Easter Lunch

For Ned

"Rise Heart"

(George Herbert)

If you read my book, you may remember a somewhat weepy memory of Easter lunch under the willow tree as a child. Well, here I go again, only with less weeping. I picked this card because it reminded me of those my maternal grandmother used to send to me as a child.

Easter lunch for me and the boys and maybe you too.

I like to cook lamb at Easter, so here's an easy way to do it. This is what we will have for Easter Sunday lunch.

Roast lamb with accompaniments and a cheerful rhubarb pudding.

For 4, I have allowed a 2 kg leg of lamb, which will give you plenty plus leftovers. I like cold roast lamb in sandwiches with mint jelly.

Rub your leg of lamb all over with a little salt and pepper and olive oil and then make about 10 little slits in it. Into these slits pop a sprig of rosemary and a fat sliver of garlic, peeled or unpeeled. Then -did I say "bring the meat to room temperature first"? -- put it into a medium hot oven to roast. Meanwhile, try this.

A dish of roast vegetables.

Peel an assortment of seasonal root vegetables to include potatoes, carrots, parsnips and swede. Stick them in a large dish and chuck in some olive oil, sea salt and lots of black pepper. Mix well with your hands. Put to one side.

Some greens.

This time of year, just go exploring and find a nice dark cabbage. I'd probably use a savoy cabbage here. Pull off any dodgy-looking leaves and then shred it finely. Put it in a deep pan and barely cover with water. Add a little salt just before you cook.

Poached rhubarb

Right, while the lamb is cooking, prep your pudding. At this time of year, you may well be able to get lovely forced rhubarb, all pale pink and pretty. I would get about 1 kg, chop into pieces of several cm each with around 3 tbs of caster sugar. If you have bought the full blown rhubarb, you will need more so taste, taste, taste. Poach the rhubarb with the sugar, just covered with water.When it is soft, add a good punch of ground nutmeg and check again for sweetness.

When the lamb has had about 40 minutes, put the vegetables into the oven. The lamb will take another hour, by which time the vegetables with be soft and caramelising at the edges. A couple of times, take some of the juices from around the lamb and put them on the vegetables, tossing in a careless kind of way. 25 minutes later, cook the cabbage.

To serve, let the lamb sit for ten minutes, then hack it into generous pieces and serve with lots of vegetables and the cabbage. You'll see I haven't made gravy. That's because there will be plenty of succulence from the lamb and because you will have soft vegetables, seasoned with some of the fat and juices from the lamb.

Oh, while you are eating, keep the rhubarb warm in the turned off oven and, for pudding, serve it with lots of Greek yoghurt or, if you like, custard. Followed by an Easter egg hunt.

HAPPY EASTER!

Image courtesy of seaside rose at www.flickr.com Thank you.

Hot cross buns. Reclaim the bun!

Within the past week, I have had conversations in street and bus with older folk about how they object to the ubiquity of hot cross buns. Once, they appeared at Easter or you made them. You did not get them all year round and, though memory may not ratify here, apparently they did not used to be so doughy and squashy. I talked to an eighty year old chap about this on the bus last Thursday. He was on his way to hospital, his wife had died recently and he had just recovered from pneumonia. He was on his way to hospital because of the aneurism, though. They thought he was better now, but he was going for a follow up. "One of these days I won't come home", he said.."I don't get out much either. Although I did go to Asda to get some hot cross buns and, well, I was so disappointed by how doughy and soft they were, not like....".

So here, and I hope you are home and feeling a little more cheerful, is a hot cross bun recipe, just as my mother kept it. They are soft. but substantial and you can also get the top crisp. They have plenty of spice. Give them to all and sundry with a cup of tea. And have two for you.


