The Meatloaf Makeover

There are few foods that have such vivid associations as meatloaf. It might even be the quintessentially uncool homey working class dish. It is the Ernest Borgnine of American cuisine. Good honest and plain. Which is of course why it has always been so ripe for a makeover. Or at least was. Meatloaf had its shining moment in restaurants, a few years ago, as a retro-comfort food. Made with grass fed organic beef, and local vegetables in season, naturally. Maybe even served with toast points to remind people of what became of its French cousins who did so well. But the makeover can go too far, if it tries too hard to be hip, fakes the funk, or somehow loses sight of its homey core, the meatloaf seems tawdry and tarted up.

Well, I think this one rides that fine line between being true to itself and yet still exuding elegance. It is still a meatloaf my mom would eat. Bison replaced beef, for no other reason than I saw it in the store for 7 bucks a pound. So this was hardly expensive in the end. I had to put the hard boiled egg in the middle. Inside went diced carrots, you can see, celery, shallots. But the real kicker and the key to light texture, came from a cup of sourdough bread crumbs, fried in the last lump of that lardo battuto I wrote about a few posts back. Plus a good squirt of tomato paste. And then, just so it's not too pretentious, some barbecue sauce as a glaze, and it was cooked in the toaster oven. 350 for about an hour. I say meat loaf needs another revival.

Scoby Snacks

Do you eat your mother? I mean that snot-like raft floating on the top of your komucha jar. I got the idea from a little snippet in Sandor Katz's new book, and I thought why not? I suppose it really should be raw if you want to ingest good bacteria, but I thought a little salt pepper and a quick sautee in good olive oil would be interesting. It was rather sour, but the oddest thing  - the texture is really firm and chewy with a kind of muscular structure. Very much like a scallop, which it sort of resembles. OK a vegetarian scallop. I think if you soaked it to remove the sourness it would really work. Serve with a little kelp. I might be onto something here. I also cooked a big floppy red wine mother and used it as a wrap around chickpeas and lettuce. Another interesting idea, no?

Cheesy Peas

Arthur Potts Dawson, talented chef,  restaurateur, cookery writer and social entrepreneur (and Mick Jagger's nephew by proxy) brought out a lovely, little gem of a book a couple of months ago called Eat Your Veg. It's not a vegetarian cookbook as such, as meat and fish do feature. Nor does it seek to brow beat you into mung bean submission. No, with it's simple layout and approach and bright, colourful photos, Mr Potts Dawson has brought together an attractive bunch of recipes where legumes are the main star of the show and since picking the book up, I have spent many an hour, under the tree in our garden, wistfully leafing through the pages, whilst the world around me falls down in huge, great, pissy drops to the ground. If the weather had been a bit better then perhaps I would have felt enticed to try out his Fennel and Sardine Ceviche. Or maybe his summery Couscous Salad with Iceberg lettuce, tomato and mint. Had the thermometer even nudged towards 20 degrees, I might have even gone in for one of his chilled soups, as both the retro cucumber and red pepper soups have taken my fancy. But seeing as it's been so miserable lately and distinctly (dare I say it) Northern, the other day I felt that I should have a crack at Arthur's Cheesy Peas on Toast. Aye! Peas, with Cheese!

It was always going to be an interesting proposition this one. Familiar with the comfortable combination of baked beans and cheese on toast, the notion of introducing cheese to peas seemed alien at first but the more I scanned the page, the more sense it made. All the recipe calls for is a silky, warm white sauce, a healthy whack of cheddar and parmesan, a dusting of freshly grated nutmeg, a touch of seasoning and some gloriously green peas, frozen, or fresh if you have the time, cooked in salted water for 5 minutes and added right at the end. So all the flavournoids and correct components for a delicious meal are right there. Salt, sweet, spice, umami, erm... texture, bish bash bosh, this had the lot. And the kids loved it too. In short, Cheesy Peas is a winner.

OK, it might not actually look like the most attractive of dishes to serve up (which flies in the face of what I originally said about Arthur's recipes) and after posting pictures on Twitter and Platter, some detractors did comment, quite unkindly really, that it looked like a plate of sick.

Well let me just say this, Cheesy Peas is the best tasting plate of sick that I have tried in a long while.

And I've tried a few.

 Cheese!

Peas!

 Cheesy Peas!

Honey Bees

It is with great sadness that I said goodbye to my bees yesterday. Apparently you can't keep them in a wall. A man came, opened a square in the wall and took out three big 50-lb buckets of hive and honey. Although I had nothing to do with this operation directly, it was nonetheless terrifying, exhilarating, absolutely astounding. At one point he invited me into the room literally filled with swarming bees for a chunk of comb. The first chunk was golden and tasted a little like orange. I don't think I've ever tasted anything like it in my life. This is the second chunk, apparently older, and probably from different flowers. That's all they could spare, as they need the rest to start up in a new spot, a few miles away. Many of "the girls' were left behind to clean up the rest of the honey, which is now oozing out of the walls. Rather surreal if you ask me. So is the plastic covering the hole and the furious buzzing behind it. The weirdest thing, is the bees through this whole operation just did what they were told. Remarkable.

