Cheshire: Love Food, Love Life

Sitting here in the study gazing at the dazzling-hued chestnut trees that line my back garden, I remember back in London I had medium expectations of foraging little local food treats. However it turns out I have yet to drive for more than 20 minutes in any direction without tripping over yet another farm shop, independent producer, butcher’s, greengrocer’s… It is my idea of heaven.

Tarporley itself is blessed with an excellent butcher’s (perfect for weekday shopping and really excellent sausages), a lovely chocolate shop, a wine shop and a Co-op doing the basics. The only puzzling thing is not so much the lack of fishmonger’s (people never use fishmonger’s and then they complain of their absence. Use it or lose it. It’s very simple. Here the problem is circumvented by the butcher’s stocking frozen fish), but rather the lack of a decent greengrocer’s. There evidently was one but clearly it befell the same fate as the fish and now we are reliant on the very basic offerings of the Co-op. Not so much a problem, but without a car, I was climbing the walls a bit until the monthly farmer’s market came along with all the glorious sunset colours of autumn vegetables.

So now I have a car and it takes every ounce of willpower (does anyone ever say gram of willpower? Imperial  is imperative) I own not to simply sling MCD Jr in the back of the car every day and drive off to yet another rumoured treasure trove. It has to be said the only reason I’m resisting is the money it seems obligatory to spend, because I cannot walk away empty-handed.

Just 10 minutes up the road is The Hollies Farm Shop. This is one seriously glamorous outlet. Built on a scale to rival Harrods’ Food Hall, I have found that there is almost nothing they don’t stock. The prices rival Harrods too but for weekend treats and for guests, it’s a must. And it’s not just any old farm shop. You can ‘glamp’, visit The Christmas Barn or stop for lunch at their cafe, which is reasonable food but at inflated prices (says the Londoner).

In the other direction, down proper twisty-turny (and yesterday very muddy) lanes lies The Rose Farm Shop. Decidedly less Elizabeth Taylor, more Hilda Ogden, nevertheless the butcher’s counter remains a work of art, the vegetables are seasonal and fresh and the Food Hall is admirably stocked with everything you need and nothing you don’t. They even have a little Post Office and groceries section. They have a garden centre and a basic cafe which overlooks a field of friendly, demanding sheep. (MCD Jr’s first live experience and a bit of a shock).

Should you fancy ice cream, on the way into Tarporley is Snugbury’s, who announce their presence with a huge, 50 foot polar bear and cub moulded out of straw in the next door field. You can find their ice cream everywhere around here, along with Cheshire Farm. Tiresford make excellent yoghurt, particularly lactic and grown-up – again on sale everywhere local.

So far, a month in, I haven’t actually been to a supermarket. I’m led to believe there’s a big Sainsburys at Nantwich, which I shall have to get to at some point, but it’s not an appealing thought.

But if you didn’t want to cook, man, can you eat out. Tarporley itself has three or four pubs all serving good to really good food plus Piste, our local wine bar which is a bit more ‘London’. But five minutes away is The Alvanley Arms or The Fox & Barrel, both in The Good Food Guide. And that’s just what we’ve seen on drives past.

We still feel like we’re in a holiday cottage and at any moment we’ll have to go back to ‘real life’. It hasn’t quite hit yet – no doubt the winter will help) – that this is our life. It’s a pretty decent one.

In which we fall in love; or The Move

Ack it’s been weeks. And not for any good reason other than ORANGE  really F*CKED UP. (Let me just type this so it gets picked up by someone in Orange PR, then we’ll move on. ORANGE IS SHIT. There, that ought to do it.) Instead of transferring our account, they cancelled it. Then tell us it’ll take THREE WEEKS to reconnect us. Then we’ll move to BT.

Anyway, all of that fades into insignificance just a tiny bit against the brilliant background that is Tarporley, Cheshire. It’s a beautiful village with real amenities, like a proper butcher’s, post office, coffee shops and pubs and so on. Trundling round with MCD Jr in the pushchair has been a delight.

But the real joy has been in what lies outside. We only just got the second car last week so I’ve been a bit crazy with cabin-fever. It’s a good thing Tarporley is so bustling because it’s all I’ve seen for three weeks. But, oh, the rest of the county.

We have yet to drive more than 30 minutes in any direction and fail to come up with somewhere to revisit. The A49 alone could keep me occupied for hours… The Hollies Farm Shop (practically my new supermarket), Blakemere craft centre, the North-West’s largest remainder bookstore (…), beautiful pubs, the golf club up the road with spa, the walks foraging for late blackberries. It’s everything we’ve wanted.