For 14 hot cross buns

25g dried easy blend yeast
300ml warmed milk
1 teaspoon of caster sugar

Then
400 g plain flour, sieved, with 25g of unsalted butter rubbed in (although I reckon my mother used lard)
pinch of salt
50g caster sugar
1 or 2 teaspoons of mixed spice
50 g sultanas
To make the glaze and get the cross on top, keep to one side 2 tbs of water and 2 tbs of caster sugar

You just add the yeast to the warmed --not hot--milk and then mix in the flour followed by everything else. Leave this to rise in a warm place for about t 20 minutes, add a little more milk if it seems too floury and knead it just a little. Make the dough into 14 balls and put them on to prepared (i.e. greased) trays. Cut a cross in the top of each one with a very sharp small knife, leave for another twenty minutes (they will grow!) and then cook in a hot oven until they are golden. About twenty five minutes, during which time you make a simple syrup for the glaze by dissolving the sugar in the water. While your buns are still hot, you apply the glaze to the cross. Eat while they are still hot or toast later. A triumph! Not the mass produced supermaket squishy bun! Hoorah! Oh: if you want some extra spice, dust them lightly with cinnamom or nutmeg before you serve and maybe even sprinkle with golden caster sugar. But just a little.Best served with butter in the middle, too.

An aside: foods which I do not like. (There are few.)

I will eat anything that is put in front of me. However, there are three examples that make me feel a little bit uncomfortable. I mean, I have plenty of friends who won't eat meat unless it contains no skin or bone, those who will not eat fish because of the texture or any seafood because it just looks, well, too creaturely, I suppose. Then there are those who won't touch food they think will be (chilli) hot, who dislike leaf coriander with a passion, offal haters and those who reject cumin, tumeric in curries, Thai or South East Asian food because of the hit of fish sauce (which I love). Folks have all sorts of predilections. My husband will not be persuaded to eat beetroot in any form or peppers, unless ravenous. So back to me.
1. Heart. I am an offal fancier, but just cannot eat this. My mother would serve it up about once a month throughout my childhood. To me, it has a rich, slightly sweet, metallic and somehow bloody smell that repels.
 Do you have any suggestions? The best way I ever found was to stuff it with herby breadcrumbs, but even then...
2. Lychees. My family is well aware that I regard these as the fruit of the devil. I dislike the texture, the cloying smell and the slight squeak they make. I don't even like the name of the thing, stopping, as it does, somewhere between lice and leeches. They have been served up time and time agai in fruit salads to me, particularly because of the South Asian influence on my family, where I have been served them as a fruit salad after a range of curry dishes. But, well, yuk. They look like congealed vitreous humour in syrup.
3. Tripe. O.k. Big sheets of it. Billowing around in white sauce with onions and served with boiled potatoes. It was a favourite of my father and was cooked at home because it was a dish which his mother, Beth, regularly cooked for him. So, again, this probably appeared at least once a month when I was growing up. I would eat the onions in the white sauce and lots of boiled potatoes and then attempt to eradicate at least some of the tripeyness (this is an invented adjective, of course) by the application of malt vinegar and lots of pepper. Which went some way to improve things. The texture. Well, I don't mind excercising my jaws. Neither am I remotely squeamish about the fact that it is the lining of a stomach. And yet, it does look as if you'd unrolled a wad of bubble wrap and pressed it down and then boiled it and I profundly dislike the way it manages to smell a little like a damp sock when cooking. A smell which pervades each room of the house.

BUT there is a caveat to this one. It came the first summer I discovered Elizabeth David's books and thus, when I went to France, tried to eat some of the things she so beautifully described in French Provincial Cooking. May I tell you about the dish called Tableau au Pompier -- or fireman's apron? You take a piece of cooked tripe about the size of your hand (you would have poached this in a little seasoned water) then you cover it with melted butter, roll it in seasoned breadcrumbs and put it under a very hot grill, turning once, so that the outside is very crisp and blisteringly hot. Eat immediately. If I had to, this is, I think, the way to go. For me, this little curiosity makes the best of a crisp exterior and the soft chewy texture of the tripe within.

OOOH: I think there may be hope here. Since thinking about this little article, I have been looking, in particular, at the use of thinly shredded tripe in the wonderfully aromatic Vietnamese soup, Pho. Now there's one to sample. I'm wondering whether, for me, the meat will lend itself so much more to Chinese and South East Asian food. Will experiment.

The picture above is by James Cridland and shows a shop in Smithfield market: note the Tripe Dressers in the title. www.flickr.com Thank you James.

In honour of a new cooker

Well now: when you buy a new cooker -- here it is, except mine's cream coloured-- I suggest you have a cook in. What would I do? Try this.

