.
7. Finally, add your hazelnut filling, spreading it evenly. Bake for about 35 minutes, until golden and just firm to the touch.
8. Allow to cool and serve with fresh cream and raspberries.

Run Rabbit Run Rabbit....

....run, run, run. Here comes the farmer with his gun, gun, gun. And struggling to keep up, here comes Edward cheering on the farmer and keeping him supplied with pork pies, cheese sandwiches, and anything else he may need to sustain his bloodlust. For me, hunting is the purest form of food provision. Not only are there no welfare issues with sourcing meat this way (obviously) but also, be it fishing, shooting or trapping, there's little doubt that the taste of a wild animal is infinitely superior to that of a farmed equivalent and as I've said previously, taste is the number one consideration. I remember fondly the first time I ate wild salmon, having previously only encountered the regular, pale pink supermarket variety. I was dumb-founded that the flesh was a beautiful deep red, rather like that of a blood orange, and once I'd pan-roasted the fillet, gently seasoned it and taken my first bite, I was hooked. The flesh was sweet and complex no doubt due to the variety of foods the salmon had eaten during it's lifetime. You know that slightly devious look many women develop when they're munching on some chocolate - well that was me with the salmon. Since that moment I always try to eat wild produce where possible but there's no doubt that some products are more easily sourced than others. Regrettably many fish stocks are perilously low, and I would encourage anyone to try and buy with a consideration for what's sustainable where possible - more on this in future posts. However, it's not all doom and gloom. One can still enjoy parts of nature's bounty without feeling too guilty, without giving the bank manager a heart attack and without a huge knowledge of what game is in season (more on this in later posts too). Available almost all year is the (drum-roll!!) European Wild Rabbit.

Wild rabbit is an extremely lean meat and has a subtle, gamey flavour. Perhaps it's greatest strength is it's versatility. It works well with a myriad of different ingredients. The Italians use tomatoes and herbs, the south americans use chilli and the French use mustard and cream. But in Britain, although there are thousands of the critters all over the country, and despite the fact they're regarded as a pest by many farmers, we eat relatively little. It seems to me there are three reasons for this.

Firstly, during the Second World War, households were encouraged to keep rabbits for meat in an effort to feed the family during the dark days of rationing. No doubt there were many botched attempts at casseroles and pies, as the meat can go incredibly tough without a sufficient addition of fat. Cue a lifelong dislike of rabbit for the children subjected to that. Secondly, there was a highly successful attempt to cull the rabbit population during the 1950's through the introduction of Myxomatosis. This seems to have affected many - even my father recently admitted that he was "scarred by frothing mouths and convulsing bodies" in the fields he walked. And thirdly, there is the slightly contemptible "fluffy bunny brigade" for whom the idea of eating such a "cute" animal cannot be reconciled. It's also fairly hard to get your hands on some. Regrettably, most food is purchased in the supermarket, but when was the last time you actually saw Rabbit in the refrigeration cabinet?

If you'd like to secure some rabbits, ask a good local butcher. They'll be able to remove the head (fluffy bunny brigade), skin the animal and gut it for you. I would certainly recommend this. The first time I prepared a rabbit for use, the animal evacuated it's bowels all over my forearm, resulting in much sniggering amongst the boys and loud screams from the girls. Joking aside, it wasn't an overly pleasant experience, so save yourself the bother. I then cooked the whole lot up in a vague "coq au vin-esque" manner. Needless to say it was tough and inedible. Thankfully I've developed since then, and my take on a classic warming autumnal rabbit stew is below. Try some rabbit today - it's cheap, different, tasty and extremely good for you.



Cider Braised Rabbit & Apple
Serves 6

I like to eat this very simply with a hunk of crusty bread, but I've also served it with Polenta. Use a good quality dry cider, as opposed to a sweet mass-produced one. It's one drawback is a lack of colour, so make sure you sprinkle some chopped parsley over it before serving.

Ingredients:

Olive Oil
4 Large Shallots, Sliced
400g Pork Belly, Diced
2 Wild Rabbits, Skinned & Jointed
100g Plain Flour, Seasoned
450 mls Cider
200 mls Double Cream
4 Bay Leaves
4 Eating Apples, Halved, Cored & Sliced
A handful of Flat Leaf Parsley, Finely chopped
Sea Salt & Cracked Black Pepper

1. Find a good quality heavy casserole dish. Add a glug of olive oil and add your shallots. Soften and remove.
2. In the same pan, add the diced pork belly. Brown and remove.
3. Take your seasoned flour and put it in a plastic bag. Add the rabbit joints and shake until covered. Remove the rabbit and shake off the excess. Then brown in the oil and rendered pork fat. You will probably need to do this in batches. Once the rabbit is well browned, return the shallots and pork belly to the pan.
4. Now add your cider, cream and bay leaves. Stir, and bring to a simmer.
5. Finally add your apples. Keep the stew ticking over on a simmer for a good hour. You'll know it's ready when the sauce has reduced and the meat is tender.
6. Season to taste.

