Too Many Chefs

 

I am sure that my wife loves me dearly yet on occasion, I do get the impression that sometimes I annoy the hell out of her. Especially when she is in charge of cooking duties in the kitchen and I am simply the bystander. Like a hovering, buzzing fly, I am sure she finds me irritating and a source of unnecessary vexation but sometimes I can't help but be the pain in the proverbial backside. To be fair, I only ever want help. So why I often find myself on the receiving end of verbal abuse and under the threat of a very physical sort of danger is beyond me.

Take last night and that pan for instance. Did she really want to use that size pan for caramelising shallots? did she? And hmm, yeah OK, reducing balsamic vinegar to create a sticky glaze is a good idea but why not try the lovely sherry stuff we've got in the back of the cupboard. Look, it was just there. Not even opened. Yes, the red wine smelt fantastic but did she really have to use the expensive one we were drinking? I mean I did buy a bottle of cheap plonk, especially for the sauce after all. As for the stock, come on, there was some frozen lamb stock in the freezer, wouldn't have taken a second in the microwave to defrost but no, she had to use beef stock. By K-Noor, who apparently have the K-Noor how. Thyme! Fresh thyme would have been great in that sauce, why didn't she want to use the fresh thyme? I was standing there, by the door, with scissors in hand, all too eager to go out into the pitch-black and brave the freezing cold; just to collect some fresh thyme from the bottom of the garden. Have I mentioned fresh thyme yet? And I knew we didn't have any redcurrant jelly in the fridge, I just knew it. How she thought quince jelly was going to cut the mustard as a substitute is beyond me but she went ahead and used it; stirring into the sauce at the end, against all of my advice.

And what do I get in return? I get told to sit down and to shut up. I then get told that just because I blog about about food doesn't mean that I get the final say in matters. And just because I've got delusions of grandeur, thinking that I am some top Michelin starred chef or something, doesn't mean that everything I cook always comes out well either. I get told, no, bellowed at, asking why for instance, I never got round to writing up that lamb tongue in aspic, which, according to her, looked like dog food. I was also asked why I never shouted from the rooftops about my duck and juniper terrine either. Which, according to her, looked and smelt like dog shit. I then get told that if I ever stick my big, fat nose into her cooking again, when it's not wanted; then this pan, this large, heavy, oversized pan, that is apparently too big for shallots, is going to be thrown straight at my head.

So naturally, and from then on, I kept my mouth shut and subtly took some photos instead.

I did think that maybe making a sticky, reduced red wine and shallot sauce wasn't really necessary because the Swaledale lamb we had won from the East London Steak Company a couple of weeks ago and have been ploughing through since, tastes quite beautiful on its own. The depth of flavour is stunning and doesn't really need any adornment. But I kept quiet about that.

Still, as it turned out, the sauce was pretty amazing and a perfect accompaniment for the pink rump steaks we ate last night.

I kept quiet about that opinion too.

 Quince jelly, who knew?

Lamb rump in a reduced red wine and shallot sauce

 

Rare

Finger streaks

Crumpetgate

No one likes a smart arse and you'll be sure that whilst riding high upon the crest of a wave, spectators, commentators and detractors will be looking for the slightest slip up, the merest excuse to mock, bray and scream. I found this out to my cost when I appeared on 'A Question of Taste', a new epicurean quiz recently aired on BBC2. Watching nervously from my settee at home, clutching a cushion and a bottle of port, I spent the first part of the show lamenting the fact that I had decided to wear a flowery shirt that day. And sporting a ginger, hairy caterpillar under my nose was also a definite no-no. But as the programme progressed, my confidence grew because a) my team were doing quite well and b) I had answered a fair few of the questions myself. In fact, as things went on, I could actually start to feel my temporal lobes swell with pride. 'This could be it,' I thought. 'Redemption. At last I can walk tall in the street. People will see me for who I really am. They will all slap me on the back. They will all hoist me up on their shoulders and carry me through the streets of Romford, praising my genius. "This man has got it!" They'll all cry. "This man really knows his stuff about food!"'

And then came this question.

"What is the name given to small round pieces of mutton or lamb dipped in egg and breadcrumbs and then grilled or fried?"

"Wait! I know this one.............."

*BRAINFART*

"Come along now Danny"

"Er is it ...........crumpets?"

