A Hangover Cure

In South London they live in the future. They have rectangular pizzas about the size of a doormat. This is an innovation that has yet to reach other, less civilised, parts of the world. Its hard to describe the excitement of opening a pizza box the size of a sledge, let alone four of them at once.

My favourite, with a gorgonzola, potato and red onion topping, tastes best eaten cold the morning after approximately 12 pints and some dancing.


Oh yeah. I’ve got a rabbit in the freezer. What shall I do with that?

Birmingham Spice

Prefixing a word with ‘Dirty’ can send the meaning either way. ‘Dirty Old Man’ and ‘Dirty Bomb’ come with pretty negative connotations, whereas a ‘Dirty Weekend’ sounds like fun.

A ‘Dirty Curry’ cuts both ways though, as I discovered in a Birmingham curry house the other night. The promise that a ‘Dirty Curry’ was just what the doctor ordered (it was recommended by two actual medical doctors as well) after six hours drinking Greene King IPA on an empty stomach appealed to my sense of adventure as much as my post-pub hunger. The restaurant on broad street looked promising - like an upmarket burger joint serving day-glo curry.

I had something. lamb? Or was it chicken? I can’t remember. It made my lips sting and my eyes water slightly, it was a touch heavy on the chilli, and a perfect pissed pleasure.

The following morning was a different story mind you.

Pasta Pigs Ears

Slacking again…

Locatelli’s column in the Guardian got me excited about making a variation of his pheasant ravioli. Mrs Jiffler looked sceptical but I was determined. After a night in the fridge, the legs from the other day’s bird where picked clean and chopped up fine to check for shot. I let some panchetta (not the wild boar stuff I fancied: asdas, out of a plastic box) sizzle in the pan with a couple of shallots before chucking in a glass of marsala to reduce. Once the kitchen is smelling sweet and the boozy sharpness has disappeared everything goes into the blender with the pheasant meat and a handful of parmesan for a quick whizz. It was a bit of a wooden spoon job getting it all mixed up, then scraping it out into a bowl. In with a raw egg, and too much single cream, to make a paste for the ravioli filling. It looks a bit sloppy but I manage to get it into fairly regular shaped lumps and into the freezer where it is forgotten for a week or so.

It takes a while before I can be bothered going through the hassle of making the pasta. I don’t have one of those machines with the windy bit, so its hands and a rolling pin and lots and lots of swearing when it goes wrong.

Once, in Brussels I had a business dinner in an Italian restaurant where my Tuscan colleague told me they served the finest ravioli in Belgium. I tried some, straight up spinach and ricotta – four pillows the size of floppy discs - with a healthy slab of butter to help them down. Marvellous indeed (followed by quarter of a chicken cooked in ragu, too much peroni and a sickening high speed taxi ride across town) I had this bright idea about making giant pheasant ravioli. How hard can it be?

Well yes. The main problem is my fat sausage fingers. My digits are more suited to handling a masher at best. Fiddling around with fine sheets of pasta is a recipe for disaster, and my ‘velvet pillows’ came out looking more like (well, exactly like) pigs ears. I’ll just tell Mrs Jiffler that they’re ‘rustic’.

While the pigs ears are drying in the airing cupboard I set about making some sauce to go over the top. Being something of a stock obsessive, I already had some pheasant stock set aside (half had already gone into a ‘Mrs Jiffler’ risotto earlier in the week) and reduced it slowly in a frying pan with more of the marsala until I had some thick, robust, sweet smelling gravy.

Here’s how it turned out:


OK, it looks a bit rough, but it tasted spot on. The marsala hit the high notes while the pheasant provided the bass. Pheasant pasta pigs ears. I’m not sure if I can be arsed making it again though.

Treats from home

Getting behind again. There is a fair amount to catch up on...

Mrs Jiffler returned from Lincolnshire with sausages and pin wheels as requested. A wedge of Lincolnshire poacher comes smoked, giving it a more brittle texture which lends itself to jiffling hands breaking off chunks for a nibble everytime the fridge door is opened.

We both head up to Wales at the weekend to visit my folks. My Dad has prepared a fish pie for us, with the last of the peas from the garden. This is about as close to food heaven as Mrs Jiffler can imagine - the concept of fish, in a pie form, with peas turns Mrs Jiffler's eyes into saucers.

Dad has sneaked some mussels into the pie which add a bit of colour and make things a bit more special. I note that he has been more generous than usual with the parsley after my previous feedback. Good. A bottle of bubbly is opened to celebrate Mrs Jiffler's new job in Senegal, and we start to unwind after the long car journey.

On Saturday we head to a food and craft fair on a country estate near the menai straits. Sadly it was a bit underwhelming, with only a few stalls. We still escape with bara brith, mango chutney, some jam, and a few Welsh cakes to share. Heading off to Betws y Coed we scoff trays of hot, salty chips standing in the cold by the river.

Its been a few years since I last visited the Bull in Beaumaris for a meal in the Bistro. Its probably Anglesey's finest eatery (there is a flash restaurant above) and I'm hoping that standards are still high.

A few specials tempt us, and I go for local mussels in cider. Mrs Jiffler opts for a bizarre but delicious potato salad tower thing, Mum and Dad play safe with good portions of smoked salmon and chicken livers respectively (although Dad pinches a couple of mussels from my bowl).
Dad and I both opt for the belly pork main - this is a serious and even piece of meat, with crackling just right. Our portion is fist sized and comes floating on smooth mash. Mrs Jiffler attempts the Turbot special, which comes pan fried, skin side up, and thoroughly healthy looking, while my mother provokes jealousy around the table with her enormous portion of lamb with a rustic Italian
style red wine and bean sauce. we all steal some of her chips in revenge,

Shared ice creams and another round of drinks bring the night to a close. Stilll the best on the Island.

A pheasant surprise…

I’m sorry, that’s a dreadful pun, but I couldn’t resist.

The butcher has come up trumps with a pheasant – A reasonably sized hen sets me back four quid – a little pricey, but I do live down south these days.

These birds can dry up pretty quickly in the oven, so I wrap some streaky bacon over the breast and stuff a knob of butter, a shallot and grated lemon zest into the cavity. Into the oven at 200C for 45mins to and hour… ish. This oven is still a bit cheeky. Off with the bacon for the last 15 minutes to brown the breast a bit.

Mrs Jiffler and I tuck into the breast and body meat with some mashed butternut squash and potato (with the crispy streaky snipped up and stirred into the mash). The pan juices make good gravy with a slosh of Rioja.

The whole lot disappears pretty quickly, and I feel like lighting a cigar and having a nip of brandy afterwards. A good game supper has that effect.

There are two meaty legs leftover for some home made ravioli sometime soon, and the carcass for a stock. The home-made ravioli might be a serious undertaking with a lot of swearing… lets see.

Mrs Jiffler is off again, to see family at home in Lincolnshire. I’m a bit unhappy to see her go away again for a few days, but I’m promised the usual batch of Lincolnshire food goodies - Sausage, stuffed chine, haslet, and with a bit of luck a block of Lincolnshire poacher for an autumn salad – when she returns.

Pumpkin Soup

Pumpkins are cheap at the moment, for obvious reasons. Mrs Jiffler has returned from Rwanda and was expecting a friend to visit for the afternoon while I was at work. I thought I’d rustle up some pumpkin soup the night before so they could spend less time making lunch and more time catching up. It went down a treat apparently.

Pumpkin and Red Pepper Soup

Ingredients:

One pumpkin – not one of the monster ones, something that you can hold in one hand will do.
About a litre of chicken stock (good stuff, from the weekend roast, will make all the difference here)
A small red pepper, chopped
A medium sized red onion
1 small red chilli
Butter or olive oil
A juicy clove of garlic
A generous amount of single cream
A handful of fresh coriander
Large teaspoon of ground cumin
Salt and pepper

Chop the onion and gently fry with the garlic and chilli in butter in a heavy bottomed pan until the onion starts to go soft and sweet. Meanwhile, peel, de-seed and chop the pumpkin into cubes. Fry the pumpkin cubes and chopped pepper in with the onions and garlic until they start to change colour to a deeper amber colour. Stir in the cumin and cook for a few seconds. Pour in the chicken stock and leave to chunter away gently until the pumpkin is soft (about 20-25 minutes). Add the chopped coriander and cook for a minute more.

Take the soup off the heat and pout into a blender. Make sure there is an outlet in the top of the blender as the steam will shoot out as you blend. Blend to the desired consistency – I went for smooth, but a few lumps here and there is a bit more rustic.

(You can keep the soup for a day or so in the fridge, or freeze at this point)

Pour the mixture back into the pan and stir in a generous amount of single cream. Heat, season, and serve hot on a cold day.

Serving ideas:
Mrs Jiffler sliced some chorizo very thinly and fried until crispy, then stirred it into the soup – she reckons this is marvellous. You could also grate in a bit of parmesan if you fancy. This soup would go nicely with a ciabatta style bread, or better still, some fresh sourdough.

Mushrooms

I found these mushrooms in Kigali.

October 31st

Locatelli’s column in the Guardian (fast becoming my favourite bit of the Saturday paper) is talking pheasant ravioli. I tear out the column and wonder where I can get hold of a pheasant.

During my lunch hour I stroll down to Adeyfield and pop into Nelson’s butchers. Sadly, its the only independent butchers in Hemel Hempstead, and does its best to be a cut above the supermarkets. People must just get on the Tescos conveyor belt in this town and accept what they’re given, which is sad as there is plenty of money about. Anyhow, I wonder in and ask the chief if he can get hold of a pheasant for me – and I swear the guy looks proud! He looks like he’s been vindicated, by a young(ish) bloke walking in and doing what would be unthinkable in Tescos – ordering some decent meat. We arrange for a hen for me to pick up on Friday, and he promises to ring if there is a problem.

