The Piddlington Arms

There is, at the more expedient end of the catering business, a technique for doing a burger where the patty goes straight from the deep freeze into the deep fryer. With practice, this results in a spot of charring, a spot of caramelisation, and some juicy meat in the middle. On a decent bun, with some fresh salad, and one of the better brands of relish, it’s delightful. Served promptly, with a smile, and for just north of a tenner including a decent pint, it’s utterly compelling. Sadly, I am not here to write about The George.

On the other side of the market square in Piddlington is The Cock: a pub-cum-nightclub where the music, the fashions, and, crucially, the prices, have not changed since the nineties. We are mercifully free of the tedious young man who merely wants to start a fight, and the punters are solely here to drink like fish and dance like idiots. Trays of blue luminescent shots zoom past, the DJ whacks on yet another nineties banger, and even the security staff are dancing. The floor is slippery, the toilets a disgrace, and the place is an utter, utter joy. Sadly, I am not here to write about The Cock.

A few streets from the market, at the better end of town, is The Piddlington Arms, in that kind of large Georgian building that is invariably described as ‘handsome’. The more observant amongst you will have already deduced that there is no such place as Piddlington, because I see no reason to shame an otherwise fine country town, but every country town has a place like this, and it is my duty to catalogue the warning signs, so you may run screaming into the shadows of the night before your wallet and guts are left worse for the wear.

Braving the immaculately painted and cleaned exterior, we step inside, to the welcoming sight of a bar, but before we can get near it, the staff interpose themselves. One cannot simply walk into Mordor. We are given the once over, our lack of reservation counting against us, and parked in a salon, whilst our table is ‘being prepared’. Although nowhere near Scotland, there is enough tartan on display that we feel we might be on the inside of a Barbour jacket. We keep an eye peeled for stray bagpipers and, not for the last time, wish someone had packed a small firearm.

A quarter of an hour passes before we are ushered into the mostly empty dining room, a plethora of easy chairs, banquettes, benches and divans, putting me in mind of a mid market furniture showroom. There is a lack of anything resembling a chair on which one can sit upright and safely manoeuvre one’s nosh into one’s mouth like a grownup. It is unclear what a reservation would have brought to the party, or indeed, what preparing the table involved, as all the tables are already set. There is a large man in a small suit fussing over things, but he seems reluctant to approach, instead dispatching a minion to recite a long list of things on the menu that are no longer on the menu. I fail to memorise it.

Despite our worst fears, the food arrives on conventional plates, but is a bit dull, and uniformly over salted, except bizarrely, the chips, which have none at all. The chips at The George were obviously prepared by the machinery at McCain, which has been expertly programmed to do the job properly. The unlucky punters at The Piddlington Arms are treated to hand cut triple cooked chips, which someone in the kitchen has learnt from a correspondence course. They are pale, floury and greasy, with the promise of some intestinal indignity the following day.

We are a long way from London, but the prices and portions are all too familiar. Understandably, when the rent is the most expensive ingredient on the menu, a place will need to cut their cloth accordingly, but a small country town? Just be done with it and put the words ‘wedding venue’ out the front and we’ll steer clear.

You’ll find me in The George, eyeing up The Cock.

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Pasta with Cherry Tomatoes

Summer has come to a close, and with it, cherry tomatoes are now going for around three quid a kilo, which elevates the extravagant to the commonplace. In addition, a basil plant from the supermarket, which has endured all summer, on account of living in a sunny place and being watered regularly, will not survive the chill in the flat, so the last of its leaves will be put to use.

Per serving:

• 150g cherry tomatoes, no need to peel
• a small onion or half a large one
• ½ a teaspoon of brown sugar
• 5mL balsamic vinegar
• a dozen basil leaves
• 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
• 90g dried pasta

Dice the onion and sauté in some vegetable oil, with the sugar, plus a generous pinch of salt and some pepper. Should take around five minutes.

Whilst that’s happening, wash the cherry tomatoes, slice them in half, and when the onion is soft, pop them in, along with the teensiest splash of balsamic vinegar. Turn the heat right down, and cover. It’ll need about ten minutes, which neatly fits cooking the pasta.

When the pasta is almost done, turn off the heat on the sauce, add the basil leaves and olive oil, stir and cover. Lazily drain the pasta, add to the sauce, and stir well. The starch in the pasta should thicken the sauce very slightly. Pass the parmesan.

If your tomatoes are less than optimal, you might consider any or all of the following enhancements:

• a bay leaf when you add the toms
• some dried oregano
• some garlic and/or pepperoncino when frying the onions
• some dried basil

You could do this with tinned toms, but the results are likely to be more ketchupy.

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Lemonade

I’ve been making lots of lemonade this Summer, or what passes for it. I have risked diabetes with some recipes from America, conversely, I followed a puritanical recipe with so little sugar that my mouth just about puckered me inside out.

