Korma Chameleon

A quintessentially English dish, which comes from some hastily scribbled notes made in the mid nineties. Make this with skinless chicken breasts, or pork fillets. You could also use some diced lamb leg. If you’re doing a vegetable version, some hacked up butternut squash and broccoli would be good.

This isn’t a quick fix meal, as you need to make the marinade, do the marinating, and then bake the results, but, with a bit of planning this can be really handy, as you can make the marinade in advance, marinate during the day when you’re at work, and then simply bung it in the oven in the evening.

I liquidise the marinade by shoving the hand blender into the saucepan, which is a lot less washing up than transferring everything to the food processor. If that doesn’t appeal, then just make sure you chop everything finely.

You’ll need:

• 25g butter (or ghee, or vegetable oil, but not olive oil as it would taste really, really wrong here)
• 200mL natural (“Greek”) yoghurt – the important thing here is that it needs to be live
• 150mL cream, either cow or coconut (vary the ratio of yoghurt to cream depending on your tastes)
• 4 cloves of garlic, more if you fancy
• enough chilli to add excitement (maybe a level teaspoon chilli flakes, one small vicious chilli, or a couple of larger mild ones)
• 1 large onion
• 50g ground almonds (or cashews or both)
• ¼ teaspoon turmeric
• ½ teaspoon ground ginger
• ½ teaspoon crushed cardamom seeds
• a bunch of coriander (both leaves and stalks)
  …oh, and…
• 500g meat with the fat removed, and chopped up into 1 inch pieces, or about 500g of vegetables

Using a small saucepan, fry the (peeled, chopped) onion in the butter for about 10 minutes. You’re looking for a deep golden colour, so don’t be timid. Don’t be so bold you burn them.

Add the (peeled, sliced) garlic and chilli, frying until the garlic is translucent. Add the turmeric, ginger and cardamom. Fry for another half a minute, then add the coriander stalks, and almonds. Turn off the heat and add the cream and yoghurt. It will smell quite disgusting, but don’t lose heart, it just needs to cook.

You could refrigerate or freeze this mixture. Or even make it in bulk.

Place meat/veg and the sauce in an oven proof dish, and cover with enough marinade to coat everything, but not drown it. Any leftover marinade can go in the freezer for another time. Marinate for one, preferably two, hours at room temperature or all day in the fridge.

Assuming you’re using chicken, about 30 minutes in the oven at 180ºC should do. Veg might need a little longer to soften up, and I think lamb would benefit from longer at a lower temperature. Anyway, check periodically after 20 minutes just to make sure.

Once it’s done, stir in as much of the chopped up coriander leaves as you feel necessary, and maybe garnish with some toasted almonds, and a squirt of lemon juice. Rice or naan.

And cold, cold beer, of course.

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You could also thread the pieces of meat onto skewers and barbecue them instead.

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As I said, quite an English dish. For some proper kormas, and many other wonderful things, take a look at 50 Great Curries of India by Camellia Panjabi, which is an intelligent and accessible overview of Indian cuisine. (The second edition apparently corrects some of the woeful typos in the first.)

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Asparagus Season

The Great British Asparagus Season is upon us. Joy. The asparagus from my local fruit and veg shop is £2.50 a bunch, but fantastic, the stuff from the supermarket is £1.30 a bunch, and a bit woody.

I do mine in the stockpot, tied up, and stood upright. They only need about an inch of water, boiling gently, for about five minutes. The boiling water sorts out the stems and, as the lid is on, the resulting steam does the delicate tips.

I serve them with aïoli.

Cunning trick. If you tie them up, and find they won’t balance, hold them in place with the tongs for about thirty seconds. The boiling water will soften the stalks enough that you can then take the bunch to one side and slice half an inch off the bottoms easily.

Roasted Butternut Squash Risotto

An impromptu dinner party this evening, and not a lot on hand. But, as Jill Dupleix says, “having stock in your freezer is the very definition of social security,” and there is some vegetable stock in the freezer, and a butternut squash in the cupboard. Since it’s unlikely that I’ll need to turn the squash into a coach for an incognito appearance at the Prince’s Ball, I decided to make risotto instead.

Firstly, the squash gets cut in half, seeds scooped out, and then scored deeply, but not so deeply as to break the skin. Some salt, pepper and a few pieces of butter, and into the oven at 180C for an hour.

Now, after half an hour, I checked and ooops, I’d put too much butter on, and it was starting to escape the baking tray. I poured some off, but since there was still plenty in the hollows, so I popped a gently squished clove of garlic in each, and returned to the oven.

Check whether it’s done by prodding with a skewer and making sure all the bits are soft. Don’t worry if there are a few burnt bits. Place the squash to one side, and allow to cool. This can be done earlier in the day, if convenient.

The risotto is a standard, by-the-numbers affair. One onion, 250g Arborio rice, butter, olive oil, stock, yada yada yada. I’ll write detailed instructions later on, if only to assuage the anxieties of Julian Barnes.