On the way out I spot some minted lamb shanks, a decent size, at £3.50 a pop. I hesitate for a minute, as it’s a bit much for a Tuesday night dinner… but there will be some left for a butty tomorrow… and I can keep the bone for a stock (I have a collection of lamb bones in my freezer, Mrs Jiffler will no doubt throttle me for using up valuable ice cream space when she gets back from Rwanda)… there is a fiver in my pocket…

It goes in the oven for a slow roast with a couple of shallots and glug-glug-glug og marsala. 160 degrees, covered for 45 mins then uncovered for 45 more. It comes out nicely cooked, perhaps slightly overdone (the oven has a vicious edge), but the gravy looks a bit too black. I try dipping some sweet potato mash in and the gravy is burnt, so goes straight down the sink. A partial success though as the shank is juicy, and the mash gets an extra knob of butter to loosen things up. Not much in the way of leftovers for a sandwich tomorrow though…

Weekend in Manchester?

This weekends nutrition has mainly come from alcoholic drinks. Two small highlights were my friend’s chocolate, pecan and banana cake (H – the recipe?), and a meal at the revamped ‘Koffee Pot’ in the Northern Quarter in Manchester. Formerly a greasy spoon frequented by down and outs, the arrival of a funky hostel in the building above has brought new custom and a revamp. Its now a funky, slightly rock and roll, enterprise in only the way that little businesses in Manchester can be. There Sunday breakfast is a treat, with quality sausages, bury black pudding and a decent brew. My friend L has smoked haddock rarebit, which comes served on crumpets and looks pretty cute. I might try that at home sometime when Mrs Jiffler is not expecting it.

Apart from that its party food and a bite on the go. Oh, I popped into Wing-Fat in Chinatown for a big pack of my favourite fresh udon noodles. They have razor shell clams again, but they look a bit manky. That means they must be on the beaches again in the North West. I’ll ask Dad to keep an eye out…

The Greek

The originally named ‘The Greek’ restaurant has opened up down the road, so a few of us from work trundle down for a look see. Expectations are medium, and we go for mixed meze to put things to the test.

Our cold meze are a generally up to scratch. The usual taramasalata and houmous comes out, with some interesting potato salads and beans. The waiter takes us through the dishes carefully even telling us that the taramasalata is made from cod’s roe (rather than the smoked roe of grey mullet as you get in Greece, but its that fish in Hemel issue vs snobbish jiffler thing again…).

Fried whitebait gets everyone smiling and pretending not to be greedy, although the accompanying calamari has been in the pan for a bit long and is chewy. The plates are cleared and a few dishes of Greek salad appear - a bit light on spring onions, and with the seeds still in the cucumbers which is a major faux-pas as far as I’m concerned. The others look fairly happy with it though, especially when a huge plate of meat and grilled halloumi appears and almost gets a round of applause. A plate of kleftico is melting off the bone and thankfully spend most of the time at my end of the table. Accompanying roast potatoes are a bit weird, like they were pre-frozen, but the assorted gammon, lamb, chicken and sausages are a pleasure. We ask for the leftovers to be wrapped in foil so I can drop them round at my neighbour’s later.

Coffee is the genuine deal and comes with decent Turkish delight, rounding of a satisfying meal and providing enough sugary energy to get me rolling up the hill home. One of the most enjoyable evenings out I’ve had in a good while – with great company as well as food – was completed by busting a senior colleague and junior (although recently promoted) colleague enjoying an illicit liaison in a pub in the Old Town… we laughed all the way home.

Hemel Hempstead foodie paradise!

Well not quite. You still can’t buy decent fish anywhere in town. However I’ve just found an independent supermarket called ‘Hemel Food Stores’. I went in there a few years ago after it opened on the site of an old Sainsbury’s in town. It was pretty low quality stuff back then – tins and packets and cheap pop – but I went for a return visit on the recommendation of a exotic food loving colleague.

Lemon grass, fresh dill, papaya and bora (!) all within the first aisle got my heart beating – after the last year or so of Chinatown and asian veg on my doorstep I was back in business. What’s more the place caters for the Greek, Turkish, Asian, and Polish communities – who are shopping in force at this place.

I escape with bundles of fresh herbs (sans supermarket style plastic boxes and absurd prices), lemon grass, preserved chilli-stuffed with sheeps cheese, tins of stuffed vine leaves, tahini paste, giant beans in sauce,an enormous plastic jar of lime pickle, kalamata olives, and even a tin of stuffed red peppers (I’m nervous about opening these as they are almost guaranteed to be vile). Makes Hemel more bearable after all my whinging.

Hemel Hempstead foodie paradise!

Well not quite. You still can’t buy decent fish anywhere in town. However I’ve just found an independent supermarket called ‘Hemel Food Stores’. I went in there a few years ago after it opened on the site of an old Sainsbury’s in town. It was pretty low quality stuff back then – tins and packets and cheap pop – but I went for a return visit on the recommendation of a exotic food loving colleague.

Lemon grass, fresh dill, papaya and bora (!) all within the first aisle got my heart beating – after the last year or so of Chinatown and asian veg on my doorstep I was back in business. What’s more the place caters for the Greek, Turkish, Asian, and Polish communities – who are shopping in force at this place.

I escape with bundles of fresh herbs (sans supermarket style plastic boxes and absurd prices), lemon grass, preserved chilli-stuffed with sheeps cheese, tins of stuffed vine leaves, tahini paste, giant beans in sauce,an enormous plastic jar of lime pickle, kalamata olives, and even a tin of stuffed red peppers (I’m nervous about opening these as they are almost guaranteed to be vile). Makes Hemel more bearable after all my whinging.

On the move

Getting into the swing of the new kitchen now. I’m still gathering store cupboard essentials together and so on, but I’ve had a few satisfying meals this week. OK, they’re old standards (Sausage and Mash, Roast Chicken, Tom Yam Gai, and a variation of Mrs Jiffler’s risotto) but I’m just getting used to the oven. I’m not sure what the weekend brings food-wise as there aren’t any plans to go out (although a new greek restaurant has just opened down the road). I might make a special trip to the butchers near work, and stop by the market on Saturday – I could do with some new recipe action…

A few years ago I had a job for the European Commission that involved a lot of travelling about the UK, Ireland, and occasionally continental Europe. All the early starts and long journeys by train and plane did my head in after a bit, especially as the food on offer in these circumstances is never as good as it should be. An endless round of flatulence-inducing buffet lunches, teatime sandwiches in airport departure lounges, and early morning coffees on train platforms were neither nutritious nor satisfying. I put on a fair amount of weight as well.

I seem to be slipping into that familiar trap with this new job as it requires me to spend a fair amount of time out of the office. Thankfully not on planes, but I’ll be doing a fair amount of rail travel over the coming months - multiple visits to London, Cheshire, Lancashire, Warwickshire and Devon are all on the cards between now and Christmas. So far I’ve been reasonably good – there have been one or two packaged sandwiches and expensive train station coffees, but otherwise I’ve been carrying a bit of fruit with me to pick at, and trying to make sure I eat something balanced in the evening instead of just flaking out on the sofa and shovelling whatever I can find in the fridge into my mouth.

I got thinking how there are plenty of people around who are living this sort of lifestyle – tiring train journeys, low quality, fatty food on the go, and no time or energy to cook when they get home. Looking around on the train there are dozens of them, clutching laptops and wearing dark circles under their eyes. There is definitely a market for a self-help book along the lines ‘how work on the go and still eat well’. I might give it a crack (when I can find time between changing trains at Watford maybe?).

Hello again

More people than I anticipated have been asking me what has happened to the blog… I’ve been pretty busy never seem to get round to posting. Anyhow, the backlog is below… at last…

September 21st…

Back in the UK. There is a gaping hole on my blog where the last few months should be. Well I was in the field for much of the time, somewhere near the border of Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda. Not a bad place to be if I’m honest, it wasn’t too hot and I’ve certainly worked in rougher parts of the world. The food was unremarkable, which is a shame as I was eating out a lot.

Kigali had more riches to offer, a few decent curry places, a slightly odd Thai, a Greek, Italians (proper pizza ovens too) and an Ethiopian place, which probably provided me with my most interesting food experience of the trip as I’d never tried Ethiopian food before. I guess Injera and Doro Wat is not to everyone’s taste, but I’ll be hunting some of that down over the coming months when I return to the South of England and the rat race.

I won’t dwell on the various food experiences of Rwanda, far better to flirt with pretentiousness and refer to them casually in future blogs. I’m back in Wales now, and was completely blown away by the mega-planet sized Tesco that has been built outside Bangor. Its one of those huge stores that sell just about everything under the sun. Now I’m not advocating shopping at Tescos in preference to anywhere else, and although I am a loyalty-card holder, those who’ve heard me hold forth on the key sustainability issues facing modern Britain today will know of my hypocrisy – I would love to see the Tesco (and Wal Mart, Morrisons, and Sainsbury) empire crumble. Town centres would be reclaimed by market traders, local producers, real life butchers and fishmongers, a bakery in every village, happy people riding bicycles, etc…

Anyhow, back to my point, this shop sold just about everything I could think of eating. So, in Bangor, North Wales, which – respectfully – is not exactly the most cosmopolitan neck of the woods, you can go to a big shop, buy Miso soup, Spanish membrillo, about 100 different types of cheese, and about 200 different types of Houmous (which, after nearly three months in Central Africa, I succumbed guiltily to a little plastic pot of organic houmous, despite there being perfectly good tahini in the cupboard at home…). So next time one of our continental cousins looks down their nose at the British lack of interest and sophistication as far as food is concerned, I would direct them to the Tesco store in Bangor…

Anyhow, my mother and I decided to go traditional and bought a bottle of full fat and all the trimmings milk to go in a rice pudding. Its in the oven as a write…


Curry

The rice pudding hits all the right notes, although could’ve been a bit thicker. Perhaps I could have used a higher temperature in the oven.