October Leaves Falling

One of the most pleasing things about autumn is the aesthetic pleasure it gives the eye. Leaves turn from greens to browns, reds and oranges before falling to the ground and making the underfoot squelchy and slippy. Nature then stands before you, naked but not vulnerable - and re-invents itself in a few months time looking fresher and more youthful than ever. We, being top of the food chain, reap the reward of the seasons but will only gain true pleasure by working with them, not grating against them.

Think about Strawberries in May. They pack much more flavour, are cheaper because there's a glut of them and you can get them locally. Now compare that with buying them during the winter months. Bland, strangely watery, an anaemic interior and only palatable with huge quantities of sugar and/or Cointreau. That was NOT a suggestion -wait for the food to come to you. I guarantee the anticipation of food in season will make it taste all the better.

Thinking of the falling leaves, some that you get your hands on right now are the Nasturtium - or Tropaeolum to give them their official name - and they can be used in a variety of ways, the most common being mixing through salads. They have a distinctive peppery, slightly mustard-like taste and their flowers, whilst lacking on taste are incredibly decorative. You can also make soups from them, or toss them through a stir-fry for added nutrition. This is how I like to use them.

Tempura Nasturtium Salad with Goats Cheese
Serves 2

This salad can be served as a snack-lunch or a starter for a dinner party. It utilises all parts of the perennial Nasturtium plant. When picking, remove the flower heads and soak in water for ten minutes before using. Check them well for Earwigs, who seem to love hiding around the stamen. Once you're happy that they are clear, drain them on some kitchen paper. When serving, choose a light dressing as the goats cheese is quite rich. Finally, don't go mad on the seasoning, the leaves are peppery enough as it is!

Ingredients:

9 Nasturtium Flower Heads
200g Soft Goat's Cheese
4 Small Anchovy Fillets
A Good Handful of Thyme Leaves, Chopped
10-12 Nasturtium Leaves, Shredded
3 Good Handfuls of Watercress
100g Plain Flour
200 mls Ice-Cold Carbonated Water
1 Medium Egg
Sunflower Oil

Method:

1. Wash the Nasturtium flowers as directed above.
2. While they are soaking, cream the cheese, anchovy and thyme leaves together to make a paste.
3. Using either a teaspoon or piping bag, fill six of the flowers with the mixture. Do not overfill. Place in fridge to chill.
4. Pre-heat a fryer to 180 degrees centigrade. Use a flavourless oil like Sunflower Oil.
5. Make the batter. Whisk the egg and add the ice-cold water. Then gradually add the flour. Don't over do the whisking and don't worry if there are a few lumps.
6. Toss the leaves in your dressing of choice. Pick the colouful leaves from the remaining Nasturtium flowers and mix through. Season and arrange in the centre of a plate. Try to get some height involved here.
7. Remove the flower heads from the fridge and dip in the batter, coating lightly. Then fry until they are golden and bobbing on the oil like a boat on the ocean. Remove and drain.
8. Serve with the salad leaves.

"Grow Your Own": Broad Beans

As a cook I consistently try to use top quality ingredients. A rather famous TV chef once said to me - "You're only as good as your ingredients, Ed. I can't make a joyous meal out of tinned spaghetti and frozen prawns..." - and that simply confirmed to me what I already felt. Growing up in Carmarthenshire, I was lucky to be surrounded by fantastic local produce. The area is historically associated with livestock, and in particular lamb, but we also have the most amazing pork products, some award winning cheeses, access to the Irish Sea as well as inland rivers that are (relatively) brimming with Salmon and Trout. You could easily eat for the rest of your life out of one small part of west Wales. So why we're importing lamb from New Zealand, I have no idea.

Of course there are certain things we don't produce in abundance, but that's where the green fingers come out and you start to grow your own. I'm not going to get completely sanctimonious and pretend I'm an environmentalist - I'm not. I'm interested in taste first. I'm afraid the rising waters of the oceans are a secondary concern to "what the hell am I going to do with all these apples falling everywhere? I've already made pies, crumbles, compotes, jellies and apple juice." But it does stand to reason that if you grow vegetables in your garden, or on your windowsill, or on a shared allotment, they will taste infinitely better than if they have been sitting around on a supermarket shelf for a week, and will have helped reduce your carbon footprint too.

October is a bleak time in the garden. The weather is closing in and there is very little to plant for next year. You harvest apples all day long, you dig up the last of the carrots and potatoes. The thrill of new life is in short supply. But you can keep yourself going by planting one of my favourite vegetables - the Broad Bean. There can be surely no more comfortable bean, than the broad bean. By the time spring is upon us, they will be dangling thick, heavy and proud whilst nestled in a soft white jacket. They look so cosy in there! But I digress. Right now, you need to plant them about 5cm deep, roughly 10cm apart, in parallel rows that are themselves 25cm apart.