The important thing is getting the most out of your lemon. A simple lemonade can always be made in a hurry (to slow down the guests hoovering the Gin) by squeezing some lemons, adding some sugar syrup from the cocktail cabinet, and throwing in ice and mint leaves. But, much of a lemon’s flavour is in the zest, and some of it is even in the pith, so some zesting, boiling and infusing are helpful.

For 500mL of finished product, I use one unwaxed lemon, 25g of sugar, extras, and of course, water.

1. Start by combining the sugar and 200mL of water in a small saucepan, putting on a medium heat, and stirring occasionally to combine, whilst you deal with the lemon.
2. Give the lemon a good scrub, and then zest it into the saucepan. Halve the lemon, and squeeze the juice into the saucepan, pips and all. Hack up the remains into chunks and drop them in as well.
3. Add any extras, see below, and bring to a cataclysmic boil for a minute or so.
4. Turn the heat off and allow to cool, ideally for several hours or even overnight.
5. Strain into a jug. I use a fine mesh strainer, or you could waste some muslin if you’re scared of The Bits. I normally give what’s left in the saucepan a bit of casual violence from the potato masher to get the last bits of juice out.
6. Top up to 500mL with cold water, and serve. Maybe a quick shot of sugar syrup from the cocktail cabinet if it’s not sweet enough.

Extras

Of course, it’s no fun without all the stuff you can add. Any or all of the following are good, per 500mL:

Mint. The most traditional of flavourings. A bit of a bully, so less is more, and two leaves per 500mL is quite enough. A few leaves added as a garnish won’t hurt at serving time.

Ginger. Grate in a thumbnail sized piece of root ginger. This is my favourite.

Honey. No more than a teaspoon.

Bitters. A single drop of Angostura or Peychaud’s.

Salt. Lots of South Asian recipes call for a pinch of salt. I haven’t tried this, so let me know.

Sugar. No, not more sugar, but different kinds. Demerara or cut the caster sugar with some muscovado.

Soda. Instead of topping up with water, put the cooled concentrate into the fridge to chill, and top up with soda water when serving.

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Quince Vodka

A mostly harmless thing to do when there’s a spare quince, based on Elizabeth David.

As well as a quince, you will also need 750mL of cheap vodka, but not so cheap that it smells like tractor fuel and, some weeks later, a quarter of a cup of sugar syrup.

Start by giving the quince a good wash and scrub, and cutting off any nasty bits. Grate the quince, including the skin, but stopping before the core. Working quickly, before it can discolour, pop it into a Kilner jar, cover with vodka, and seal. Leave this for a few weeks; ideally a few months.

The resulting liquid needs to be strained, preferably through some muslin, to catch all the debris. It will then need around 60mL of sugar syrup.

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Red Curry

What’s a farang like me doing talking about Gaeng Ped? I can’t tell you how to make an authentic red curry, but there are plenty of books that make this claim. I can tell you that I was there back when Prasit Pratteeprasen was dishing it up at the Imperial Hotel in Erskineville. I became hooked, and this is the result of experimentation and my decidedly western tastes: warming and aromatic rather than something to blow yer socks off.

The most important ingredient is the paste, which should be the real thing, e.g. Mae Ploy or Maesri, both of which should be available in your local Asian supermarket or, failing that, on the electric interwebs. Green paste (gaeng keow) benefits from being made fresh, as it’s not a million miles from salsa verde, but red paste is mostly made from dried and pickled things, so no real benefit, and you’re losing the expertise of those lovely people in Thailand who make it for you.

Makrut leaves, a.k.a. keffir lime, are the other part of the magic, and you’ll need to mount an expedition into Chinatown. Don’t be put off by the giant bags, as they freeze really well, and you may already find them in the freezer. (As do lemongrass and galangal.) After that, the only other exciting ingredients are fish sauce and Thai basil, which most supermarkets will carry. If you’re in Chinatown, keep an eye out for ‘holy basil’ (kaephrow) which is even tastier.

For the meat, go for some thinly sliced chicken breast or thigh, or leftover roast chicken; all shredded up. If you’re using beef, grab a single chunky piece of lean rump steak, and fry this whole for a couple of minutes each side until done on the outside, and allow to rest. Slice it thinly just before you add it back into the pot at the end. It’ll still be quite red in the middle, but a few moments of immersion in boiling liquid will fix that pretty quickly.

Don’t use dried makrut leaves, European basil or ‘lite’ coconut milk. If you’re worried about the calories, use a slotted spoon to extract the meat and veg to serve, and go easy on the gravy.