1. A roast chicken. I know, I know. I am forever roasting chickens.

2. Some roast spiced potatoes. I'll call them masala potatoes.

3. Some proper cakes. Or one substantial number. With a bit of spice for the time of year.

4. A casserole or two.

Are you terribly impressed? I did a cookathon in between teaching lessons at home, making a 'Medieval Day' costume for a five year old (tip: pillow case, red and gold paint; giant sequins and curtain tieback...) and writing an article and it felt like a triumph. I am not, may I say, competitive mummy, but I do like to feel I am at home. Less of the blather and back to the recipes.

1. The chicken. Free ranger; roast upside down for the first 40 minutes or so and allow about 20 minutes for each 500g and then another 20-30 minutes  But do I ever time thus? No I don't. Give yourself time and you'll just know when it's done. It's instinct. The juices should run clear where the thigh meets the breast.

Variations thereon: try smearing the breast with buter between skin and chicken, rubbing it all over with a mix of best unsalted butter and good green pesro or rubbbing in a mixture of butter, ground cumin and coriander, salt and pepper. You could stuff the cavity with a stack of unpeeled garlic cloves and add sprigs of robust herbs such as rosemary branches plus a little sage. Tarragon is great with chicken: stuff the cavity with it, or strew it over the bird twenty minutes or so before coing time is up. Ditto thymes of all sorts. Great hot with the usual suspects, warm or cold. Remember to give yourself first dibbs at prising away the little stucky bits that have stuck to the roasting tin.

2. The masala potatoes. I've prepped these (just to the coating in spice stage) but will cook them later. Just peel or not, as you can be bothered, and then cut in half. Floury potatoes are what you want, not waxy ones. So, get a dish with a thin layer of sunflower oil piping hot and shimmering in the oven. Meanwhile, coat your potatoes in black pepper, flakes of sea salt, red chilli flakes and a heaped tablespoon or a garam masala mix. I like the Rajah or Bolst brands. Now, chuck the lot in the hot oil and roast until they are soft on the inside and crisp on the outside and sticking to the dish here and there. Cook them in a hot oven and possibly turn up the heat later to blitz them so they get really crisp. You will know your oven best.

3. The cake. I got all nostalgic here. So here, in honour of my late mum, is something she would have liked. It's based on one from a book she used: Been Nilson's The Penguin Cookery Book. It is an almond fruit cake. To me, anything with almond in it feels like a celebration. You need a moderate oven and an 8'' tin then...

MAKE A SPICED ALMOND AND FRUIT CAKE

Cream 200gm of unsalted butter with the same volume of caster sugar. Then add 4 large eggs, 200g of ground almonds and 100g of plain flour. Mix all in well as you go. To this you add 150g of sultanas and the same of raisins and then 75g of mixed peel. Again, mix it in well. Now you have a choice: either 25 of preserved ginger or a tablespoon of ground ginger and then, finally, the grated rind of half an orange and the grated rind of half a lemon. Stick the lot into a tin which you have lined with greaseproof paper and cook for about 3 hours. At this point, if you put a skewer into the centre of the cake, it should come out clean. Turn it out of the tin when it's cool.

4. Right: a chicken casserole. Would you be horrified to know that, a while ago, I had in front of me almost 6 kg of skinned chicken drumsticks? That's the cooking ahead thing; if I don't do it, it'll be tits up round here by Wednesday. But say you had 3 kg, which would be more than enough for 4. Try this

First, brown your chicken pieces in a large pan. You may need to do this in batches. Or, hey: just skip this stage altogether. Put to one side. In the same pan, add a little sunflower oil and then add 2 finely chopped celery sticks or hearts, 3 chopped carrots, four finely chopped garlic cloves and a finely chopped onion, much in the manner of an Italian soffrito. Cook gently until all are softened. Now, add the chicken and toss it all about. At this point --because we are going for an all in one so that all you have to do is dole everything out at the table (or wherever) with no extra fuss-- add five peeled and roughly chopped potatoes. You want these to be in substantial pieces so that they do not disentegrate into the casserole, though. So maybe better in half or whole if they are small. Stir carefully, add a big fat pinch of sea salt, lots of freshly ground black pepper, a couple of bay leaves and then cover the mixture either with a decent white wine or half and half water and white wine. Something dry, I think. Alternatively, cover with water, but add a couple of teaspoons of Marigold bouillion powder and stir carefully. Bring the pan to a high heat and then either turn it right down, simmering for an hour on the hob or a little more if you transfer it to a casserole dish, as I would, for the oven. Making it a proper casserole, then. Because it's the acts of baking and roasting that make me feel better, most of all.