Anyhow, Mum is off out for a curry with the people from work, so Dad and I stay in, crack open a few beers and I offer to make a curry recipe that is part stolen, part improvised, and still in need of tweaking a bit before I put it up on experimental jifflings. Its as close as I can get to the Karahi currys sold in the caffs in the Northern Quarter in Manchester, although with a few extras like mushrooms thrown in

I decide to go for lamb, and pop up the road to the rather scruffy butchers shop. The butcher is a genial sort of fellow and I think he mistakes me for a tourist. He dices some lamb shoulder for me and makes a point, just as I’m leaving, of saying that the meat is ‘local saltmarsh lamb’. Of course it is local saltmarsh lamb’, what else is it going to be in Anglesey? If I wanted crap lamb I would go to Tesco (I was too kind to them in the last blog entry I think). The other butcher in the village even has ‘local saltmarsh lamb’ painted in his window. I guess the clued up cookery programme watching holiday-makers have been asking for it specially.

I wonder if I can get hold of some goat meat anywhere..? I think I might do a bit more asian food this winter (when I finally get a place down south with my own kitchen). I’d like to do a few currys, maybe some more Thai food as well.

I can’t believe the butcher thought I was a tourist. Botheration. Next time I go in there I’m going to address him in Welsh.

Fruits of the earth

Did I mention my Mum’s tomatoes? There has been some serious greenhouse action going on over the summer and possibly the biggest tomato crop yet - all shapes and sizes from cherry upwards, and even a decent crop of sweet yellow toms. There are also green and red peppers, and flavoursome chillies with a kick that could stun a horse. The cucumber crop seems to be about ready now, and we’re talking proper cucumbers here, that taste, smell and look like cucumbers, not these weird things that we get in the supermarkets here. I’m convinced that there is some sort of conspiracy going on with these suspicious-looking cumbers.

I’m looking forward to what the veg plot will bring at Christmas time. There are stands of sprouts, although they look like they’re having a hard time from the local creepy-crawlies, and my Dad is struggling to maintain his organic credentials against this invasion. I think he’d rather like to make chemical warfare against them, but that would defeat the object. I really hope that on Christmas morning, nursing a hangover and clutching a glass of Liebfraumilch, we can enjoy the pleasure of picking our own organic veg for dinner. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful way to celebrate?


The Pilot Boat

The last time I ate at the Pilot Boat in Dulas, Anglesey, was in the summer of 1996 with a particularly gobby girlfriend from South Wales. As I remember (and it was ten years ago, TEN YEARS? Bloody hell that must mean I’m pushing thirty…) the food was typical of the standard in Welsh pubs in 1996, in that it was some sort of slice of meat, pie, or deep fried item, accompanied by chips and ‘peasorsalad’. I remember the peas especially, as there was a bit of pea overkill in the kitchen. ‘Peas’ was simply peas, whereas ‘salad’ was iceberg lettuce with cold peas. We had some fun flicking the surplus peas around in the beer garden.

So ten years on, British pub food in general has come on quite a bit (although unlike our continental brothers and sisters, we are still obliged to pay through the nose for the privilege), and it appears that the revolution has reached Dulas, and the Pilot Boat. The table menu is a fairly straightforward and unremarkable pub affair, so 3s, H and I go straight for the specials board. The Goose and Pheasant pie catches my eye, while the others opt for a salad of ‘locally smoked Scottish salmon and prawns’. There is indeed a smokehouse up the road from the pub, but quite why Scottish salmon has to come all the way to Anglesey to be smoked is beyond me. Anyhow, full marks for using the local facilities. Locally caught and smoked mackerel might be more of a story though.

The salad looks fine, and H and T seem to be enjoying it, although perhaps wincing slightly at paying through the nose. The smoked salmon certainly looks good, and the smell even cuts through the cigarette smoke of the pub.

Although still expensive, my pie looks slightly better value, being about the size of a Harry Potter paperback, and coming with mixed veg (cooked just right) and a side bowl of chips. The barman remarks that I should watch out in case there is any lead shot still in the pheasant meat. Nice patter. Anyhow, I guess this is the first game of the season, it seems a bit early actually since the shooting season doesn’t start until 1st October. Perhaps it was roadkill. Anyhow, there isn’t much pheasant in my slice, which is heavy on goose, with a hint of pheasant. Probably a good thing as I sometimes feel that pheasant can be a quite overwhelming flavour (I’m trying to get used to it again after a drunken Christmas party in Norwich in 1998 in which a pheasant ‘au vin’ spent barely and hour in my stomach before seeing daylight once again). The pastry has a pleasant texture, and the chips are, well, chips.

Not a bad spot of food then, although given the general scruffiness of the pub, I would imagine that during the tourist-free winter months standards might fall a bit, as they seem to in most places round here. The chef at least has a bit of sense in sourcing some of the food locally, he knows this idea will sell to tourists and locals alike, and that in general it can be safely considered to be a good thing.


15th October

This weekend I have mostly been knackered. Since returning from Rwanda I’ve spent time in Hemel Hempstead (Twice), Manchester (twice), Anglesey (Twice) and Warwick (Once). I’m pretty tired of trains on the whole… during which time I’ve managed to finish my thesis, start a new job, find a new flat, move in, and furnish it.

Its been pretty stressful, and I probably would have been in deep depression had it not been for some good home cooking. After submitting my thesis (The catchily titled: ‘Land Fragmentation and Consolidation in Rwanda: A Study of Musanze District) in Manchester, I made sure I got a few drinks down me as you might imagine, before an early train down to Hemel Hempstead to start work the following morning.

Now I’ve moved into my new place in the Old Town of Hemel Hempstead. A Listed building with oak beams no less… Most of the furniture is in place, and the kitchen is ready to go. After weeks of sandwiches in trainstations, and cold suppers in B&Bs I’ve finally stocked the cupboard.

Last night was a pleasure – dinner with six good friends at the Mogul (70 seconds walk from my front door). Much as I think Hemel is a bit uninspiring, I have some great friends in the vicinity, which makes all the difference. At the Mogul, the manager, Ujay, makes a fuss of us all ‘Hi John, great to see you’. Its like I haven’t been away…

I haven’t had the ‘Mogul Surprise’ for a long time. It used to be my regular, with on the bone chicken cooked in beef mince and spices. It arrives slightly drier and hotter than usual, but still tastes great.

This afternoon I’m waiting for my landlord (still a bit of fixing etc to do, but he’s a good guy), so get on with roasting my first chicken in quite a few months. Its an Asda bird, so not exactly amazing, but not awful either. New potatoes get roasted and stir fried julienne carrots with ginger and garlic add veg interest. The old routine of picking the carcass (and preparing tomorrows lunchtime salad) and making a stock is soothing and takes my mind off the last couple of weeks of effort.

My office was destroyed by the Buncefield Oil Depot explosion in December, and the temporary premises are within walking distance of the only Butchers in Hemel Hempstead. There is a green grocer next door and a slightly dodgy bakery as well, so I’m determined to make the effort to shop at these places during my lunch hour at work. I’m missing the ease of living so close to Chinatown, great fruit and veg stalls and a good fishmong. There is a Deli down the road from my flat that everyone raves about, but I suspect it is because it’s the only place of its kind in town. I don’t get the feeling that they are really passionate about food there.

Rwanda Latest

The luggage arrived, eventually, after a holiday alone in Nairobi. So I'm back in business.

Lately I've been working in the North West of the Country near the border with the demoocratic republic of Congo - and close to the Gorillas in the Mist. I intend to visit the Gorillas later this month with Mrs Jiffler.

Food in the field is pretty uninspiring. The district i am working in is very fertile, and there are tomatoes, cabbages, carrots, potatoes, green peppers, red onions, and sorghum (used in brewing in the same way as barley) in season. Unfortunately these ingredients don't seem to find their way to the guest houses and restaurants in the area - but on the back of lorries heading for the markets of Kigali and Butare. My diet during the week consists of Chips, rice, chapathi, occasional beans, omelettes, and goat brochettes. I did have a vegetable curry last week, but it was literally a vegetable, a cauliflower as a matter of fact. I was not a good person to share a confined space with the following day.

The Hotel I eat in while in the field has something called 'Humbugger' on the menu. I haven't dared to try it...

Kigali at the weekend offers more options. A few of us went to an Italian place called Sole Luna in the part of town where all the wazungu live. They had a proper pizza oven, and brought (relatively) marvellous pizzas to our table. My Quattro Formaggi was great - a real cheese feast - with proper gorgonzola too. I shall be returning...

Food aside, I'm getting into Rwanda now - making friends and learning some of the language. If I was here longer I would probably try to take some French-Kinyarwanda lessons to try to improve in both languages. I think I could happily stay here until Christmas or even longer, especially with Mrs Jiffler coming out soon until end of October. I'm still planning to return at end of August, but workwise things are a bit tense at the moment and I'm looking for other opportunities - who knows, there might be some out here.

Rwanda

Arrived in Rwanda, but my luggage hasn’t. Its been a while now and the general consensus and feedback from the airline - the useless SN Brussels - is that its all gone. I have to wait 45 days until the Airline write it off, and then start fighting to get reimbursed.

I travelled with my computer in my hand luggage and my field boots on my feet, so I have the essentials for work. Other than that, I estimate I’ve lost £1300’s worth of gear – my field lenses and kit have all gone. I’ve bought a few clothes and am current dressed like a working class Rwandan – in smart but cheap clothes that don’t fit very well. I even managed to pick up second hand C&A shirt for about two quid. Its been a bit of fun bargaining for stuff. A lot of the itinerant traders speak Kiswahili and get a bit of a surprise when they meet a strangely dressed white-man who speaks the lingo. Best purchase so far: fluorescent green rubber sandals - the only pair of size 11s in the city.

My former boss and his Guyanese partner welcomed me to the country with cool, locally brewed Mutzig lager and a plate full of chana (West Indian-style curried chickpeas) with potatoes and roti.

The supermarkets here are great by African standards. I’ve been around a few already in the search for cheap socks and underpants. The influence of continental Europe is fairly obvious – French bread and croissants are baked daily for example. The meat selection is fairly good too, with lamb chops, beef, and chicken, along with smoked ham and salami.

