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…