Jamie’s 30 Minute Meals

Let the record show that I bow to no-one in my admiration of Jamie Oliver’s good intentions. He may go at it all a bit gung-ho but his heart is essentially in the right place. But his latest book – 30 minute meals – has hit the headlines for exactly the wrong reason; cook after cook furious that the two/three course meals cannot be done in 30 minutes and in fact can take up to an hour and a half.

There are, I think, two sides to this culinary coin. On the one hand, I think that these recipes are probably do-able in 30 minutes, give or take (and I know that’s not the promise but let’s be generous). I gave the Sister a copy for her birthday and – as a competent if not adventurous cook – she found that she could do most meals in around 40-45 minutes at her own leisurely pace. The other inference here is that she is cooking from it on a regular basis, which surely indicates that the recipes themselves are tempting and inspiring. Her point was that the recipes could be completed within the allotted time if – and this is a big if – you have absolutely everything measured out, ready to go and you are confident both in your own abilities and in your kitchen and equipment. And, to be fair, having watched the accompanying TV series last year, he did start every show with that exact mandate: get everything ready beforehand – ingredients weighted out, kettle boiled, gas on, etc.

On the other hand, I have a couple of issues with St Jamie of O. Flicking through the book – of course – before handing it over, you can’t help but be slightly taken aback by the extensive equipment list detailed in order to be able to cook the recipes in 30 minutes. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but your average cook who wants to get a meal on the table in 30 minutes isn’t necessarily the same type of cook who wants to spend upwards of £300 on kitchen equipment, just to cook the recipes out of said book. A keen amateur, confident in the kitchen, who enjoys cooking as a pleasurable activity – and therefore doesn’t get het up about promises of 30 minutes, but would rather spend a leisurely hour enjoying the process – might well want to go and splash out, if they haven’t already got the equipment, but I think it’s a bit rich, in these financially stretched times, to ask people to spend a lot of money in order to create easy recipes whose USP is that they can be done quickly. Is it completely contradictory to add a coda along the lines of how long they would take using your own equipment.

The other dilemma is with the ingredients. There have been a lot of complaints that individual meals can cost upwards of £20 or £30. That’s a huge amount on one mealtime. And again, I would have thought that your average 30-minute cook wouldn’t have the time, inclination or maybe even the budget to shop so extravagantly. It’s not justifiable. I cooked the recipe for steak sandwiches with two or three accompaniments. I drew the line at spending over £3 on a jar of roasted peppers when I know I could buy a couple of peppers for mere pence, bung them in the oven at the beginning of the cooking process and hey-ho – roasted peppers are mine for a fraction of the price.

And this brings me on to the paradox of this book. I knew that I could roast the peppers myself, saving myself money and alter the cooking process to suit my own capabilities and budget. But does Jamie’s average reader necessarily have the knowledge or confidence to do the same? He enjoys huge success with those who have little confidence in the kitchen – and rightly so. His recipes are mostly (ketchup aside!) accurate, always tempting and he inspires confidence in those who might be lacking. These are all good factors. BUT, in this book he seems to miss his target somewhat. To inspire people to cook, and assure them that a multi-course meal can be on the table in only 30 minutes, is not a licence to demand they spend hundreds of pounds on equipment to do so and further needless cash on expensive ingredients simply to fit within an arbitrary time limit. It seems the ideal cook for this book would be a wealthy couple, time-poor with an expensively-fitted but under-used kitchen who want to expand their repertoire past the ping of the microwave. And how many of us does that include?

Smokin’…

My name is Jo and I have a breadmaker and I love it. There, I’ve said it. I have made – and do sometimes still – loaves by hand but when you just want a loaf for sausage sandwiches or cheese on toast, I find my breadmaker indispensable. I just wanted to get that out the way at the beginning so we’re all clear.

Anyway, the latest find is Bacheldre Watermill’s oak-smoked malted blend bread flour. I bunged it in the machine with the normal amounts that would make up a 750g loaf, set it for a white loaf (I find for some reason on my Panasonic that a granary setting makes the loaf really dry. Answers on a postcard…) and let it go. I had in mind that it would be the perfect setting for Nigel Slater’s idea of smoked salmon, bacon, lettuce and chutney sandwiches.

Reader I was not wrong. I chose a beetroot, horseradish and apple chutney, leaves of Little Gem, smoked salmon with a little pepper and slices of streaky bacon – not too crisp for me. It was amazing. The bread is very delicately smokily flavoured and the malted granary gives a pleasing sweetness. It would be fabulous as a backdrop for smoked mackerel pate and I’m trying it now with the omnipresent sausages with slices of tomato and Dijon mustard. I’ll let you know.

And just on a tangent, last night’s supper was just perfect for this dank cold January. A sausage casserole, simmering the links in chicken stock with sliced onion, two sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped, a peeled, chopped apple. tbsp of flour for thickening and a tin of cannellini beans. Add a good tbsp of Dijon just before serving to counteract all that sweetness and it’s a real body-hugger of a dish. The potatoes crumble and thicken the stock, the apple melts and adds background sweetness and it’s a lovely convivial gathering of flavours.