Green shoots

This time of year, I am foraging in our garden. Here is what I have found and eaten today.

To Libby, with all my lovex

My chives are about four cm high, so I snip a few off. I add to them the wild onions --look for the little green shoots growing everywhere!-- that seem to grow so abundantly in this part of  the world. Then I add to these some tiny dandelion leaves and some of the new sorrel leaves that are coming on strong already. I add this to a big bowl either of cold cooked chick peas and salty feta cheese, with a little olive oil, sea salt and black pepper, or do the same with some other white bean which I have soaked and cooked. You might try cannellini beans or haricots. That is it and it will give your system a fresh charge, I reckon, because raw food does you good. Hell, I sound like an eat yourself healthy cookbook.

The beans will be creamy and nutty and contrast with the lemony acidic twang of that sorrel and the little bite of the dandelion. The onions make it more savoury, I think.

Tea on a proper cold night

Now, I'm not one to whoop about spring coming and everything being all right now that soon we won't be cold, as I love winter in Britain and always have -- much as I relish warmth on my back, butterflies on buddleia and  and bees on thyme bushes when we have the balm of those first warm days. But I like cold, frost and winter mornings and fires in the evenings. And I love winter food. Try this followed by this.

SAUSAGES ALL IN -- IN THE OVEN

Buy as many sausages as you think you will eat, which is to say allow two per person and then probably another one each. For two, that is what I did. Get the best sausages you can find. Pork ones from happy piggies. Then stick them in a big roasting tin WITHOUT having pricked them. No no no. Never do this with a sausage, otherwise they won't get properly sticky. Add to the pan some diced unpeeled potatoes, some peeled chunks of swede, ditto of celeriac, some chunks of  carrot, a couple of good pinches of red chilli flakes, ten cloves of unpeeled garlic, a teaspoon or so of cumin seeds and a glug of sunflower oil or a mild olive oil. This goes into a medium hot oven and, about an hour later, emerges to warm you through to your toes. It needs, though, to be well cooked and hopefully the vegetables should have caught a little here and there. Serve it with some green vegetables. I'd favour some wedges of a dark green brassica. How about some savoy cabbage?

Pudding. I hope this does not offend. I see that it is a little unsophisticated. Offer up a bowl each of some good thick Greek yoghurt --low fat Greek yoghurt can be pretty good-- with a dollop of the best strawberry jam you can find in it. But get this wrong and it'll be way too close to your primary school dinner. So good ingredients. You could add some lemon zest and some grated ginger or nutmeg, if you like.

I was very happy with this.

OOOH, SPEAKING OF OVENS...I have just purchased a new one after one false start and some  unexpected plumbing issues. I became sadly, sadly obsessed over the choosing of said appliance because, this time, I was going just a little upmarket and trying to buy something that was, in fact, rather beautiful. This is not something British cookers do well. And cheapo ovens? Caveat emptor. But this one. Well, I am sure I am boring you, but I went not for the biggish range of my dreams, but for the smallish, compact champagne coloured baby range and....I will be stroking it when I am alone. It is a Stoves mini range dual fuel in, well, champagne. With big knobs.

Pulling mussels from the shell

Pembrokeshire. This is a view from Stackpole Quay, a short walk away from Barafundle Bay, which reminds me...we are speaking of the sea and the wonderful things it produces --some of which you would find might in fine fettle right now.

Mussels are a good buy in March. Actually, March is a good month for British seafood generally. February, too. My rule of thumb here: NOTHING surpasses a little butter, possibly some lemon juice and perhaps some garlic with such riches.  However, I may tinker a but -- as follows. Hmm, Mussels. Could be a last meal. No, wait: that would be a whole crab, with a little melted butter to one side, to tear, limb from limb. Back to the mussels.