I planted mine (Bunyards Exhibition and Red Epicure) two weeks ago, and the little beggars are already sprouting. Broad beans are renowned for being a hardy plant, but if a frost is on the cards over the winter you must cover them, just to be on the safe side. Other than that you just give them a stake to cling onto once they become seedlings, and all should be well. Give them a try!

Whole Roast Onions with Marjoram
Serves 4

October is also the time of year when one has an abundance of onions. Try this as a yummy lunchtime snack, with some crusty bread and a glass of crisp white wine.

Ingredients:

4 Large White Onions
100g Butter
A Handful of Marjoram, Chopped
Sea Salt and Cracked Black Pepper

Method:

1. Pre-heat your oven to 220 degrees centigrade.
2. Place the onions in a baking tray, transfer to oven. Cook until very soft and juicy.
3. Meanwhile, soften your butter and add your chopped Marjoram.
4. Once the onions are cooked, remove and gently peel the first few outer layers of the skin. You must leave some behind though, so the onion will hold it's shape. Slice the top of each onion away, as if you were scalping a boiled egg, and then lather the onion with the Marjoram butter.
5. Once the butter has melted, season well and enjoy!

The Ubiquitous Chip

When starting on a new adventure, it's important to remember who you are, where you came from and the composition of your food genes.

As a child I was incredibly lucky, food wise. I didn't realise it at the time, but a distinct lack of funds during the early years of the 80's meant my parents were always scrimping and saving, using and re-using and generally being inventive in the kitchen. It was here that I watched them unwittingly create the building blocks of my culinary knowledge and for these I am eternally grateful. I remember gazing wide-eyed at the pots and being told that it was important to brown meat before making a stew "otherwise we'll be eating leather". I'm not sure if it was the sizzle of lamb on fat, or the golden brown it turned, but that memory is now imprinted in my nut-store for good.

Another memory etched into my skull is my first ever job, at the local chip shop. My parents had decided that it was time to learn "the value of money" and that "nothing comes for free". So I was marched down to the chippy (wailing) to beg, borrow or steal a job and was amazingly taken on peeling spuds at the back of the shop - for £2.00 a bucket. And by bucket I mean a barrel, full of ice cold water, containing a couple of hundred potatoes each. It was hellish. But when I'd filled three barrels and earned my £6.00 for the evening, I skipped home planning what I could buy if I saved up enough money. Much hard work later, I was promoted to serving customers alongside my friend, Michael the ladies man. Even at the age of 14 he had a way with women. A classic wing-man.

And it was here that I had my first moment of true food satisfaction. I simply loved the ritualistic questions - "Beth wy't ti moen?" (What would you like?) followed by "Halen a vinegar?" (Salt and Vinegar?). I loved the precise nature of wrapping up fish and chips in a couple of sheets of paper and handing them over, warming like a hot water bottle, to eager punters. The smells I adored - gently sizzling chips and crisp battered Cod. And the speed, the efficiency - for someone who went on to work in a professional kitchen, it was the ultimate education.

Twelve years later and I'm sitting outside on a rickety, slightly damp park bench, in the soothing mist with chips and mushy peas, reflecting on the utter timelessness of the place. The youngsters who served me had the same crazed look that Michael and I used to have as the queue grew ever longer, eventually stretching out the door, with hungry stomachs. The layout of the place was identical and the bowls of raw, part-fried and fried chips were all lined up like dominos. And the glee! The sheer glee on the faces of the diners as they munched on a humble fried potato brought me careering back to the satisfaction I felt as mothers and fathers walked out of the door with the family meal.

And it's appropriate that it's here, at the chip shop, that I start on my new food journey which will hopefully take me places I haven't seen and gift me people whom I'll carry with me forever. Having thrown in the old career and invested in a culinary education at the Ballymaloe Cookery School, I'll be plying my trade as a roaming cook, learning as I go. But it all started here, with the simple, modest chip, and in honour of it, this is how you make your own:

Chip Shop Chips

I find that using 'old' potatoes such as Golden Wonder works well. Eat them straight away while they are crisp, and dip them in good quality mayonnaise.

Ingredients:

8 'Golden Wonder' Potatoes
Good Quality Olive Oil

Method:

1. Pre-heat your fryer to 160 degrees centigrade.
2. Clean potatoes well and leave unpeeled.
3. Cut into chips about half an inch thick and 2.5 inches long.
4. Rinse and pat dry to remove excess starch.
5. Fry until just soft. This should take about 5 minutes.
6. Remove the chips. Bring the heat of the oil up to 200 degrees centigrade.
7. Re-fry chips until golden and crisp. Remove, drain on kitchen paper and sprinkle with salt.