At one place in town I spotted Port Salut, Roquefort, and Mozzerella on sale for reasonable prices (about 80% more than we would pay at home), and there are some local cheeses as well – even a local chevre. Fruit and veg looks good – I even saw a bucket full of strawberries – but I haven’t had chance to investigate the big fruit and veg market yet – perhaps at the weekend. Avocados are enormous, but a bit bland. Apparently you occasionally get large hass variety avocados which have a bit more flavour. The local peanut butter is excellent. The best peanut butter I’ve ever tasted came from a place called Iringa in Tanzania, and the Rwandan stuff comes a close second.

Local ‘Maraba’ coffee is pretty tasty, although brewing facilities are rudimentary. I’ll definitely bring some of that home.

I’ve eaten out at the ‘Chez Lando’ Hotel. I’m currently reading Lt. General Dallaire’s account of the 1994 genocide and it seems that ‘Lando’ was the leader of the moderate Liberal party, and was considered to be a peacemaker.

At Chez Lando came more Mutzig beer, a plate of chips (not bad, Belgian style) and a large tray of chicken pieces. Well, they told us it was chicken anyway, it tasted more like a cat I unwittingly ate in Nairobi, as the flesh was tough enough to break teeth, and the skin as thick and chewy as a pig’s ear. The only tender meat was the neck meat, although ‘neck’ is hardly the choicest cut of a chicken. Can you imagine that at a Sunday roast? Would you like leg or neck?

I'm trying to keep this blog food focused, but I've got an urge to write about Rwanda a little. Kigali at least is quite an unusual city. The genocide still casts a shadow here to some extent, and although people want to move on, there are reminders everywhere. I read up on the genocide and politics of the country before arriving, and it is hard to make a way around the city without recognising the sites of massacres.

They are currently filming another Hollywood movie here about the genocide. Apparently this is based on the UNAMIR mission. It might give a more balanced view of the events of 1994 than Shooting Dogs and Hotel Rwanda, which both seem to imply that it was only tutsis who were slaughtered. It feels strange that, 12 years on, there is this sudden interest in the genocide. America and the UK did nothing - actively did nothing - when it happened, so why all the interest now? Because it makes a good story in the delicate post-9/11 world?

Enough, I've got a whole belly full of bitterness for the aid 'industry' here as well, but I'll save it for the pub.

Some current affairs.

I've been eating a bit rubbish lately. I'm trying to run down my cupboards, and also I'm in essay hell, so there is a high chocolate hob nob quota.

I know this is a food blog, but I've little culinary enjoyment to report at the moment, so I'm going to venture into a bit of a current affairs rant. Sorry...

Has anyone seen the latest TV advert from Christian Aid? It manages to patronise pretty much everyone. With the exception of the advertising company involved, who I can imagine are probably laughing their coked-up noses off.

Christian Aid is an actor, and to some extent an agency in international development. In this role the organisation imposes its reality of the world ('progress is good') on another part of the world and attempts to 'normalise' it according to this view of how reality should be. This is especially true of Christian Aid as it has a religious motivation.

The advert is aimed at a perceived - and rather patronising - western European view of developing countries - chickens running around mud huts, slightly simple African people doing their best. It does not seek to normalise that perception to western eyes by presenting the more real and more complex case, but instead chooses to reinforce this outdated, and frankly disgusting perception.

In this case, is it acceptable for an organisation like Christian Aid to attempts to 'normalise' realities in developing countries, but not in developed countries? Both are necessary in order for progress to occur. In adopting this approach, Christian Aid are actively (and expensively) supporting a cultural and intellectual hierarchy, while simultaneously promoting further ignorance at the top of that hierarchy.

Bloody idiots. There are better ways to give to developing countries:

www.wateraid.org

http://www.itdg.org/

http://www.mag.org.uk/

Rural Eating

3stan has issued me with a kick up the backside and requested that I write some more bloggage. Its been a while since my last post, but I have a valid excuse in that I’ve been poking around the lake district looking at Sellafield among other things.

I stayed at the youth hostel in Waterhead, with a fantastic view across the northern rim of lake Windermere. Its been a while since I last set foot in a youth hostel and I was pleasantly surprised by quality of the accommodation and the catering (yes, they do catering). Meals were hearty and wholesome, and ingredients were fresh and fairly local. The only fault lay with the catering staff, who seemed to be antipodean backpacker types with that attitude that is peculiar to them (and presumably to British back packers down under).

Lunch at Sellafield consisted of the usual cold buffet affair, bizarrely accompanied by a huge plate of chips. Apparently the chocolate cake was nice, but I was sick with a sense of foreboding. Sellafield is a creepy place, there are no birds like in concentration camps… a radioactive purgatory processing our nuclear sins.

Post-lakes I made my way down to Dorset for a weekend of unwinding with friends in a massive converted barn near Lyme Regis. For some reason the kitchen smelled like Sundays when I was a boy, when my mother made scones when Dad was at sea…

Anyhow, the highlight of the weekend was the opportunity to cook on an AGA. A marvellous experience for a weekend, but I’m not sure I’d want to maintain one full-time. The Saturday night feast was roast beef for 11, and I think everything went to plan. The roast potatoes were among the best I’ve done without flour and mustard powder.

Mrs Jiffler had the barn to ourselves for a couple of days and treated ourselves to various bits and pieces of Dorset seafood that we’d picked up in Lyme Regis. Our bag of (diver-caught) scallops smelled sweet like the seaside and I was almost tempted to slice a bit off raw for a nibble. I showed Mrs Jiffler how to cook them in simply in butter its safe to say that she is now a scallop convert, and I’m worried for the bank balance that these little alabaster muscles will find their way into the shopping bag on an all too regular basis.

Lovely prawns in garlic and white wine go down well with sticky fingers and bubble and squeak on the side. We should have bought half a dozen more and too hell with the cost. I also had opportunity to revisit the crab linguine, this time with a slosh of white wine for added moisture – just the trick, although I was a bit heavy handed with the cream this time.

Oh yeah, back in Manchester, just finished my tea. Roast Poussin (Spring Chicken) with spuds and a weird gravy made out of balsamic vinegar. There is Poussin stock in the fridge now, ready for a quick Tom Yam Gai to see me through this weekend’s essay action.

Thats all for now. The pressure is on a bit with essays and stuff at the moment. I've got some time off in a week or so there will be some serious kitchen action then I guess. I still haven't got around to the ready steady cook challenge, and I've got an octopus in the freezer that needs sorting out.

Weddo

Mrs Jiffler and I spent Saturday at the wedding of some friends in Lincolnshire – a lovely, relaxed day in good company.

At the reception we discussed my blog with friends, and one of the table asked whether a review of the wedding breakfast would be appearing on the blog. After giving this some thought on the train home, I’ve decided that it might not be good form to review the food when someone else has paid for it! In any case, my piece of beef was lovely, and I could have knocked back the rather drinkable red all night. Lincolnshire is a good place to eat good British food, on the quiet I reckon it could outdo some more traditional foodie destinations such as Cornwall.

At the dinner table, a friend of mine mentions how my occasional casual blog references to past meals in obscure places amuse her. I’ve just revisited a few old blogs, and I can see how this might come across. Although I wish I could enjoy a sybaritic lifestyle, sampling the finest the world has to offer, that is sadly not the case, and many of my foreign feasts are either as a result of hard work, or have been enjoyed in the rather dull company of consultants and bureaucrats.

Anyhow, it got me thinking not just about great meals in appropriately exotic places (although I’d fly to Greece like a shot for some proper taramasalata if someone gave me a free ticket), but about great things I’ve eaten in unexpected or mundane places.

For example, forget Italy - the best Tiramisu I’ve ever tasted was a homemade effort at Frithville village hall, Lincolnshire. Profiteroles? In the small town of Guisborough in North Yorkshire… I also enjoyed possibly the best ever chilli con carne at the same house… Spag bol in Penysarn, Caesar salad in Beaumaris (both Anglesey) and Pastrami sandwiches in the Norwich student’s union in 1998. Bruschetta in Hemel Hempstead, Chicken Karahi and awesome roti in a stinking backstreet in Manchester, jerk chicken in Brixton, samosas in Leicester, thai fishcakes in Aberdeen…

Very few of these things came from professional kitchens, and were generally the product of creative home cooks who have put a bit of love into their cooking. Unfortunately one doesn’t get a Michelin star for knocking out a killer Tiramisu. Its made me think about how sometimes – rarely - I can put together a meal which is perfect and I can be really proud of, but more often than not my cooking output is simply ‘satisfyingly edible’ with the occasional bin scraper. I might choose a few classic dishes to really perfect, so that they can hold their own next to the Lincolnshire Tiramisu.

The other week...

Catching up (again)

Once again, I’ve been idling with the blog. I read a statistic that claimed that 45% of all bloggers stop posting within three months of starting a blog. I’ve done better than that, I guess, but there has been a bit of a dip since I got out of the habit when my laptop went in for repair.

Some highlights of the last week or so include a fish pie, cooked by my Dad in Wales, which had a great texture to the fish and mash. I had some ideas for improvements though, so might indulge in some healthy competition.

I had a chance to catch up with a couple of old school friends at the Bridge Inn in Menai Bridge. We strolled over the bridge from Bangor and enjoyed the first pub beer garden of the year. I was sceptical at first as the pub, in its previous incarnations, had always seemed a bit grotty. These thoughts were quickly dispelled by the range of well-kept ales behind the bar and the general professional air of the staff.

Gastro-pub style eating seems to have finally reached Anglesey, and is hopefully giving some of the old guard of rip-off joints a run for their money. I go for a shoulder of Anglesey lamb with mash and assorted veg. The lamb is superb – as Anglesey lamb always is, and the veg is fresh, seasonal, and perfectly cooked. Could Anglesey be experiencing the food revolution at last? Since it is home to some of the finest lamb, crab, lobsters and mussels in the UK I’d say its about bloody time.