Whilst you’re doing the risotto, peel the cold roasted squash, and cut into half inch chunks. It will practically fall to pieces anyway, along the lines you scored earlier. The skin should slip off, but might need coaxing here and there. You can do this earlier if you don’t believe you can leave a risotto unattended for more than thirty seconds. (You can, but never leave the room.)

Once the risotto is at the resting phase, pop the squash in, pop the lid back on and leave for five minutes. Then stir very gently, so as not to break up the squash. There will inevitably be a few casualties, but they’ll just ooze some orange juice into the dish, which looks nice.

Pass the Parmesan.

The profiterôles afterwards were bought from the shop, but the chocolate and Armagnac sauce was homemade. No, I can’t remember precisely how I did it; I was drunk at the time. (Don’t try that yourself.)

Parmigiana di Melanzane

Another gloomy day, so something from the Med is required to cheer it up. This is a hybrid of quite a few recipes – purists will doubtless shudder – but I’ll get my supper earlier.

• two large aubergines
• a litre of Tomato Goop (see earlier notes – I’ve added a teaspoon of dried oregano and half a teaspoon of dried basil)
• 250g grated cows’ mozzarella
• parmesan to taste (I’m a noted Parmesan Pig, so won’t embarrass myself by revealing the actual quantities)

This is what you do.

1. Slice the aubergines lengthways into 5mm slices, brush with olive oil and sprinkle with a little salt, and then put under a hot grill, ’til slightly brown and sizzling
2. layer the aubergines, cheese and sauce in a baking dish – try and plan it so you end up with about two or three layers (note that the aubergine slices will shrink when you grill them)
3. bake for around an three quaters of an hour at 160C, and put a layer of grated Parmesan on top about ten minutes before the end
4. serve with more Parmesan

Caveats

A few things to note.

• you don’t need to peel the aubergines
• you don’t need to salt the aubergines
• aubergines are oil hungry – you will need to use a brush – and rapidly at that – in order to get the oil onto them
• some recipes tell you to flour and deep fry the aubergine slices – I think this just results in the final product absolutely swimming in oil
• you could make a very simple tomato sauce just using tinned tomatoes, garlic and onions, plus a few favourite herbs – some Italian delis will make this stuff in bulk on the premises and sell it in little tubs
• don’t use fancy buffalo mozzarella, what you want is the hard mozzarella made from cows’ milk: if it comes pre grated in a plastic bag, all the better – you can just pop the remains in the freezer

Variations

The following ingredients will add joy and happiness.

• about a dozen anchovy fillets
• a handful of chopped up black olives

Jane Grigson says not to even bother with grilling the aubergine – merely blanch the slices for two minutes in boiling water. (Her Vegetable Book lists some interesting regional variations as well.)

Mrs Grigson also very sensibly points out that once layered in the baking dish, this can be popped into the freezer instead of the oven, and brought out on another date.

Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

The pumpkins you get in England tend to be oversized, fibrous, tasteless things, suitable for making Jack-o-Lanterns; but very little else. The more modestly sized butternut squash contains a lot more flavour. Your mileage may vary in other countries: I’ve had perfectly edible pumpkin just across the channel, as well as across the Atlantic, so it can’t be all that bad. I could make the soup simply by peeling, chopping up and simmering the squash, but I don’t think that brings out the flavour the way roasting does. (And besides, the flat is cold.)

1. Get the oven going at 200C
2. Cut up a butternut squash lengthways into wedges – you will need a sharp heavy knife, and the vegetable is a slippery treacherous one – so take care when doing this – my 600g pumpkin yields 11 wedges, but I could have just chopped it up into six pieces
   
3. Put the wedges into a roasting tin, rub them in olive oil and sprinkle lightly with salt – you could also add a grind of pepper and consider some tough woody herbs
4. It’ll need about 40 – 60 minutes, so do the washing up or something – they’ll be done when they’ve gone dark, are singing to themselves and smelling rather good
   
5. Chop an onion finely and fry with a little butter in a saucepan or pot big enough to hold the finished product, along with some of the following (tonight I’m adding options 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5)
   • a knob of ginger, grated
   • a couple of cloves of garlic
   • a dried bay leaf
   • four cloves
   • a vigorous grinding of black pepper
   • some sage leaves (if you must)
   • chilli flakes or paprika
   • half a teaspoon of Thai red curry paste (Mae Ploy brand is good)
   • half a teaspoon of curry powder
6. Pour over a litre of stock and bring to a simmer (I’m using a frozen tupper of some veg stock I made a few weeks ago, which is why there’s an iceberg in the saucepan)
   
   …but melting quickly…
   
7. Resuce the roasted squash from the oven and allow to cool enough for you to remove the seeds and skin, and then bung the flesh into the saucepan
8. Simmer for a bit (if you’re doing the Thai thing, you could add a couple of Kaffir lime leaves)
   
9. Use either a hand held blender, potato masher or spoon, to bring to the right consistency (if you’re blending, fish out any cloves, bay leaves etc first)
   
10. Maybe some crème fraîche? (Yeah, I know, every second post mentions it, but I’ve got a pot on the go, alright?)

Homous

A former flatmate of mine reacted in absolute horror when he realised I’d made the homous myself. You’d have thought, from the expression on his face, that it involved hand mincing camels’ armpits after a hard day’s raiding the desert. Nothing could be further from the truth.