1. Have a big pan ready. A big wet pan. Having rinsed your mussels --I am assuming they are in the shell-- and given them a quick scrub if you deem it necessary, just chuck them in said pan. Put a lid or plate over the top. Over a moderate heat, they will steam and their shells should open up. Just a couple of minutes. If you have one which does not, it is already rather dead and needs to go in the bin. Then, add a fat slice of unsalted butter and two cloves of finely chopped butter, toss these around and cook for another couple of minutes. They are done and will be divine.
2.   Do the same two minute steam and then pull half a shell from the mussels, put a little butter and garlic on mussel in its remaining half shell and grill for a minute or two. You could also add some fine white breadcrumbs. I once ate these with a fine grating of paremsan, too.
3.   Moules Mariniere. Well, I just chuck the cleaned mussels in a deep pan, add a little butter over the heat and a couple of cloves of finely chopped garlic. Toss a couple of times and then add a decent dry white wine to cover. One that you like and would drink! Bring to a moderate heat and cook for three minutes or so, and you are done. Again, remember to discard any mussels that do not open.
4.  Mackerel. Good stuff this time of year in Blighty. I do not believe in fussing about with mackerel. Just get it gutted and cleaned, head on or off as you wish (on, in my case), sprinkle it with salt and pepper, roll it in seasoned flour and then fry it gently in a pan in a little sunflower oil or roast it a high heat. Eat with bread and butter and no fannying about with accompaniments. Now, I do quite like to use Indian spices with mackerel (top tip: if you are going to Goa, check it out -- but posssibly not at a traveller's haunt where they sell banana pancakes, if you get my point. You'll need to forage or go inland. Maybe to Paniji, the state capital?). I'd suggest rubbing the mackerel with sea salt and pepper, a little cumin powder and some turmeric, plus plenty of red chilli. It can take it. Rub it in inside and out and then roast in a little sunflower oil. The idea with fried or roasted mackerel is, importantly, to make sure the inside is succulent but that you get crisp skin. I have never in my life cooked a mackerel fillet.
5. Oh, oysters. There's something else to explore this month. Natives, I mean. The rudest kind of shellfish, somehow: need I elaborate? Remember, that it's terribly silly to swallow them straight down when raw. You need to acquire the skill of shucking without injuring yourself (an oven glove is my top tip: I'm sorry, I'm giggling now) or get a fishmonger to do it for you. Then just pull each one from the shell, chew and taste the sea. Ideally, you'd have a glass of champagne to ne side. But man, if ANYONE ever put this on for me, I'd keel over in delight. Divine. Where was I? You could add a little lime or lemon juice maybe a hunt of the original Tabasco sauce. But that's it. If you did want to cook them, they remove from the shell and give them just a couple of seconds in a hot pan so that the edges curl, perhaps trying a little of the Tabasco sauce with them. But just the tiniest little drop, mind. I don't ever want to turn them into soup or fritters. Tomorrow: more piscine adventures.

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A frittata

Well, there appears to be little food in the house. But wait: what's this? I have found the following items:

Did you get the boiled egg and soldiers thing?  Always have some eggs on hand for cheerful pictures and culinary emergencies, I say. Picture by Giles Turnbull.

six spring onions

three small cold jacket potatoes (that sounds kind of tragic, doesn't it? A bit like Mrs Beeton breaking the heart of a young lettuce)

a handful of cherry tomatoes

we have plentiful garlic and whole red chillies. If I have no other food, I always seem to have these -- plus my cupboard full of spices

half a yellow pepper

six eggs

two sticks of celery

Right: I have it. 

Chop up everything into small pieces, mince four cloves of garlic and, say, half a red chilli. Fry them off gently in a little olive oil in a large frying or saute pan. Meanwhile beat the eggs well with a little sea salt and plenty of freshly ground black pepper. Then having made sure that your vegetables are fairly well distributed across the pan, pour on the eggs and raise the heat. Allow all to set and then either turn your substantial-variation-on-a substantial-Spanish-omelette with finesse and elan, or finish it off under a hot grill.. 

Harumph! It is done and, I reckon, it is pretty good fare. I would want plenty of chilli in my omelette and I might also like a little cheese in there somewhere. Perhaps three tablespoons of a sharp cheddar? Pitted olives would, be good, too. Serve with crusty bread or not if, like me, you are not entirely up to speed with the domestics this week.