"Wrong! It's epigrams"

Kavey - "You knobber Danny." Dan - "Oh my god you prink."
Twitter -"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Of course I have heard of nothing else since. Via text, emails, DM's and phonecalls, everyone has been keen to point out my little mistake. Even my Nan rang last night, just to simply say "Crumpets Dan? What the hell was you thinking!?! You are no Grandson of mine!!!"

Oh to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous (mis)fortune.

But let me just say that it is I who will have the last laugh, for yesterday I took a very interesting call indeed. I can't say much at the moment but let's just say that the marketing department of a well known (and may I add premier) producer of baked goods got in touch and wants me to spearhead a new advertising campaign. Kerching!!!

Like I said my lips are sealed but here's a little sneak preview of what they've got in mind.

Who's laughing now eh?

Som Tam: Salad of Joy and Pain

Two words, that's all it took and straight away I could tell she was impressed. She may been taken aback at first. I think I may have even flustered the young lady but then she flashed me a wicked white smile, framed by hot, red, pouting lips. She probably didn't get my kind of proposal that often. I mean working night after night, serving up the same old fare to the same old punters, well it must be dull and tedious. Don't get me wrong, the food in Sukhothai is of a high standard and quite delicious but out in the provinces of 'Ornchurch, I doubt very much that anyone ventures beyond the safety net of a green curry or a pad thai. Except for me of course. Because when I saw the new addition to the menu and asked for it as my starter, she was definitely excited.

"You want to try the Som Tam?!"

"Yeah, go on then"

"You try it before?"

"Of course" (I hadn't)

"You....you like it spicy then?!"

"Yeah, I do"

"How hot?! Two chilli hot? Three chilli hot?!"

"Yeah, go on, three chilli hot" I replied, slouching back on my chair, holding up three stubby digits, speech slow, languid and seductive.

And off she went, beaming all the way to the kitchen, glancing back over her shoulder oh so quickly before walking through the swinging doors. 'Was that a wink?' I thought, grinning to myself. Yeah, probably.

Almost immediately after that exchange, I felt a ferocious, sharp shard of pain shoot through my shin bone and up my leg, which jolted me out of my stupor. Opposite me sat Mrs FU with a face framed at first by disapprobation and ire, before melting back into calmness, all batting eye-lashes and sweetness and light.

"Now that you have quite finished flirting with the waitress, would you mind pouring me and Craig some wine?"

I looked to my dear old friend for support but I could tell by the arch of his eyebrow that I wasn't going to get any. I shouldn't have been surprised, Craig professed to me his preference for boys years ago. So there was no getting away with it. I had been caught, busted, St Strabismus had looked down upon me at the wrong moment and for the next five minutes I was made to suffer in silence, the ignominy of wandering eyes.

But then suddenly, she appeared again at our table, my Thai princess - sorry waitress - and placed the plate down in front of me triumphantly and all was well again. Although this time I had to suppress any signs of coquetry. As she stood there waiting, it took me a while to wonder why she hadn't cleared off but of course, she wanted to see how I got on. So with a large fluid action, holding my fork, I scooped up a healthy mouthful of glistening shredded papaya and chomped down with great enthusiasm. And nodded with a smile and a thumbs up. And then I glanced back at my wife and her gay compadre, you know to make sure that I hadn't overstepped the line. Again.

Satisfied, she left us in peace to get on with the business of eating. Mrs FU had her Tom Kha Gai, Craig had his Thai fishcakes and I had my Som Tam. Gorgeous it was too, with lovely sour and sweet flavours, fruity, crunchy textures, the tang of lime and fish sauce and an underlying heat that seemed to build and build with each mouthful. And build and build. And build and build. And..............oh my God, the heat. The searing, overwhelming heat which threatened to engulf my entire person and if it hadn't been for the sweat and the snot that began to cascade from my pores, I am sure my head would have surely burst into flames. I dropped my fork onto the plate and clutching the side of the table, began to smother my face with my napkin to mop up the mess and the ooze.

After an ablution of sorts, I looked up and spied the young waitress peering through a crack in the swinging door with half a dozen older ladies, complete with blue hairnets, giggling. Still thinking I was in the game, I plunged another forkful into my mouth and shakily raised my thumb, chewing like a wide mouth frog with tears dripping from my cheeks. The door shut to raucous laughter. Gently, Mrs FU placed her hand over my trembling thumb and lowered it, cooing "Take it easy now Dan. I think, as usual, you've impressed her enough for one night." To which I dropped my fork in submission and proceeded to drink a whole jug of tap water.