Cake baking competition

Mrs Jiffler has been busy and won her office cake baking competition with this raspberry cake. Sadly, I missed out on a slice, but it looks delicious.

All the cock you can eat.

Its all gone a bit ‘That’s Life’ round here at Jiffler headquarters. While shopping in Kim’s Thai Food Store (George Street in Chinatown, highly recommended for cheap Thai and Vietnamese ingredients) I came across a range of memorably named products…

Tom Yam Gai was a success… better still were the rice noodles…

Cracked it…

I’ve cracked the Tom Yam Gai mystery.

I make this cheap supper with chicken wings now and again. Basically it involves getting a load of chicken wings, rolling them around in some sort of marinade (olive oil and lemon, or honey, or current favourite sesame oil and sweet chilli sauce) before bunging them in the oven until they are starting to go black and sticky. I usually eat them out of a bowl with a salad. It costs about a quid so makes a great mid-week supper.

Anyhow, last time I made it I was even more frugal and made a stock out of the bones – this was the stock that went into the super duper Ken Hom-beating Tom Yam Gai the other week. Making stock again today I’ve just realised the difference it makes. The stock is much darker and deeper. I reckon with nice fresh spears of lemon grass I can knock out another Ken Hom-beater for lunch tomorrow.

Easter Weekend.

I can’t think of a better way to start the Easter weekend than by sharing a Kurzi lamb at the Mogul Restaurant in Hemel. Kurzi lamb was apparently a favourite of the Moghul Emperor, and is a favourite amongst my friends ‘down south’ largely because of the sense of occasion which comes with carving a whole large leg of lamb at the table. One has to order a kurzi lamb at least 48 hours in advance to guarantee that a large enough piece of meat can be sourced, and give it plenty of time to sit in its marinade of spices and… er… lamb mince.

Our table of ten makes easy work of this, and we order a few extras including a tandoori-style trout, and the rather interesting ‘Staff Curry’ which is strongly flavoured with tamarind and puts me in mind of the kind of food served by the northern quarter cafes, only a little bit more stylish.

Friday is a relaxing day. A lie-in, newspapers, pop to the shops. We decide to rustle up a couple of salads for a leisurely lunch. A good friend surprised me with a gift of a wedge of Lincolnshire poacher cheese. Nuttier than a mature cheddar, and more brittle too, which makes it ideal for crumbling into a British-style salad with bitter leaves, beetroot, and a dressing made from cider vinegar.

King prawns are going cheap down at Morrisions so we buy a little plastic boxful. I make a salad from these, dressed with sesame oil, chilli, garlic and spring onions. Served with the bitter leaves as before. They make an interesting contrast to the Brit-salad, and also give us the sort of garlic-breath that clear a space at the bar.

We head off to the cinema in the evening to watch the Glastonbury film, which opens beautifully with a sound familiar to any Glasto veteran – the sound of wellies in mud.

Saturday

Today’s main activity involved a longer than expected trek along the Thames path from Windsor to Shepperton, encountering varied wildlife, including three green parrots (apparently there are thousands living wild in the Thames region), and a captive Eagle Owl. Lunch was the usual walkers affair – assorted butties, homemade trail mix (with extra pumpkin seeds…) and plums. The first unscheduled ice cream of the season as well. Mint choc-chip cornetto.

We’re knackered when we get home, and both feeling a cold coming on, decide to skip the evening’s planned running around Shoreditch bars in favour of a roast chicken supper, with green beans, new potatoes and a weird experimental gravy made from cider vinegar which would have benefited from thinking through properly beforehand.

Sunday

Mooching around Upper Street is more fun than usual due to the complete lack of people. We nip into the Winchester pub near Islington green to take advantage of their two for one Sunday Roast offer.

I opt for Lamb while Mrs Jiffler goes for beef. What arrives looks promising, and the meat is as good as you could wish for in a pub. The roast potatoes have had some effort put into them as well. The chef is clearly not a Brit though, as the Yorkshires were a bit on the soggy side (a bad thing) and the veg where still crunchy and colourful (a good thing). I’ll go back there again. As long as its two for one.

Tom Yam Gai soup in the evening fails to recreate the glories of the other week, but is met with general approval. I used medium rice noodles for the first time, but I still prefer Udon noodles in a fusion stylee.

Monday:

Another stretch of the Thames, from Shepperton to Teddington lock, accompanied by more assorted sandwiches, and a treat for me - a bar of Cote d’or dark chocolate with hazelnuts in.

After another beautiful day of walking, Mrs Jiffler find ourselves ravenous, but with an empty fridge. We wander up Holloway road trying to find somewhere cheapish that is open, and doesn’t involve kebabs. While crossing the road we step in front of Mingo (http://mingworld.blogspot.com/) driving back up to Hertfordshire. What are the chances of that eh?

We arrive at a ‘gastro-pub’ called the Landseer, which is pleasantly busy with young studenty/young professional types. Starters are ridiculous and features: ‘Quail Cigar with Diamond Vegetables and Red Current Sauce’ (that is a direct quote, complete with spelling mistakes). What is a Quail Cigar? Will it fit up the chef’s arse?

On the mains the chef has managed to keep his culinary masturbation to himself and so Mrs Jiffler and I both order burgers, she with mushrooms, and I with Goats cheese on top, and two pints of well kept IPA from the rather disorganised antipodean behind the bar.

Bread arrives, with olive oil and balsamic for dipping. So far so gastropub. Then our burgers arrive – blimey the crusty farm-house style buns are as big as Mrs Jiffler’s face!

The ‘Hand-cut’ chips are a decent size and a generous portion. They could have done with a few minutes less in the chip pan though as they where seriously browned. How does a gastro-pub chef let this kind of thing leave the kitchen? Its chips for gods sake. Anyhow, Mrs Jiffler likes them that way apparently so I keep the grumbling to a minimum. The ‘tossed’ salad is unremarkable too. Some dense, flavourless leaves with the merest shaving of red onion – quite where the tossing came in to things I’m not sure.
Our burgers however, are mighty. They both arrive topped with goats cheese and mushrooms, although thanks to the antipodean idiot behind the bar we didn’t pay for either. The burgers are huge, and the quality of the meat stands out. I might quibble a bit and say they where a touch overdone, but then I’m still bitter about the chips, otherwise I’d say it was one of the best burgers I’ve had for a long, long time.

Wednesday 12th

Back in Hertfordshire at work again. Mrs Jiffler and I are working late so we pop for fish and chips at our old ‘local’ on Elms Road in Apsley. As always, the fish is freshly fried, and one is allowed to join in and apply your favoured amount of salt and pepper. I ask for a pickled egg, more to annoy Mrs Jiffler than anything else.

We eat our chips by the marina in Apsley and share a can of coke. Elms road fish is always superb value, and was rated best fish and chips in Hemel Hempstead by a Christian youth club in 1994. There you go – as recommended by God’s followers. Shame there is nowhere open for a brew.

Catching up a week.

Too busy even to do the blog just lately, which is a shame as the my meals have been interesting and varied in the last week or so.

Corduroy boy has set me a ready, steady cook challenge. It’ll be a while before I find time to do the necessary shopping / preparation for this, but since I’ve already told him what I’m making he’ll know I’m not cheating.

Given the backlog its probably best to run off some of the best and the worst of the last couple of weeks.

Starting with the worst (so as not to leave a bad taste in the mouth, so to speak), I was disappointed by a meal at the normally reliable ‘English Lounge’ in Manchester. My chicken sandwich with salad was pretty much up to scratch, but my friend’s chicken pasta was an experiment which the chef should have quietly put down to experience, not put on the menu.

It might have worked as a ‘taster’ or a small side relish, but as a main course it was hard work My friend - who normally cleans his plate (and has been known to lick the plate clean where spaghetti hoops are concerned) – bravely soldiered through about half the meal, before giving up and concentrating on a mellow pint of Deuchars IPA. I’m not sure what was in the pasta sauce. Pesto definitely, probably sweet chilli sauce, something brown – chocolate? I’m all for culinary adventures, but the chef would be well advised to taste his/her creations before revealing them to the paying public. If I had made this at home, I would have thrown it straight in the bin, and had some poached eggs on toast instead.

A buffet lunch later in the week put me in a filthy mood all afternoon. At work we enjoyed an interesting and gently delivered presentation from one of our Nigerian clients and as usual got stuck into the salty savouries and dry sandwiches the company lays out at these events.

I’m not sure why I haven’t learned my lesson about these bloody things. The appeal of the free buffet lunch is too strong because:
A, its free
B, it means I don’t have to bother making a packed lunch

The problem is I always eat too much, even when I’m trying not to, because the salty crap just gets you hooked. The office always stinks of farts by about three o’clock, and everyone is in a slump, pacing around looking for biscuits and drinking extra coffee. There has to be some alternative to the buffet lunch – sushi would be good, but probably too expensive, and philistine types would pull faces…

On a brighter note, I’ve had some lovely meals lately – starting with tapas prepared by by a Spanish friend of mine. Her Spanish cooking is always a pleasure, and an education for me in one of my favourite world cuisines, and this particular evening was no exception. The presence of a vegetarian among the guests meant a few interesting vegetable dishes, including some fried aubergines dressed with honey that reminded me of a starter I’ve enjoyed in the Ionian islands. I tried to commit the Spanish name of the dish to memory, but this was destroyed by the subsequent quantities of alcohol consumed in a sticky nightclub.

Dessert was kindly provided by the vegetarian guest, who modestly presented us with a smooth white-chocolate cheesecake. I think I described it in the pub later as ‘like being slapped across the face with a giant milky-bar’. Which - let me assure you - is a very good thing indeed.

Later in the week, down in London village, Mrs Jiffler and I can’t face the kitchen and so set off down Upper Street for a bite. Our original intention was to finally go and eat at Gallipoli, but instead we were attracted by the cheapo weekday menu at French bistro ‘Le Mercury’. Since both of us where starving, and Mrs Jiffler’s only condition was ‘I’ll eat anywhere where they give you bread’, we were pleased to be presented with a massive basket of assorted fresh breads at no extra charge.