Part of the loveliness is the lack of high street chains anywhere. Or at least not in such eye-searing quantities. No matter where you go, be it the village or Nantwich or even Chester, you’re more likely to find an independent before a chain. But if you’re desperate – and to be fair, this weekend we were – Cheshire Oaks in Ellesmere Port is jaw-dropping when it comes to brands. On one side it’s a designer outlet centre that took us fully an hour to walk around – without shopping. On the other there’s a few big high-street names which is a benefit because sometimes you really need a Boots.

And then there’s the house. We’re not quite unpacked. I have gotten so far and then realised I need at least two more bookcases, one more for the nursery, a chest of drawers and some more storage cupboards. So boxes remain, but for the most part we’re up and running. I’m learning to cook on an electric hob again (oh I miss gas), but on the plus side, I have three fridges and two freezers, so y’know, I’m coping.

And the food. Good grief. Down the road from Tiresford who make fabulous yoghurt, or Snugbury’s ice cream, or local meat and game at the butcher’s or farm shop. It’s not only easy to cook local, it’s practically impossible not to. (And not having a supermarket on your doorstep helps enormously). Every corner you turn, someone is selling potatoes or game or vegetables.

So in short, so far, after a brief amount of time, it’s fabulous. And now the cold weather’s setting in and there seems to be snow around the corner, we’ll see how we get on. I might end up screaming for the 249 bus after all. But I rather doubt it.

In which I go slightly off-tangent and emotional; Or We’re moving

Warning: This isn’t about food. And it may be slightly emotional.

So we’re moving onwards and literally upwards. It has become a case of Move or Become Jobless which is not a particularly lovely tightrope to walk, but we have chosen the former with the hope of busting on out of there in the very near future and damning the consequences, as Norman Douglas would say.

There are very many positive, shiny benefits to moving to Cheshire, our destination. My oldest friend lives up there, will be no more than 20 minutes away, a proximity we haven’t achieved since we were seven. I have other friends of friends in the area, all of whom are probably somewhat aghast at my constant jokes about rain and lack of natural daylight, but whom I hope to get on a firmer footing with. Ma and Pa are but 90 minutes away; again, a proximity not achieved since I was 17 and champing at the bit to get to Durham. And I ache for change.

I have a bit of the wanderlust in me. I can do a few years in a place and then I get the itch and I need a change. I love change. I have a slightly naive tendency to leap in, feet first and hope everything just works out. It invariably does and mostly for the better. London’s good for that – there’s always something new around the corner. When the idea of a move was mooted, some months back, I immediately felt the itch return; the desire to seek out the new, get to know another place, go on another adventure (though I admit it’s hardly trekking the Andes). I get very excited about the thought of new coffee shops, restaurants, pubs – places where somebody might just one day know your name – all together now – and they’re always glad you came; new roads and towns; new PEOPLE.

MCD is, he would hold his hands up, naturally more cautious. His live-by motto: No-one likes change. He sees the obstacles, the pitfalls and takes only calculated, carefully weighed and measured risks; he is my perfect partner. I can see only the positive in such a move; he calculates the negatives and then puts on a life jacket before jumping in. I’m a bit more sink or swim.

But then there are the negatives. Mostly it’s to do with the life we’ve built here in Crystal Palace. I’ve always loved it; its village-y feel, the fact that actually quite a few of the places round here do know me and MCD Jr and it’s been a wonderful, still-freshly-amazing time to be so close to friends who had always lived in South London. I used to loathe being the only one heading home North and alone on the Tube at night. I have loved the nearness of them.

One of the benefits of having a baby is the new friends you meet, the network that gets set up almost without you noticing until you realise that there is rarely a week go by without coffees and baby lunches, playgroups and singing sessions. In fact we’ve just started hitting the 1st birthday parties, which is both incredible and rather pleasing. WE MADE IT, I want to keep exclaiming at them.

And it gave me the chance to properly get to know my sister again. It’s been such a brilliant few years being able to just drop in, hang out, get her to childmind while I work like a dog every now and then… I am not great at expressing emotion but I am going to miss her like gangbusters, as will MCD Jr. It’s going to be that bit lonelier and harder without her there.

I have LOVED my life in London. The last 11 years have been extraordinary and brilliant, life-enhancing in every way. Watching it burn a few weeks ago, however, only confirmed what I know to be true for our family. I want our son to have a go at life as my childhood was – a rural idyll where he might be safe for a few more years. I think everything has a natural lifespan; I don’t hold with Pepys’ old saw at all. I’m older and more tired (God, how very tired!) and I am now full of the things I don’t want to know (our local gang is called the Gipset Taliban. I never wanted to know that). I crave green and space and air.

Cheshire, here we come.

PS: I haven’t stopped blogging. But there may be a bit of a pause until I come over all unnecessary at new food finds.