That was the first time I tried Som Tam and I have eaten it a couple of times since, with more or less the same reaction. It truly is a salad of joy and pain and perversely, I can't get enough of it. Yesterday, I tried for the first time to make it at home, following this recipe by Meemalee's Kitchen. However, the papaya I bought in Chinatown, which incidently was £4.50, was too ripe and was therefore useless. So I ended up going to the supermarket to buy some unripe mangoes, which incidently cost me a futher £4.00.

This has been the most painful Som Tam episode yet.

Som Tam

Garlic and "Two" Bird's Eye Chillis

Sour pounding

Giant ripe papaya

A Good Wife Always Forgives Her Husband When She's Wrong.

When it comes to cooking a meal, you really can take inspiration from almost anywhere. And if you enjoy food, the inner tinkerings of your mind are forever engaged. What can I have a go at next? What should I try out this time? What haven't I done yet? These questions in turn are governed by a myriad of influences. The seasons, the weather, recipe books, articles, blog posts, trends, the contents of your fridge etc etc. As a culinary adventurer, a gourmand, an epicurean artiste who devotes his life to the pursuit of eating, the journey from field to plate is joyful and boundless. Truly, what a wonderful thing it is to cook.

Except for when you are trying to create a dish that you have seen on the TV.

Now I have done this sort of thing before but to fully appreciate the most recent 'journey' I had, this really is the best way to communicate my first experience with cooking breast of lamb. Or at least this is how I came across this brilliantly cheap and simple recipe by Tristan Welch. And how I very nearly got it wrong. So this was the conversation that I had with my good wife the other day, leading with my first line:

Oooh I saw this great looking dish on telly the other day.

Oh yeah?

Yeah, Tristan Welch did it. It was breast of lamb, it looked lovely.

Oh right, what did he do then?

Well, you get some breast of lamb, lay it out, rub chopped herbs and garlic into it....oh and some rapeseed oil, roll it back up, tie it and then you pan fry it....oh and then you slice it into rounds and then fry both sides. He served it up with crushed potatoes and mint sauce, it looked beautiful.

Hmm that does sound good, we've never tried breast of lamb before have we?

No, shall we get some for Sunday?

Yeah......so wait, hang on a minute, he just did all that and rolled it up and fried it? He didn't cook it first.

What do you mean? No, he just put it in a pan with some butter....

But did he do anything else to it first, I think you have to slow cook breast of lamb don't you?

Well he just fried it.

No but Dan (slowly) did he do anything to it first?

No I'm bloody telling you he just fried it. I should know I watched the bloody programme.

What programme was he on?

.......er I can't remember.

Well shall we have a look online and check the recipe, what was it Saturday Kitchen?

I don't know but listen I watched the fucking programme right, he just pan fried it, believe me....

Hmm doesn't seem to be on BBC website.

No listen, you don't have to look on the poxy pc, it's very simple, you just take the lamb, season it and roll it up and then fry it (under breath) for fuck's sake

Dan! I am only checking, why do you have to get so precious about things?

Because I saw him fucking cooking it!!!!

Is this it? Rolled lamb breast with Jersey royals and mint sauce?

Yes! Probably! I don't know...

On Market Kitchen?

Yes! That's it! He did it on Market Kitchen, he fried it on fucking Market Kitchen!

Recipe says to poach lamb in chicken stock for 3 hours first.

Does it?

Yes.

(deafening silence of shattered male pride)

And so after a period at the bottom of the garden, I decided that this was still worth trying out. We had this last Sunday and it tasted just as delicious as it looked on the telly. This cut cost just £3.60 and could have easily served 4 people, served up with allotment Charlottes dug up a few hours earlier and roasted and some frozen peas (boiled naturalment). The mint for the sauce came from our garden. It is probably even fattier a cut than pork belly and could have benefited from properly cooling as per the recipe for the joint to firm up properly. But time just didn't allow, when it came to the 'frying' part, it was still lukewarm (if only you really could cook as quick as they do on the square box eh). However, a superdooper meal to try at the end of the month when the pennies are running low. Just remember that you do indeed have to slow cook the joint first.

Breast of Lamb

Slather meat with chopped thyme, rosemary, garlic, salt, pepper and rapeseed oil.

Poach in chicken stock with onion, celery and herb bouquet garni

Cool, wrap in foil to keep shape (my idea) and leave in fridge to cool completely. Seriously let it cool completely

Charlotte Potatoes

See, I told you Tristan f***ing fried it!

Breast of Lamb (cooked correctly)