Mrs Jiffer’s starter of moules mariniere was generous enough, and my ham hock terrine fresh enough to more than justify the £3.40 price tag, although I could have gone another mouthful of the terrine.

Seabass for Mrs Jiffler was another generous portion and the fish was well cooked. My shoulder of lamb was a bit odd, being of a slightly too-smooth texture, and served with a Gallic interpretation of mushy peas, or ‘smashed peas’ as I described them at the time. One can’t generally trust a French chef with something simple like this.

Anyhow, the bottom line is – two courses, a large glass of red each, a massive basket of bread, and two large portions of great French fries, plus a good tip for the professional and unintrusive waitress… and we still had change left over from thirty quid. In Islington. No wonder its always busy.

Vegetarians look away...

Here's one taken in a cider house in Pamplona last September. I may still be digesting that piece of steak...

Last week...

Monday. As in last week, not yesterday... I'm behind in the blog again...

A slice of Mrs Jiffler’s chocolate cake cheers me up on the train where there is a man with a mobile phone behaving like:
A, He’s never used a cell phone before
B, He’s never been a train before
C, He’s never been allowed out in public before

The woman opposite me looks jealous of my cake. Ha! Its only 9:15 in the morning so I feel pretty decadent.

I have a blast around the shops, including my first revisit to Gabbotts farm since the lamb-mince annoyance, fruit and veg (fruit selection a bit uninspiring at the moment), and the fish man. For some reason I buy a big bunch of fresh mint - I’ve got no idea what I’m going to do with that, but it smells nice.

For tea – two handfuls of chicken wings in a sweet chilli marinade. These take about 50 minutes in the oven and are a sticky treat eaten with fingers.

While I’m waiting for the chicken to cook I rustle up a quick salad of rucola, lollo biondo (for bulk), spring onions and a couple of baby toms, dressed with balsamic vinegar.

Tuesday

Funny day today – feeling a bit like I’m jetlagged and disorientated. This is probably due to the travelling to London and the clocks changing I guess. Or maybe I need a beer…

Anyhow, the fishmong has filleted a mackerel for me and so I lay out the grey v-shape in a baking dish and poke my nose into the cupboard for inspiration.

Spicy is the way to go, so I quickly soften a diced shallot in some olive oil and throw in the remains of my parsley plant (RIP), some finely chopped red chilli, and a spoonful of some posh smoked paprika. I drizzle this aromatic cooking sauce over the fish and bung it in the oven.

There is still some residual paprika-infused oil left in the pan, so I thinly chop a handful of new potatoes and sauté, adding to a sliced clove of garlic and some slices from a massive sweet pepper that I bought yesterday.

On the plate, with a bit of salad the whole ensemble looks great (no photo unfortunately) and tastes even better. The mackerel is lovely and meaty and survives the piquant sauce well. My flat mate emerges after the plate is clean and remarks that the kitchen smells good…

Ready Steady Cook Challenge:

Thought I might give myself an interesting culinary challenge and encourage a bit of interactivity with the readership (surprisingly more people than I thought!).

On the show ‘Ready Steady Cook’ chefs are challenged to prepare a two-course meal using only a few quid’s worth of ingredients (plus store cupboard staples). What I’d like to do is for you – ‘the readers’ – to challenge me to prepare a meal using only five or six key ingredients specified by you.

To make it reasonable I’ll be able to use store cupboard ingredients such as cooking oil, spices, lemon juice etc – basically what is in my small store cupboard (I won't make any special purchases).

Also – the selection of ingredients has to have reasonable variety. Its no good suggesting a pasta, rice, and potato dish. The ingredients should be affordable too – no lobster and foie gras please.

I won’t look on the internet for ideas, nor will I consult my recipe books. I’ll give an honest assessment of how tasty the dish is…

Send your ideas by email to the usual address, or put them in the comments section.

Saturday

Hot cross buns and yesterday’s tiffin start the day. The hot cross buns remind me of the bread in Guyana, where all the regular sandwich rolls are sweet like hot cross buns. It not as nice as it sounds, although it did at least encourage me to learn how to make my own bread.

We go to see ‘Tsotsi’ (www.tsotsi.com) at Screen on the Green in Islington. It’s a lovely independent cinema with squishy seats. Mrs Jiffler observes that even middle-class twats don’t seem to know how to behave in cinemas. The film itself is an interesting story, well told, although with slightly limited cinematography (budget I guess). It does a good job at demonstrating the poverty gap, and decoupling this from racial politics The clever people who write for the broadsheets disapprove of this apparently, and prefer the more facile racial argument for this polarisation between the rich and poor. If only it were that simple.

After the film we wealthy wazungu adjourn to the ‘Masala Zone’ on Upper Street for a Thali – an assortment of curries. Masala Zone is kind of like a Wagamamas for curry in that it is fairly cheap and cheerful (although £3.15 for a small bottle of Cobra is daylight robbery). The food comes on large metal platters and includes our choice of meat curry (Lamb Rogan Josh for me, Chicken something-or-other for Mrs Jiffler which has a Burmese-style coconut and tomato thing going on), and an assortment of chutneys, vegetable curries, dhal, half (?) a poppadum, a mini-chapathi, and rice. We also order a side dish of Sag aloo, which turns up looking more like Pesto Genovese.

Its fun enough, and an education if one is under the impression that curry only comes in orange, brown, red, or yellow, accompanied by rice and too many naan breads. Compared to what is on offer in my local curry cafes (I’m privileged enough to be living in the Northern Quarter…) its really quite unremarkable. The breads at Café Marahaba cost a third of the price of the rotis at Masala, and are larger and better by miles.

Playing catch-up again…

Thursday

A meeting after college means limited time in the kitchen. There is some chicken stock and a few bits and pieces so I go for a Tom Yam Gai style-soup.

My mind is a bit preoccupied with work while I’m preparing the soup and I throw things in at random, pour it over the noodles, and sit down in front of telly to tuck in. I should have paid more attention to what I was doing because the soup presses all the right buttons – and is as good as the Tom Yam Gai I had at Ken Hom’s place in January. Its Zen cooking I guess…

Friday

A moderately successful presentation and quick meeting, then I’m on the Pendolino down to London fairly earlyish. As I’m a bit skint at the moment I’m hoping for a fairly frugal weekend in Islington.

Mrs Jiffler and I pop over to Waitrose (yeah, they’re posh on the Holloway Road) and pick up a rotisserie chicken, a bag of salad and a packet of garlic bread. I spot some massive Mediterranean tomatoes and Mrs Jiffler agrees we can have one as long as it comes with mozzarella. This is about as pre-prepared as I get with food without hyperventilating, and as it turns out the chicken is lovely – heavily flavoured with rosemary and thyme, the flesh melts in the mouth. Well done Waitrose.

We make a quick stock to reaffirm some of our DIY credentials, and Mrs Jiffler gets busy making a fridge-cook tiffin from digestive biscuits, chocolate, raisins, honey and syrup… mmm.

Friday

A moderately successful presentation and quick meeting, then I’m on the Pendolino down to London fairly earlyish. As I’m a bit skint at the moment I’m hoping for a fairly frugal weekend in Islington.

Mrs Jiffler and I pop over to Waitrose (yeah, they’re posh on the Holloway Road) and pick up a rotisserie chicken, a bag of salad and a packet of garlic bread. I spot some massive Mediterranean tomatoes and Mrs Jiffler agrees we can have one as long as it comes with mozzarella. This is about as pre-prepared as I get with food without hyperventilating, and as it turns out the chicken is lovely – heavily flavoured with rosemary and thyme, the flesh melts in the mouth. Well done Waitrose.

We make a quick stock to reaffirm some of our DIY credentials, and Mrs Jiffler gets busy making a fridge-cook tiffin from digestive biscuits, chocolate, raisins, honey and syrup… mmm.

Thursday

Playing catch-up again…

Thursday

A meeting after college means limited time in the kitchen. There is some chicken stock and a few bits and pieces so I go for a Tom Yam Gai style-soup.

My mind is a bit preoccupied with work while I’m preparing the soup and I throw things in at random, pour it over the noodles, and sit down in front of telly to tuck in. I should have paid more attention to what I was doing because the soup presses all the right buttons – and is as good as the Tom Yam Gai I had at Ken Hom’s place in January. Its Zen cooking I guess…

Wednesday 22nd

Still trying to get rid of the winter food stores, I decide to modify, or ‘jiffle-up’ a recipe nicked from the Grauniad, or maybe it was the Observer. A dead simple, warming potatoey thing.

The spuds in the box by the cooker are of the multipurpose white variety, and have weird little fingers growing out of them. I trim the fingers, wash the spuds, and cut into slices a bit thicker than a pound coin. The slices go into a pyrex oven proof dish (a bit of butter around the dish to keep things from sticking) in layers with some salt and pepper and a hefty sprinkling of the organic dried dill that I bought in the weird organic anarchist place around the corner when I was a bit hungover and it seemed like a good idea etc etc…

While all this potato fun is going on there is a little pan full of chicken stock on the stove gently chugging away with some chilli and a bashed up spear of lemon grass in. The fragrant hot stock goes into the dish with the spuds so that the spuds are just peeping over the top, then it goes into the oven for nearly an hour.
Spuds in stock – that’s it. I know it was in the Guardian, but my mum used to make this sort of thing when I was a kid. Yeah – we didn’t have stuffed tortellini in rural Wales when I was a nipper… I cheat a bit when it comes out of the oven and throw in a few torn up slices of roast ham that has been hanging around in the fridge for a bit. It is pure comfort food, and almost makes me regret my; ‘summery foods’ plan.