The paste should deliver enough warmth on its own, but you might like to add chilli. Thais would garnish the finished product with raw red birds’ eyes, which is a bit much. For two people, you’ll need:

• one 400mL tin of coconut milk (do not use ‘lite’)
• 450g meat (chicken, beef, robust tofu, a bit overwhelming for prawns or fish)
• 450g veg (baby corn, mangetout, baby broccoli, spring onions, etc.)
• 50g paste
• 5mL fish sauce
• handful thai basil
• 6 makrut leaves
• optionally, one or two red birds eye chillis, maybe some grated galangal and bashed up lemongrass, although these two will be present in the paste.

For four people I’d double the meat/veg portions, but not bother increasing the other quantities.

Here’s what I do:

1. in a decent sized pot, start by frying the meat in a splash of vegetable oil until the outside has coloured, and set to one side – if you’re using extra chillis, chop them up and fry them first
2. fry the paste gently for a few minutes
3. add the coconut milk, fish sauce and lime leaves
4. you could also add a bashed up stalk of lemongrass and a knob of grated galangal
5. bring to the boil for a moment, then reduce to a simmer
6. start the rice (that’s 80g jasmine rice + 125mL water per person) which will take exactly twenty two minutes (bring to boil, covered on lowest heat possible for twelve minutes, no peeking, heat off, no peeking, and another ten, no peeking)
7. the coconut milk also needs to be simmered for around twenty minutes, and at appropriate junctures, the veg should be added: baby corn is quite tough, so pop these in first, and most of the others should go in about five minutes before serving (lots of recipes make a thing about baby aubergines, but I’m not a fan)
8. add the basil and the meat last of all, bring back to boil for a minute or so

Job done.

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Pancakes

These are the fluffy American version, rather than your thin continental crêpes. Many recipes exist, requiring you create vast amounts of washing up. No, no, and thrice no. You need a jug, a spoon, and a pan. No need to blend, whizz or thrash the batter until it’s lump free, and no need to rest it either.

Per person you will need:

• 1/2 cup white SR flour
• 1/4 cup interesting flour (spelt, rye, buckwheat, …)
• pinch salt
• 25g sugar (white, brown, …)
• 1 egg (any size will do)
• 3/4 cup milk
• 20g butter

Mine’s a seven inch black iron omelette pan, and these quantities will produce about four pancakes.

1. warm the pan, add the butter, and take off the heat when half melted — time will do the rest
2. in a jug with a spout, mix all the dry ingredients with a spoon
3. crack in the egg, no need to beat, and fold in, the results will look messy
4. add the milk in batches, stirring away to combine
5. finally tip the melted butter in from the pan, which will start by sitting on top, so more stirring to incorporate
6. the resulting batter will look quite messy and a little bit lumpy and, if you’re using rye or buckwheat, an unappetising shade of grey — no problem
7. get the pan up to a medium heat, pour in enough batter to cover the surface, and leave for long enough so you can see holes in the top, probably two minutes, flip and give it another minute
8. repeat

I normally have a small saucepan on the go with nothing more than frozen blueberries and a sprinkle of sugar. This cooks down into a nice sauce. Allow about 125g blueberries and 10g sugar per person, depending on how tarty, I mean tart, you like it.

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Fried Rice

Starch fried in fat. What’s not to love?

The secret ingredient here is brown rice; rice with its outer layer of bran intact. Only brown rice is robust enough, only brown rice will give you that pleasant nutty flavour, and only brown rice will make you do a really satisfying poo.

The redoubtable Nagi Maehashi recommends boiling the hell out of it, and she’s right. Depending on the precise cultivar of rice, you’ll need anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes, but start checking after twenty. Crucially, as she recommends, drain it, and whack it straight back into the dried out saucepan, cover and leave for a further ten minutes. Now, at this point, you can just use it, and there’s no need to let it cool, or dry out overnight. It will just work. But it’s better overnight.

The other secret ingredient is Shaoxing wine. The stuff sold in the UK isn’t the sort you can drink: it has been spiced and salted, and designed for cooking, and I believe more correctly known as ‘liao jiu’. Actual Shaoxing wine is a complex and wonderful thing, with its own culture and connoisseurs, but I’m not sure you’d cook with it, and you certainly won’t find it in Tesco.

For two portions (and that’s all an average sized wok can deal with) you’ll need:

• a few spring onions, peeled and sliced, reserve and slice up the green bits as well, bearing in mind they may be a little dirty and need a good wash
• 3 eggs, lightly beaten with a fork
• 400g cold cooked brown rice (equiv from 200g dry)
• 10mL dark soy sauce
• 10mL oyster sauce
• 20mL Shaoxing rice wine

In around 60mL of oil — don’t be shy — fry the spring onions on a medium heat until lightly coloured.

Pour in the egg, swirl around to cover the bottom of the pan, and cook for around a minute, so it starts to resemble an omelette, but not quite cooked on top.