Technorati Tags: recipes,bacheldre watermill,bread flour,oak smoked,sausage casserole,bread

A resolution-free zone

I bloody hate them. New year resolutions, that is. Made in a  fog of post-festive-indulgence guilt, they’re quickly broken because, quite frankly, January is the one month you need a bit of comfort and pleasure. After the come-down of Christmas and the always-slightly-anti-climactic New Year celebrations, it’s very comforting and somehow indulgent without being excessive to treat yourself to the odd sybaritic pleasure. It’s the old saw, I’m afraid, of everything in moderation.

So, having denounced he very thought of resolution, I have got a few thoughts on how to make life a bit better and more bearable with still months to go till Spring, when – with the burst of new life – it seems more appropriate to make plans.

1. In Victoria Moore’s excellent How to Drink, she recommends Spanish Albarino and steely, flinty whites to get us through to the warmer times. So I resolve to buy some decent white wine and treasure every sip rather than glugging back rivers of Sauvignon blanc and Pinot grigio in the mixed cases I so lazily order.

2. We always eat loads of vegetables, but Christmas lends itself rather more to fat-inducing carbohydrates (all those potatoes, parsnips and the bread for fabulous layered sandwiches) than most festive occasions, so I shall resolve to use my ingenuity and India Knight’s inspiring Idiot-Proof Diet Cook Book to spread the load a little more. Feeling sluggish and toxic this month is completely normal, and I don’t intend to go cold turkey either, but more pulses, more celeriac (heavenly in dauphinoise or in a version of patatas bravas), more greens.

3. To be nicer. I make this non-resolution every year: not to lose my temper so often; not to get so easily frustrated with the trials of every day life and the exasperating slowness of other people; and I fail every time. It lasts maybe three days and then I come across someone maddeningly not doing something as I want it done – impatience is my huge character flaw – or too slowly and I’m a goner. So this year – again – I shall try my best to curb my misanthropic tendencies and view humanity with vaguely pink tinted lenses. But please, can you all not walk just a bit quicker?

4. To really get the vegetable plot going all year. Last year we got it going like gangbusters for the summer but then lack of proper planning meant we had no greens or potatoes for winter, so I am going to make like Nigel Slater and get a notebook and draw the goddamn plants in. From there it is the merest of efforts to digging in the manure and getting the seeds in.

5. To nail down where we want to live in Dorset during one of our recce missions and then work towards it with the fury of two possessed. And obviously to have lots of fun with MCD Jr by the sea.

6. To blog more frequently – to get the recipes I love cooking up and out there and to push myself with the whole concept. Oh – and to conquer LinkedIn.

I’m reluctant to put down any more: I may have to hold myself to them and I don’t want to exhaust myself before March. Tally-ho!

Keeping it simple… Part III

Ideas for leftovers are everywhere – how best to resurrect the beast (Our beast was half a crown cooked with goose fat – counter-intuitive I know, but utterly delicious) whilst making it seem joyously fresh and exciting and tempting to everyone’s somewhat jaded palates. I rather take the line with Jay Rayner and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall that there is very little unimproved by frying in hot butter and I would apply it to turkey too. I’m really not that keen on cold meat, apart from rare beef, so it’s a practice I’ve taken to with enthusiasm.

Frankly, the best bit – of course – is the turkey sandwiches afterwards. There must absolutely be stuffing: even Paxo’s rather bullying sage & onion has its place here and I reheat my turkey (look away now if this makes the more salmonella-paranoid of you squirm) either in a good knob of butter in the frying pan or cut into thin slices and covered with a little chicken stock/leftover gravy and some knobs of butter in a dish in the oven. Make sure it’s piping hot, though. I also used to adore – God, it sounds revolting, but I truly loved it and so pass it on now – sandwiches made with hot turkey and stuffing and a good squirt of salad cream. Makes a change from mayo which is really only useful to lubricate the bread rather than add much in the way of flavour.

Boxing Day isn’t Boxing Day proper without bubble & squeak with Worcestershire sauce and however many types of chutneys and pickles you can fit on the plate. However, this year, having gorged on my mother’s B & S on Boxing Day, we still had our leftover veg waiting for us, as well as quarter of a can of chestnut puree from the stuffing. Reader, I made a Bubble & squeak soup, nicked from a recipe I saw from dear old Nigel Slater and adapted and it was luscious.Use whatever veg you have to hand.

Chop an onion and some celery and sweat in butter, then add a sliced leek. Toss in your leftover cooked veg and add stock to cover, then stir in the chestnut puree. Simmer until it tastes mingled – maybe 20 minutes – and throw in a handful of greens, leftover or fresh – for the sprouty taste – and cook for a further 5 minutes or so. Blend until smooth – or at least not lumpy and ladle into deep bowls. I had some stuffing and did as he suggests, cubed it and added to the soup before serving. 

You might also consider making a Keema – a curry made with a base of sliced onion and garlic, garam masala, ginger and cumin with the chopped meat, peas, spinach, a can of tomatoes and a little water and left to simmer until thickened and shiny.