The ONLY* drink I shall be drinking from now on

I am a sucker for nostalgia. Anything that suggests a yearning sense of time passed immediately snags my attention. When I was living in Germany (I too have travelled) there was a tiny shop in Bad Nauheim called Zeitgeist. Over here it would have been too too kitsch; over there the oddities and collectibles were too tempting not to spend a couple of hours browsing through, if only for a misplaced sense of home. (Although how’s this for forethought: I bought MCD – at that time ‘just a friend’ – the most beautiful chess set, thinking one day he might use it to play with his children. It now sits in our dining room, awaiting MCD Jr’s no doubt keen involvement). The objects in there made me want to own them, to connect me in some tangible way to another time – most often the Twenties. I can’t be the only person who really quite desperately longs for a sepia-toned globe for a drinks cabinet? But then my ideal home is Eltham Palace and they have one, so you see where I’m coming from.

I am, as you see, quite suggestible. So when I read in Victoria Moore’s How to Drink about Negronis and their evocation of Florence and the Forties and palazzos et al, I think, That is the drink for me. I spent a very nice holiday pre-baby in Venice drinking 'lo Spritz – Prosecco with a dash of Campari -  at nearly every opportunity, so glamorous and quasi-Italian did it make me feel. A Negroni is like a supercharged injection of Sophia Loren-ness. I don’t think I could pass a Saturday night without one now. When I shall fit my dirty Martinis in, I don’t quite know.

Simply pour one part Campari, one part red vermouth and one part gin over a generous amount of ice in a tumbler. Drink whilst ensuring you are feeling card-sharp and endlessly, Dorothy Parker-style witty. This feeling will increase as you drink. I’m not one to caution against drinking, but one of these is a rocket. I haven’t dared have two yet.

*Apart from the afore-mentioned martinis, wine both still and sparkling, Bloody Marys and cocktails of all descriptions apart from sweet and creamy.

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Mexican sunshine

God, Saturday’s weather was rubbish, wasn’t it? In fact, it was so rubbish, we got back from food shopping and were faced with something of a dilemma. MCD Jr was fast asleep in the back of the car; the rain was lashing down; we were shattered. We just couldn’t face getting out of the car; in fact we argued over who was going to get out and take the shopping in and who got to stay in to watch MCD Jr/snooze. In the end, we both decided passivity was the way forward and we all had a refreshing 45 minute snooze in the car - in the rain - on our drive. When we woke up it was still raining. But at least we could face the walk up the garden path.

We had planned a picnic in a local park for the weekend (more of which later), but for Saturday night I wanted to cook something a bit different. I had caught a glimpse of Tommi Miers’ Channel 5 show in Mexico where she put together a take on prawn cocktail and the idea inspired a complete Mexican feast. The recipe ideas are all taken from her book, so don’t think I’m suddenly revealing some authentic Mexican ancestry – I’m just copying.

We started with the prawn cocktail and this was sheer genius. One packet of cooked tiger prawns and one packet of those tiny queen scallops would probably feed 4, so I made this over two nights because it was so damn good.

Firstly make the sauce. It’s a bit like a Mexican Bloody Mary and is considerably enlivened by alcohol. (What isn’t, I ask myself?) Pour 250ml good –quality tomato juice into a measuring jug. Add the juice of 2 limes and 1 mandarin (or orange), a few good shakes Worcestershire sauce and Tabasco, a good squeeze of ketchup, salt and pepper and a shot of Tequila or vodka. Taste and adjust as you see fit, then refrigerate for at least one hour.

In little tumblers, arrange some diced cucumber, diced avocado and shredded Little Gem lettuce. Top with the prawns. Quickly fry off the scallops in a little olive oil for two minutes, tops then add to the cocktail. Pour over the tomato sauce and eat.

We ate this alongside guacamole, salsa and nachos – just a light starter. We followed with a derivation of Tommi’s chilli and tamarind-infused pork belly, only I used ribs, stuffed courgette flowers and a quick version of her smoky stuffed peppers. Here we go again.

Get the ribs going first. I tend to cook them in  a 150C oven for 2-3 hours so they are meltingly tender before the final baste. Make a marinade for them by combining 4 smashed garlic cloves, 1 cinnamon stick, 1 tsp cloves, 1 tsp allspice berries, 1 tbsp tamarind paste, 1 heaped tbsp chipotle puree (I happened to have some chipotle relish in the cupboard so I used that), 3 tbsp soy sauce, 2 tbsp balsamic vinegar, 2 tbsp brown sugar, salt and pepper. Coat the ribs thoroughly and cook as above, covering the roasting tin with foil and check them from time to time to turn.