Add the rice, oyster sauce and dark soy, and stir for around three minutes. Unless your pan is coated with more Teflon™ than the space shuttle, it will start to stick in places, and get a little crunchy. Keep an eye on the temperature and keep working the spatula so it doesn’t get more than slightly burnt.

Finally add the Shaoxing wine, which will help deglaze the pan a little, the reserved green bits of the spring onions, then dish up immediately.

Only two things in the world make this better: leftover roast chicken and char siu pork. (But feel free to add whatever you like. Incongruously, ham and peas work rather well.)

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Small Pudding

Well that, boys and girls, was a sad old Christmas which, like many of us, yours truly was compelled to spend alone. Here’s a small pudding that was whipped up from stuff lying around the kitchen. The following made around two generous servings:

• 125g mixed fruit (usual vacuum-packed bag from Waitrose, this stuff keeps for ages and has all the nice things)
• 50mL dark rum (I happened to have Goslings, but any dark rum will do, not Bacardi)
• 25g SR flour
• 25g breadcrumbs
• 25g suet (dried, from the packet)
• 25g dark brown sugar
• 1 egg
• juice of half a lemon
• a bashed up clove, pinch of dried ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg
• a pinch of salt

Mix everything together, and pour into a generously buttered bowl, about twice the volume of the batter. Cover with foil and steam for ninety minutes. I just use the vegetable steamer insert for my big saucepan.

Pass the custard.

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Pad Thai

A glorious supper, and a fast one, it does require a little coordination and planning. Although this entails a trip to your local Asian supermarket, or the internet, all of these things are used in many other dishes. For two portions:

• 100g dried rice noodles, sen lek, a.k.a. guay tiew or simply ‘rice sticks’ — I use a brand called Thai Taste, and a 50g bundle corresponds to one portion
• 300g vegetables, for example, baby corn, snow peas, bean sprouts, always include some spring onions, retain the green bits for garnish
• 150g – 300g of protein: chicken, prawns, tofu etc
• 1 large egg (or two) lightly whisked with a fork
• 1 bird’s eye chilli, chopped up, seeds and all (I keep these in the freezer)
• 30g peanuts. Cashews also good if your guests have allergies.

For the sauce:

• 25g palm sugar (mine comes in discs, this is about half a disc and has to be pounded up in the mortar) or any dark, dark brown sugar
• 10mL oyster sauce (if you think wrestling ketchup out of the bottle is hard, then wait until you get a load of this stuff)
• 5mL fish sauce, nam pla, you might like more, but I don’t
• 20mL tamarind paste from the jar, as I’m scared of the real stuff which involves soaking and squeezing and life’s too short.

Start with making the sauce, by combining the palm sugar, oyster sauce, fish sauce and tamarind, and set to one side. Prep the veg and protein as you’ll need to move fast.

Soak the noodles in freshly boiled water for ten minutes or however long the packet says, the odd stir with a fork to make sure they’re not stuck together is good. If the noodles are soaked for too long, they’ll fall to pieces and, conversely, will be rubbery if not soaked enough, so once they’re in you’re dealing with a hard deadline.

Get the pan/wok hot, and dry fry the peanuts until they’re hissing and lightly coloured, and whip them out into a mortar and pestle. Give them a bit of a bash to break them up, but not pulverise them.

Fry the chilli for minute or so in a few tablespoons of vegetable oil. Add the veg, stir fry for a few minutes on max, and then reduce the heat. If you’re using meat, add it after the chilli. If I’m using frozen prawns, I add them frozen, once the heat is reduced, and they’ll defrost and cook by the time everything else is done.

With any luck, this should be done in around five minutes, so you’ve got another five to wait for the noodles, so turn the heat down to the barest flicker, and pop a lid on. Once the noodles are ready, rinse them in cold water, and make sure they’re not clumped together.

Crank up the heat, push the contents of the pan to one side, pour in the beaten egg, allow to cook for thirty seconds, scramble, and incorporate.

Add the sauce and noodles, throwing in the peanuts and the reserved green ends of the spring onions. Stir like mad until everything is combined. It might catch and burn a little, but that makes it even tastier.

Dish up with some lemon or lime segments.

One Pot Pasta

Nothing like a bit of heresy to get them twitching. This goes against everything I’ve ever read.

Per person, you’ll need:

• 90g dried pasta, I’m using linguine
• 200g cherry tomatoes
• a pinch of peperoncino
• 2g salt
• a generous grind of black pepper
• a clove of garlic, crushed
• a dozen basil leaves
• 300mL water

Put everything in a single pot, bring to the boil, reduce to a simmer, cover, and leave for twenty minutes. That’s it. No second pot, no colander. Just before serving, turn up the temperature, and stir gently, so that the last of the water is absorbed, and crush any remaining tomatoes with a fork.

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