Lardo Battuto

Who knew this would be so simple and delightful! It is called lardo battuto, which means literally beaten lard. Not the sort you find in a block in the supermarket, and in fact never heated at all, but salted and cured lard-o pounded in a mortar with garlic and parsley. I just happened to find a casing filled with cured fat in the back of the cave. I must have made it this past winter. I became familiar with this kind of lardo (in print) through my old friend Bartolomeo Scappi, personal chef to Pope Pius V in the 16th century. He uses it in stuffings especially, and anywhere some extra fat and flavor can be used. Apparently in Italy it gets tossed into soup and stews. OH YES. I tried it on toast this morning, and let me tell you: imagine compound butter, but cured pig instead. Aromatic, unctuous, dizzying. Thanks to Miss Butter who prompted this line of inquiry. It's a thing I should have done years ago. Now let's just think where this might go. Maybe a dollop on a pork chop? For some odd reason I want to stuff a fish with it. Scappi must have done it. Bread crumbs, cheese and lardo battuto. I couldn't have come up with anything that magnificent.

Cheek by Jowl

Life would be boring without a bit of spice and colour wouldn't it and I am not talking about a mean looking jalfrezi here, I am talking about life in general. And I for one, am always grateful whenever the humdrum and monotony of a normal, working day is punctured by a swift, manic. burst of the surreal and the crazy. A quick episode happened in the park this lunchtime. I wondered up to Exmouth Market to have a peruse and a meander around some of the stalls, forgoing the temptation of double pie and mash. It's just too muggy today and the required splash of Vinney would only make me sweat some more see. So after sniffing around, eyeing the Ghanaian stews at Jollof Pot, duck salad and almonds at Moro and some steaming frankfurters, tended to by a carefully coiffed German, who was wearing the most ridiculous white sunglasses I have ever seen, I decided to hit Spanish Flavours. Simply because they had the longest queue. Using this method of standard deviation always pays off when trying to make a decision, although the ensuing wait does play havoc with the saliva glands. I always feel slightly embarrassed when I finally make it to the front and open my mouth and soak the vendor with small jets of spittle. Still, they must be used to it by now.

Anyway, I purchased a splendid looking wrap, complete with barbecued chorizo, paprika marinated chicken, salad leaves, roasted Piquillo pepper and alioli for a reasonable fiver and marched to the adjacent park to go sit under a tree, munch my lunch and watch the world go by. Along with all the other beautiful, lithe, trendy office things who pepper the green, barefoot with white smiles, giggles and cartons of 'street food.' All was fairly quiet and uneventful as I made my way through the juicy, garlicky, crunchy roll and I was near to finishing when suddenly I heard a noise. Quite a harsh, twanging sound, with T's glottalized and H's dropped.

I thought to myself, "Ah, that sounds like one of my own, a kindred spirit, a fair descendant of Cockaigne, well would you Adam and Eve it." And when I looked around, straight away I knew I was right. Well, half-right as the years hadn't been kind to her so you could hardly use the word 'fair' but she was certainly a local character, probably the sort who visits the park daily, with her pit-bull terrier "Buster", to imbibe a can or two of Brew in the glorious sunshine. Or rain even. So I sat up a bit more to focus and to see what the brouhaha was all abaaht. Apparently she had asked some chap, resplendent in preppy geek chic, for a light for her fag and thick glasses, wonky haircut, skinny chinos had decided to ignore her. And she was making it clear to him and the rest of the park, exactly what she thought of him and his ilk.

"Don't ignore me like I am some piece of shit, I just asked for a facking light you caant. I don't know, you lot facking came daan 'ere like you own the place every lunch time, eating yer facking fancy sandwiches or whatever shit they sell around there and then you fack off leaving your shit all other the place. Well I'm facking fed up of those stalls and all the poncy twats, like you lot, eating all that bollocks and ignoring people like me who use the park everyday! Caants!"

And then she walked off. And then everyone else breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Now if there ever was a damning indictment of the street food movement in this capital, that had to be it. Her outburst certainly got me thinking. I mean, as this exciting and vibrant trend continues to soar, with it's democratisation of food and access to lots of different ingredients and dishes, I do wonder if some tiny conceited, cracks are starting to appear. And as more and more cool and sexy, bright, young chefs steadily come up with 'new ideas' and 'concepts', which are fundamentally based upon original humble cuts and offerings, I do worry sometimes that I am being enticed by the Emperor's New Clothes. Furthermore, some recent visits to various markets have culminated in a hefty whack on the wallet, which to my mind is not entirely in keeping with the whole ethos of street food. It shouldn't be dirt cheap but the change out of a tenner shouldn't leave me weeping into a venison burger, which is what happened recently. But hey ho, what do I know, I still do love a lot of the street food that is out there.

Personally, I was just glad that my Mum didn't spot me, sitting under that tree. 

Pizza Madness

Somehow I think this speaks for itself. If you're going to make pizza, you might as well do it big time. There's classic pepperoni, the rabe and tuna, a pickled pork and sauerkraut up front, which turned out fabulous, and others included coppa which I found at the back of the cave, asparagus and a slew of other vegs. Arranging them all first this way made it easier to load and unload in the oven and take down the block to a party. There's still more, anyone free tonight?