Laptop is fixed

Its been a while, due to the laptop being repaired. Apparently it had ‘Dead Pixels’ which I originally heard as ‘Dead Pixies’. Imagine that. There has been a general amount of hard work going on as well…

Food-wise, the last few weeks have been a bit variable to be honest. I can’t say I’ve been eating particularly healthy as I’ve been trying to run down the stocks of ‘heavy foods’ in my cupboard and freezer so that I can, this week hopefully (perhaps when the clocks go forward) break out some lighter summery recipes that will hopefully help reduce some of my summer ‘padding’.

Anyhow, highlights of the last couple of weeks have been a couple of low budget Chinese meals, a buffet at Salford University’s ‘International Party’, which featured stuffed vine leaves (a treat that I haven’t had for years) and a surprisingly seasonal selection of salad leaves (mostly one gets iceberg and lettuce and rubbery tomatoes at these things).

The buffet lunch at an Environmental Conference was more disappointing. Apparently it was all fair trade food – well done – but it lacked variety and… er… taste. One highlight was the girl who was dishing out mini-cheese and onion pasties… only they were Cornish pasties (my first ever fair trade Cornish pasty! What next? Fishfingers?). It actually took quite a while for some of the assembled vegetarians (many, since this was an environmental conference) to twig that they were eating meat. It took two pasties in the case of one woman - probably the best thing she’s tasted in a good while…

Why they always give you stodgy food that makes you sluggish and flatulent at conferences?

There has been a lot of black pudding consumed this week as well. Thankfully its all gone now. I had some the other night with slices of Williams Pear gently fried in butter. Trust me, this is a marvellous combination if you’ve got an odd link of pudding and fancy a quick lunch. It’s the sort of thing that you’d get charged eight quid for as an ‘unusual’ starter somewhere swanky.

Lastly I was in Hull for 50 minutes changing trains after visiting the planning office in Beverley (I know, living the dream). I was secretly glad to have such a long stop-over in Hull as I’ve never been there before and I thought it would be nice to have a pootle around, check out the unique white phone boxes, and maybe buy some fish. See I thought that with Hull being by the sea (or on the estuary at least), and having something of a seafaring heritage, that there would be a fine choice of seafood on offer to a passing jiffler.

Sadly not. Only one proper chippy as well and that was closed. Plenty of places to buy pies and pastry products – a veritable buffet city. Bugger all in the way of fish mongers though, even on Fish Street…

(yes it does exist, look: http://www.multimap.com/map/browse.cgi?lat=53.7415&lon=-0.3361&scale=5000&icon=x

The Broken Laptop

My laptop has broken. Funny white lines across the screen mean 'the screen is knackered' according to the man on the phone. Anyhow, its gone off for repair for at least a week. Fortunately I'm in the middle of experiments and reading, rather than any writing up so I can live without it for a bit.

So no blog, or not very much anyway. I've pretty much forgotten what I've been eating... there was a nice corn-fed organic chicken on Friday night accompanied by a bitter salad and copious amounts of Chilean wine. There have also been sausages and black puddings from the farmer's market in Piccadilly, and a sugary apple pie.

Due to the Tabasco immunity I've taken up drinking Thai sweet chilli sauce. Lovely on bits of cold chicken.

The weather is grim at the moment, and I seem to have been comfort eating too much in the last month or so - too much soup/risotto/bangers and mash/whole chickens. With this in mind I've resolved to start eating less stodgy foods as soon as the clocks go forward. Roll on summer...

Wednesday 8th

Little to report since there has been much business with a college project amongst other things. This weeks kitchen activity has mostly revolved around cooking pasta, and adding cheese, or fish or something, and maybe a bit of creme fraiche. This isn't considered cooking in my book, and is more fuel than food.

Today was a different matter, with bangers and mash cooked in the usual way, with gravy made from French lager (the marsala bottle is empty). Not bad. Add some cream. Better...

Saturday 4th

In the fishmongers buying an octopus another crab leaps into my shopping bag. The octopus is going in the freezer for some fun I have planned in a week or so (freezing tenderises the meat).

Extracting the meat from the crab provides an entertaining 20 minutes or so in the kitchen, and I decide to use most of it too make a crab linguine. The best crab linguine I’ve tried was in a restaurant in Liguria about four or five years ago, it had a garlic and chilli hit which added some excitement to the soft sweetness of the crab. My attempt to emulate this manages to push the right buttons where the flavour is concerned, but the consistency seems to be a little too dry. A swift google reveals that good chefs (Locatelli in this case) are fond of reducing a good glug of white wine with the meat and chilli mixture before introducing it to the linguine.

An excuse to buy a crab and some wine!

Friday 3rd

Pub. Chip Barm. Snow. Curry.

Thursday 2nd

A couple of pints after college, and I’m ready for something quick and filling. A chicken and mixed veg stir fry, with plenty of rice fills me up. There is some rice leftover to make a salady thing for tomorrow’s lunch. There are still some Tabasco tasting issues. Perhaps I should put it to the back of the cupboard for a bit.

Short but sweet, but at least I’ve caught up…

Wednesday 1st March

Blimey, St David’s Day already. They will be partying on the streets of Llantwmffat tonight. There is a leek in the kitchen, perhaps I should go and beat an Englishman up with it. You can do some damage with a leek. No, I think I’ll save it for a cheesy pasta dish later in the week.

I’m going to use up some of the controversial minced lamb instead. Some of it goes in the freezer for a later spag bol or something another day – not even I can eat a pound of minced lamb.

I’ve loads of fresh coriander so I chop up far too much and mix in a bowl with some chopped spring onion and garlic, then knead this mixture into the minced lamb. There is still a little too much lamb, so I divide it into two cricket balls and press them out into burgers. They go in the pan on a low-ish heat until I’ve completed the Guardian sudoku, turning once, so that the centre is just about cooked. The burgers are a tight fit for some wholemeal pitta, with ketchup dripping out of the corners. Some sautéed veg rounds things off, with an accidentally over the top dash (actually more of a slosh) of Tabasco which for some reason I can’t taste later on. I wonder if, given my penchant for Tabasco sauce in small quantities, I’ve become immune to its heat…

Tuesday 28th

Back in Manchester on the Pendolino and there is time before lunch to fill up the cupboard after last week’s frugal living. Tescos provides the usual yoghurt and fruit juice type basics, but today also involves a trip to the butchers, fishmong and fruit and veg stall. Normally I appreciate the general interaction this involves, but today the bloke in Gabbots farm annoys me by refusing to mince up less than a pound of lamb (I had asked for 300g – a quantity I have had minced at Gabbots farm before). Faced with the prospect of a return visit to tescos for some minced lamb in a plastic box, I make the fecker weigh out exactly a pound of lamb. 454g exactly please, no more no less.

Luckily the fishmong is friendly as usual, and the money that was going to go on a piece of steak as a lunchtime treat goes on two scallops and a whole crab.

Mrs Jiffler has been hinting a bit about scallops, so I wanted to investigate, especially since I’ve never cooked the big fat ones before. They are in season now, so should be good (although they cost a quid each).

They go in browned butter for a few minutes on either side, followed by a drizzling of fresh butter (I nearly used the browned stuff out of the pan!), garlic, and parsley. I could get used to this sort of living, scallops for lunch. They spit like scallys (Scallop scallys!) in the pan though, so its best not to wear a good shirt.

My neighbours invite me round for pancakes, so I take the crab with me for fun. There’s a lovely selection of savouries including spinach and mushroom, and bacon and avocado, as well as the crab meat, followed by a couple of mini-pancakes filled with banana and dark chocolate. I think my favourite is bacon and avocado – as always I can’t resist an avocado – but I reckon crab and avocado might be one to try as well.

On the way home I nip into SPAR for some milk and see a bottle of JIF pancake mix by the till. It is half full with ‘mix’ and you add milk to top up the bottle, shake it up, and fry it. The instructions on the back advise you to flip the pancake ‘if you’re brave enough’. I can see a potential court case here…

Bloody hell, how many brand names have I mentioned in the last couple of blogs? I wonder if I could get corporate sponsorship from Heinz or something. If I get enough hits I might get enough free baked beans for everyone.

Monday 27th

Mrs Jiffler has the day booked off work so we embark on a lengthy walk around North London, stopping to look at interesting things along the way. Our route takes in Holloway road, archway, Highgate, Hampstead Heath, Hampstead, Primrose Hill, a bit of the canal, and Camden, before having a look at the new developments around Kings Cross (Kings Cross Central – it looks like it will be massive) and heading up to Upper Street, and back to Holloway.

Foodwise we stop to have a nibble here and there. We munch organic plums from a little shop on the Holloway road while making our way up Highgate hill, past the monument to Dick Whittington’s cat outside of the Whittington hospital. Amongst other things we pass the former home of Joe Meek (record producer responsible for ‘Telstar’ by the Tornados) and a book shop in Hampstead where George Orwell used to work – inspiration for ‘Keep the aspidistra flying’. Its now a pizza delivery place… I wonder what Orwell would have made of that. At a café nearby we order overpriced pastries and coffee and sit and do both Sudokus in the Café’s newspaper, just to get our money’s worth out of them.

Hampstead and nearby Belsize Park have some lovely grocers and delis, but the area is just too expensive to live. We don’t spot any celebrities in Primrose Hill, which is where they all live according to Mrs Jiffler.

Down in Camden we’re in more familiar territory. We’re here to see Jim Noir play an acoustic set at Fopp by Camden lock. I saw him play in Manchester on Monday, but he and his band all had the flu so were a bit dopey. We all sit cross-legged on the floor as if in a school assembly, while the band breeze through half a dozen songs. It goes well, and finds a few new fans I think. I accidentally buy a signed copy of his new single, along with a King Tubby boxed set. I keep accidentally buying things in Fopp, I wonder if I can take out insurance.

Its quieter in Camden during the week, and the crackheads are a bit more obvious without the weekend crowd to hide in. We move on quickly to try to get to Kings Cross before it gets too dark. Tasty Corner, purveyor of brightly coloured Chinese food, is undergoing some sort of refurbishment, presumably to try to keep up with the rather swish looking oriental place that has opened up just a few doors down.