You will need:

• a tin of chickpeas (the own brand tin from my local yielded 240 grams of them, when drained) – but reserve the liquid from the tin
• a jar of Tahini (you won’t use it all, but it seems to keep forever)
• one or two lemons
• some olive oil (use your posh stuff)
• garlic – about two plump cloves

Do this:

1. put the chickpeas into the blender
2. crush and add the garlic
3. add the juice of one of the lemons, a glug of olive oil, a glug of the reserved liquid from the tin, and a pinch of salt
4. start the blender – if it doesn’t purée easily, an extra splash of lemon juice or water will help
5. add 100g (a couple of big spoons) of tahini – and keep blending – if you added the tahini upfront the whole thing would turn into a ball of concrete
6. keep tasting, and adding more salt, lemon juice, or oil, until it’s how you like it

If it seems a bit on the runny side, you could thicken it by adding more tahini, but the easiest solution is simply to pop it in the fridge overnight, and let the starch from the chickpeas do its work. The overnight stay will also mellow the bite of the garlic.

The only bit you won’t enjoy is cleaning the blender.

Oh, and my flatmate ate it all.

Variations

You can get dried chickpeas, soak and cook them yourself. This makes it taste a little better, but not enough to warrant the effort.

Some people like to add paprika, and other spices.

Vegetable Curry

A staple from the student days.

You will need chopped onions and similar volumes of chopped up carrots, sliced courgettes, and maybe some mangetout, baby corn, etc.

In a large pot, fry the veg in a small amount of oil, with a sprinking of salt, until the onions are soft and translucent, and the courgettes and carrots are showing a bit of colour. Whilst that’s happening, get some hot stock ready: enough liquid to cover the veg. Decant the fried veg into a large bowl, and reduce the heat, so you can build up the spice paste without burning it.

Into the pot in this order…

1. some more oil; not too much
2. put as much chilli as you dare and some cloves, fry for about a minute
3. add as much chopped up garlic as you like, fry for another minute, stirring
4. ground cumin, turmeric, ground cinnamon, stirring – the powdered spices will soak up the oil, and everything will form into a sticky paste – make sure this doesn’t burn, so only fry for about thirty seconds
5. then add the stock, and scrape any bits off the bottom of the pan

Now, some drained tinned chickpeas, and some tinned chopped tomatoes, with about half the juices strained off. Return the veg to the pot as well.

Bring back to the boil, reduce the heat immediately to a minimum and allow to simmer quietly for about half an hour.

Serve with couscous.

Ratios

I didn’t mention any quantities above, as it will vary according to personal taste. Today’s effort, however, was produced with:

• two medium onions
• one large carrot
• four tiny courgettes
• a pint of vegetable stock (Marigold Boullion)
• a teaspoon of chilli
• six cloves
• four fat cloves of garlic
• a teaspoon of cumin
• half a teaspoon of turmeric
• half a teaspoon of cinnamon
• a 450g tin of chickpeas
• a 450g tin of chopped toms

Essential Ingredients

You can vary this to taste, but the essential ingredients are the spice paste and the chickpeas.

Variations

• make up the spice paste in advance, and marinate some chopped up lamb in it overnight, taking care that the meat gets vigorously fried on the outside, but then gently simmered
• similar thing with roughly cubed aubergine (no need for overnight marination, just a couple of hours)
• use double the amount of stock, and then blitz the whole lot darned lot with a hand-held blender to make soup

Vegetable Stock

Ooh what a luverly morning! Just the right sort of morning for The Walk of Shame in fact. Some coffee and a second breakfast set the world to rights.

I have a fridge full of veg that, whilst not by no means mouldy and deliquescing, are looking a bit limp and decidedly past their prime, so decide to turn it them into stock.

The carrots, celery and onion get hacked up, rubbed all over with just enough olive oil to moisten them, a bit of salt; the whole lot popped in a roasting tin and into the oven at 180C, together with what I can salvage from a head of garlic. After 45 minutes the onion, garlic and celery are translucent, golden, and a bit burnt around the edges, but the carrot is barely touched. Not to worry. Everything gets hoiked into the stock pot, and I heat up the roasting tin on the hob, and deglaze it with some hot water. That goes into the pot, more hot water, bay leaves, some black peppercorns, and in lieu of any parsley, the leaves from the tops of the celery that I saved and didn’t roast. Up to the boil for a moment, and then down to a simmer for an hour or so.

Not sure what to do with it, yet, so most likely into the freezer. After all, homemade stock in the freezer is Jill Dupleix’s definition of social security.

Caution

It’s fine making stock with vegetables that are a little on the limp and unphotogenic side, but if you make stock with vegetables that better belong in the garbage bin, it will smell and taste like a garbage bin.