While they’re cooking, make the peppers. Tommi makes a no-doubt delicious but slightly more time-consuming potato-based filling for this, but I frankly couldn’t be arsed so here’s my quick version:

Halve red or yellow peppers and de-seed. Place in a roasting tray. In a bowl combine: the chopped flesh of a ripe mango, 100g goats cheese, 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar, small handful oregano leaves, 1 crushed garlic clove. I stuffed the pepper halves with this and drizzled with oil, then baked for about 25-30 minutes until the peppers are soft.

The courgette flowers I have described before so just repeat. In fact, this time I didn’t even make a batter; I just separated the courgettes from the flour and finely sliced, then sautéed them both in a little oil.

We ate this with mucho Margaritas and followed with chocolate tiramisu from Gu to which I might be a little bit addicted. Even though I don’t actually like chocolate very much. Go figure.

Technorati Tags: mexican,thomsina miers,pork ribs,courgette flowers,prawn cocktail,recipes

Some summery ideas

Not terribly sure if summer is planning on hanging around much longer; let’s face it – we’ve already had the Glorious Twelfth (and where is my grouse?) and we’re bombing towards the cornucopia that is September bounty, so I would suggest if, like me, you’ve barely opened a summer cookbook this season, just do it – barbecue in the kitchen, picnic in the lounge, dine al fresco in the rain – otherwise we’ll have gone from navarin of lamb to beef stew without so much as a by your leave.

Last night I made a pudding. It doesn’t happen very often, given I’m not that keen, but I had some delicious greengages waiting to be used and a sheet of puff pastry.

Divide the puff pastry into four equal parts. (Actually I just divided it in half, but we are big fat pigs and know no restraint, but for normal people a quarter would do.) Halve and stone the greengages and arrange within each quarter of pastry, leaving enough pastry to fold over and make an envelope.

Sprinkle the greengages with a good teaspoon of sugar and a little cinnamon. MCD had some raspberries with his too. Fold over the pastry and use the tines of a fork to seal around the edges. Make a slit in the top and carve your initials into the pastry. That's particularly vital. Brush with eggwash and bake on baking parchment in a 180C oven for around 20-30 minutes, or until puffed and golden.

Eat with creme fraiche or ice cream or any dairy product you have in. Apart from Cheddar.

I’m starting to run out of ideas for what to do with green beans and courgettes and marrows. Jamie’s tomato-based green/runner bean stew is particularly good, but I’m freezing bag-loads. As for courgettes I made a particularly good pasta dish the other night with the leftovers from a roast chicken and they worked well with it.

Based on Nigella’s Venetian-style chicken, simply cook penne-sized courgette pieces in oil with a couple of cloves of garlic until tender. Add in the pieces of shredded chicken, a handful of raisins soaked in warm water and a good slosh of white wine and a tbsp chopped rosemary. Simmer until the wine is syrupy, season and add a handful of toasted pine nuts if you have any.

Toss with cooked pasta and sprinkle effusively with parsley. It was rainy-night satisfying, especially with a pesto baguette along the lines of garlic bread.

Beans, beans, beans

Never, ever, EVER, turn your back on an allotment. Not even for 48 hours. For you can guarantee that the tiny sweet baby courgettes that looked like they might remain in nappies for days yet will, by the time you look again, have turned into sprawling, squawking monsters whose pliable adaptable nature you have missed and with which you can do very little.

Sarah Raven peels and roasts her marrows, cubed in a little oil, with aubergines and onions to serve with a curry. I would toss them in cumin and coriander and serve with yoghurt and make them the focal point. Other than that I can offer you very little other than Nigel’s excellent Thai-style pork mince alongside or simply to give them to slightly startled friends and family.

But the beans are much more docile. True, they swarm up and down the canes like gangbusters, but you can at least freeze them. Last night I made an outrageously good side dish with them. The only negative was that MCD ate very little of it and I could have given him less and saved more for lunch today. God Damn.

I made this with green beans only, but now the runner beans are kicking in, by all means use a mixture.

Top and tail a large handful of beans and cut into 2cm lengths or thereabouts. Boil briefly in salted water for 3 minutes and no longer.

Meanwhile drain a can of flageolet beans and leave over the sink. Drain the cooked beans through the sieve, simultaneously warming the flageolet (the THRIFT) and combining the beans and tip everything back into the pan.

Whisk up a dressing of 2 tbsp grain mustard, 1-2 tbsp red wine or other vinegar (but not a sweet one), salt, pinch of sugar, pepper and a tsp of honey. Whisk in good olive oil to emulsify and stir into the beans. Taste and correct the seasoning if necessary and serve while warm.

We ate this with Barnsley lamb chops and some spinach on the side. Or at least I did. MCD seemed to toy with a bit of plate. If you do have leftovers, like I managed to scrape together (alright, I cleaned off his beans – I’m not proud), you might eat them alongside something like a pork pie perhaps, or some nice cheese.

Technorati Tags: green beans,runner beans,marrow,recipes,salad