Upper Street is busy as always, and we slip off behind the antiques market to poke around the back streets a little before reaching our destination on Essex Street: the S&M Café.

S&M stands for ‘Sausage & Mash’ of course, which is pretty much the staple of the menu at this café, which doesn’t appear to have changed much since the war. They do have a couple of pies on the menu, but we’re here for the main event. We both go for a plate of plain mash with gravy and London Traditional Sausages (there are many more on the menu, but we’re beginners at this place), two cups of tea, and a bowl of minted peas to share.

Mrs Jiffler – a mash aficionado if ever there was one - immediately approves of the mash, which was smooth, yet still yielding to the even textured gravy. The sausages are perfectly done, tight in the skin, while still juicy inside. Our side of minted peas is as near to perfect as they get.

There are a variety of condiments on each table – in jars and bottles not those horrid little sachets. I’m pleased to see that each table has a jar of Coleman’s original mustard, along with some HP, as it should be, but also intrigued by the selection of mustards made by Gordon’s fine foods of Surrey. The high standards set so far encourage me to taste of few of these. The wholegrain is fine, despite not having quite the fire and crunch of Coleman’s wholegrain. The sweeter Mustard with wildflower honey would sit nicely with a spicy sausage such as a Lincolnshire or Cumberland ring. Finally the Dijon Mustard with Chablis mixes nicely with the mash and gravy. Its not quite true to the Dijon recipe as it lists spirit vinegar rather than verjuice on the label, but the addition of the Chablis brings things into line a bit.

Saturday and Sunday

Saturday is house party day, which means balloons and a trip out to Morrisons in the car to buy crates of booze and crisps. Apart from the usual crisps and nuts, there is a big bag full of sweets including Parma Violets, and some weird little sugary balls made in New Mills. Mrs Jiffler adds a touch of class by rustling up a large batch of her popular Chocolate Orange Cookies for the revellers, while I pre-prepare some late night savoury mozzarella and red pesto crostini (posh mini cheese on toast).

Our tea is a big bowl of tagliatelle carbonara to soak up the booze. I’m not sure why, but I’ve been having tagliatelle cravings lately… The party goes well, with nobody really disgracing themselves. I tried the new Badger First Gold, which is up to the brewery’s usual fine standards: http://www.badgerbrewery.com/beers/index.asp

Cookies go down well, as do the crostini.

Sunday:

Hungover, as one might expect. A much needed fry up is rustled up by Mrs Jiffler for overnight guests, one of whom accidentally makes a cup of coffee using bisto gravy granules. I’m in need of air and some sort of sweet fizzy drink, so nip out to Waitrose for supplies.

A roast chicken seems appropriate, but I’m too lethargic to cook a full roast dinner. The chicken itself, stuffed with lemon is no problem, its just all the rest of the faff that goes along with it. Instead I accompany the chicken with a bag of salad (yes, yes the evil chlorinated variety, but we’re talking hangover here) which seems to be mostly watercress along with some unidentifiable green and red leaves, and a home-made honey and mustard dressing which is more honey than mustard. Some French bread (Arrghh French Bread! Super Furry Animals Fans…) helps to mop up the plate.

Friday…

Big gap there. Nothing significant to report apart from some late night sausage and mash action on Thursday.

The train down to London on Friday night zips by in a flash and I barely have time to finish the sudoku. The fridge is bare, and neither Mrs Jiffler or I can be bothered to traipse around Waitrose, or cook anything for that matter. Lucky for us that Mrs Jiffler lives around the corner from a budget Tapas joint called ‘El Molino’ on the Holloway road. Its fairly busy, but we get a table by the window.

Rioja in hand, the weekend starts. We discuss tomorrow’s houseparty over a plate of fried boquerones, and wait for our selection of plates to arrive. Fabadas asturianas fails to impress due to stinginess on the meat front, but a stuffed aubergine, reasonable patatas bravas and some albondigas make up for it. Our prawns take a while, but finally emerge from the kitchen smothered in sweet young garlic with just a hint of chilli.

The desserts are cheap, but we opt instead for boozy coffees involving Liquor 43 to perk us up ready for a mini pub crawl along the Holloway Road.

Friday…

Big gap there. Nothing significant to report apart from some late night sausage and mash action on Thursday.

The train down to London on Friday night zips by in a flash and I barely have time to finish the sudoku. The fridge is bare, and neither Mrs Jiffler or I can be bothered to traipse around Waitrose, or cook anything for that matter. Lucky for us that Mrs Jiffler lives around the corner from a budget Tapas joint called ‘El Molino’ on the Holloway road. Its fairly busy, but we get a table by the window.

Rioja in hand, the weekend starts. We discuss tomorrow’s houseparty over a plate of fried boquerones, and wait for our selection of plates to arrive. Fabadas asturianas fails to impress due to stinginess on the meat front, but a stuffed aubergine, reasonable patatas bravas and some albondigas make up for it. Our prawns take a while, but finally emerge from the kitchen smothered in sweet young garlic with just a hint of chilli.

The desserts are cheap, but we opt instead for boozy coffees involving Liquor 43 to perk us up ready for a mini pub crawl along the Holloway Road.

Tuesday 21st

Raining today, and I'm working from home so I have to find a really good reason to drag myself out for a constitutional. There is a toothpaste shortage, so I get the brolly out.

There are some mushrooms left, and loads of stock, so I set about making a kind of Asian influenced soup. The mushrooms sizzle briefly with some red chilli in some sesame oil, before some cherry tomatoes go in (no reason other than I have some in the fridge) and the leftover stock. This stays simmering for as long as I can stay hungry, with the occasional dash of soy sauce, tom yam gai, Tabasco etc going in whenever I feel twitchy. Right at the end I throw in the (still substantial) leftover chicken pieces.

I boil up some egg noodles and pile them in a bowl before pouring the hot soup over the top. A quick inspection of the windowsill reveals a herb shortage of near crisis proportions, so I have to go without any. It still looks good though, and tastes perfect for a rainy day, despite much of it going down my chin.

Monday 20th

Melt-in-your-hand avocado on toast for breakfast. Short of a fry up there is no better way to start the day. An early start too, off to meet my Dad at New Mills for a nosey around Kinder Low.

Lunch sheltering behind a bloody great rock between Ashop Head and Kinder Downfall consists of last night’s leftover chicken makes up my butties with a bit of salad, while Dad has corned beef and piccalilli on a rather nice looking ciabatta. Lycees and bananas gives a bit of an energy boost on the way down.

A substantial tea is in order – and since there is plenty of chicken stock I go ahead with the risotto predicted yesterday. I use Mrs Jiffler’s recipe, which is in turn nicked from Nigel Slater:

Mrs Jiffler’s Risotto:

As usual there are no right or wrong quantities. Mrs J has been known to use white wine instead of chicken stock, which I think gives a more summery feel to it. Its also normal for Mrs Jiffler to forget at least one ingredient, or substitute with something at random..

Butter or olive oil
Arborio risotto rice – the best you can afford.
Mushrooms – whatever you fancy. Chestnut mushrooms today.
An onion, or a couple of shallots
Saffron (not essential, if you haven’t got it, be imaginative)
Chicken stock (or white wine)
Fresh Parsley
Frozen peas
Parmesan cheese

Soften the onions in the oil/butter and throw in the mushrooms for a minute or two. Stir in the rice and stir fry for about two minutes.

Keeping the heat medium to low, pour in a little of the stock (or whatever you’re using) and stir gently and steadily. Once the rice has taken in the stock, add a little more and stir again. Repeat this process until the rice has absorbed the liquid and swollen up nicely (Stir in the saffron halfway through the process, or if you can be bothered, steep a pinch of saffron in a small bowl of warm water for 30 mins before pouring the whole lot in with the stock). The whole process can take ages. Generally I can have mine ready quicker than Mrs Jiffler, but hers taste better, so its probably best to be leisurely.

Towards the end throw in a lump of parmesan to melt – or grate it in if preferred. At the same time the frozen peas should go in – these only take a couple of minutes to cook. Then add some fresh parsley if you have any.

Eat on a cold day in a warm room.

Other options:
Today I stirred in some chicken pieces from yesterday’s roast along with the parmesan.
Coarsely chopped spring onions instead of the onions, along with chopped celery works well with the ‘Summmery’ white wine version.
Chuck in a few odd bits of panchetta or bacon just before the mushrooms.
I once left out the parmesan, and threw in some chunks of fruity Italian Taleggio cheese. I was on a cheese high all evening…

Sunday 19th Feb

Drinking for England (well, Wales actually) this weekend. A fairly unplanned Friday night ended up being an almighty bender. If anyone finds logs (as in firewood) hidden around the Deansgate area they have us to blame. Friends from Wales staying on Saturday, including a surprise appearance from one Mr Ahmed Elvis of Cardiff. More drinking, including some well-kept Hydes at the Fletcher Moss in Didsbury, but unremarkable food due to the requirement for stodge to soak up the beer.

Funds are low, so I invest in my own comfortable version of sukuma wiki – a chicken. I can’t afford to go organic today so I settle for a corn fed free ranger from Tescos. Mr Tesco gives you a little foil tray to cook the chicken in, which is rather unnecessary, but saves on washing up.

I’m surprised by the chicken – as I’ve had a few bad experiences with supermarket birds in the past. The texture of the flesh is sublime, and it is beautifully coloured. I have quite a bit of difficulty getting it from the carving tray to the plate without eating it first. I eat a good third of the bird with some parsnips, followed by some lychees that I found on offer in that grubby little fridge by the bread aisle.

There is enough chicken left for my hillside lunch tomorrow (my Dad is coming over for the day for a nip up Kinder Downfall), and should be enough for a soup or a salad later in the week. Or a risotto made in the style of Mrs Jiffler. There is a big bunch of rosemary going dry in the kitchen so I push a big handful in around the carcass and get some stock on the go – perhaps for soup if the weather goes rubbish later in the week. The kitchen smells fantastic.