And don’t forget the pasta sauces made with the leftover cream (why do we insist on buying those mountainous pots of cream – what do we use it for?), turkey, bacon and mushrooms – ridiculously rich but comforting if the weather’s a bit dreich and drear.

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Keeping it simple… Part II

Last night was wild mushroom risotto. Now, I have to admit to a certain amount of seasonal wanton profligacy with this, due to a timely visit to Costco and the bulk buying of 500g wild mushrooms for less than a tenner, which has led to me throwing them with gay abandon into everything. And I also have to acknowledge that not everyone will find a half-eaten jar of Sacla anchovies with white truffles in the cupboard to also throw in with wilful wantonness, so feel free to edit these elements somewhat… If you wanted that savoury richness and had only ordinary anchovies, add them in with the onion at the beginning so they melt and form a backbone of flavour.

So: I soaked a good handful of mushrooms in some chicken stock while I sweated a chopped onion and 2 cloves garlic in some butter. I scooped out the mushrooms and added them to the pan, then added in around 160g arborio rice (carnaroli is my preferred choice, but we’re talking cupboard love here). Add a good slug of vermouth (or white wine) and allow the rice to soak it up, then proceed as normal, adding in the stock a little at a time, allowing the rice to absorb the liquid and stir, stir, stir. About halfway through, I added the anchovies which melted into the risotto as it cooked. You’ll notice the risotto is taking on a rather brown hue, due to the mushroom liquid, but think of it as autumnal woods and move on…  When the rice is cooked,season and leave to stand for a couple of minutes while you add the incredibly important knob of butter and – for even more richness – a big handful of grated gruyere cheese. Warm your plates, then spoon the risotto onto them, adding a grating of Parmesan and a sprinkling of parsley. Heaven in a bowl.

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Keeping it simple… Part I

Pre-Christmas I find I crave meat less and less as the Big Day approaches: something I suspect to do with the surfeit looming. Particularly in this weather – and with MCD Jr having had his very first cold and cough – I’m paranoid about keeping up our vegetable intake and a lot of the meals tend towards the vegetarian, in a strange simulacrum of Puritan-like fasting before the main event.

Monday’s soup was the usual throw-unfeasibly-large-amounts-of-vegetables-in-a-pot-and-cook-with-stock-and-blend variety but the combination this time was particularly worthy of note. Half a pumpkin, laboriously peeled and cubed, a handful of Jerusalem artichokes simply scrubbed, a lone peeled potato found floating in the drawer and an apple for sweetness – all softened with a base of sweated onion and garlic. Simmer with enough vegetable stock to cover until thoroughly soft and then blend. The genius is in the velvety texture from the artichokes and the sweet combo of pumpkin and apple. Last night I just topped with a handful of toasted croutons (always mindful of Simon Hopkinson’s note that they ‘do something nice to the inside of your mouth’). This lunchtime I had the leftovers alongside a roll stuffed with grilled chorizo sausage in a riff on the old pea and ham soup-and-sandwich combo.

Edouard Pomiane, a warm and lovely presence in the food writing world, had a lovely way with cooked tomatoes, luxurious and warming without being cloyingly rich. Cut tomatoes in half and prick the skin side a few times with the point of a knife. Place cut-side down in a frying pan with a knob of butter and fry until coloured. Turn oven and cook – and this is his crucial injunction – until the juices run out. Pour in a dollop of cream, season well and scoop over hot toast. It’ll do for breakfast with a pot of hot coffee.

Technorati Tags: vegetarian suppers,meals,soup,tomatoes,pumpkin,Jerusalem artichokes,Edouard Pomiane

Haggis - it's never too early...

The freezer needs some serious consideration if I am to fit all the Christmas goodies in that I intend to for the two of us (And I know there's now three, but if you're not on solids, you don't count on this particular occasion). I found - stashed in the back from last January when I optimistically bought it for Burns Night - a haggis. Being pregnant at the time, it was the first Burns Night in a few years I had gone without my customary haggis fill, but I need the space in the freezer now and it seemed the perfect solution for a warming supper toute seule.

Wrapped in foil and bunged in the oven for 90 minutes, half of it was comfortingly savoury with chips (of course...) and some - oh the shame - Bisto roast onion gravy which I almost never use but can get you out of a culinary hole when time is tight and only thick gravy will do. The other half - well, all I can say is if you haven't tried a haggis sandwich, you haven't eaten the best this can offer. I fried some mushrooms in a pan with some butter, added the remaining haggis and cooked through until completely hot. I spread a little redcurrant jelly (I know but work with me) on a slice of white (home-made!) bread, then tipped the contents of the pan over said slice, topped with another and applied to face. It strikes me now it would have been less messy to eat in a bun of some kind, but it was a very Scottish take on a Sloppy Joe, a deconstructed burger dish of which I am inordinately fond.

Naturally, come January I shall be going down the traditional route once more, but as MCD isn't that keen, I might have half on Burns Night and save the other half for sandwiches again. Who knew...?