Fish Week

Spring has, apparently, sprung. Which I think means a move away from comfort food and into lighter foods. Such as fish. This doesn't really explain the leg of lamb I'm planning to have for lunch tomorrow with chickpea mash but never mind.

It's been a fish week. We started the week with whole roasted mackerel with capery spinach (stolen from Allegra's clickalong). The idea of whole roasted fish just chucked in the oven with some herbs and garlic was, I think, a bit much for the houseguest. She appeared to enjoy it an awful lot but was a bit confused as to how we found time to roast whole fish between arriving home from work at 7pm and going out to pub quiz at 8.30. I must admit she has a point. Which is the glory of fish of course - it cooks so so quickly.

Tuesday night was a non-fish meal (spag bol, cooked to perfection by Mr Salmagundy). Wednesday was what I would describe as more of a challenge. The fishmongers had whole sides of salmon which was most definitely a new experience for me. Again, this was covered in herbs, garlic and sea salt, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, wrapped in greaseproof paper (foil probably would have worked better but we'd run out) and roasted. Served with polenta and peas, it was a perfect mid-week dinner. I learnt a couple of things in making this dish. Firstly, never again will I waste my time with a garlic crush. While I do sometimes want my garlic a little finer than I am able to chop it, I tested out the grating method. Quick and neat - I don't know why I never tried this before. I am also learning about polenta as an alternative to potatoes, pasta, rice, etc. Some time ago we had a recipe which called for polenta so we purchased about 2kg of it from our local Iranian supermarket. We are now trying to find inventive uses for it. I am warming to it. For Mr Salmagundy, it was love at first sight.



The third fish meal was far less courageous - a smoked mackerel and spinach risotto cooked in a hurry before friends came over to help with my wedding dress fitting. I accidentally cooked far too much rice and learnt very quickly that risotto does not stand up very well to being left to its own devices while I answer the door and pour wine. It wasn't bad, it just wasn't great and it definitely wasn't as good as I know it can be.

This week we bought smoked mackerel fillets from the fish stall at the farmers markets (a staple in our Saturday shopping bag), whole fresh trout for an experiment and some salmon fillets for Allegra's clickalong this week. It will be a good week. But not until we've had a roast leg of lamb to see winter out (we hope).

Sunday

Today was a cooking day. That's the way Sundays should be. Sundays are for cheesy movies and cooking. Fiance and house guest took care of the cheesy movies. I laboured for what seemed like hours on Nigel Slater's olive and herb focaccia and had a mild panic when it wouldn't rise, even when placed under the heater (turns out the heater wasn't on). Fiance made homemade pasta sauce which bubbled away on the stove for hours and hours and made the flat smell lovely. Then I made Allegra McEvedy's smoked haddock and leek risotto from the Guardian clickalong sometime ago. I do love following Allegra's recipes, especially when there are gems such as this: When you put it in the bowls it should be pert yet relaxed and soft - a bit like when a woman with big tits is lying on her back. Fantastic.

The house guest was amazed by the whole process. The handmade bread surprised her. The risotto (which was amazing) prompted her to check if I had made it completely from scratch and when I said yes, she followed it up with but not from a packet at all. Which made me think. My cooking is not particularly inventive. I will make other people's inventive dishes but I'm not very creative myself. So all I do really is follow instructions and buy good ingredients. I am confident enough in my skills to follow instructions carefully. That is all. It's not that difficult. Is that what's wrong with this generation? We're too scared to try to cook, just in case it's bad? We need to give ourselves time to cook and have enough confidence to try to cook. Simple. Here's a pic to inspire, taken by the amazed house guest.

My local bakery

As a child I was regularly told stories about the UK by my parents and my maternal grandparents, all of whom spent several years here in the 1970s.  One story that stick in my mind was of people queuing for bread and meat and shops running out of basic provisions.  When I moved to London in 2006, I assumed that this situation would have passed.  And, save occasional moments of failure on the part of big supermarkets, I was right.  Stores were well stocked and usually had everything I required - if in a somewhat odd location.  So, imagine my surprise when I noticed a queue coming out the door of my local bakery.  Not only out the door but down the road and past several other shops.  This was last summer.  I have since bought bread at TJ Parker and Sons on Northfields Avenue several times.  It is a Saturday morning experience which I cherish - even last Saturday when it was bitterly cold and queuing on the street was a truly unpleasant experience.

It is the type of bakery which ought to no longer exist.  A queue out the door.  A small but varied range of beautiful cheap and fresh bread, cakes, and rolls.  You won't find herb and olive foccacia here (but it's ok - I plan to try making that using Nigel Slater's recipe in the Guardian last week) but you will find a perfect wholemeal loaf and brilliantly flaky croissants for Sunday morning breakfast.  You will find a staff comprised completely of women dressed in yellow dinner lady uniforms - circa 1961.  You will find that you are encouraged to select your own loaf of bread and pass it to one of these women who will bag it or, if you wish, take it away to be sliced to your preferred thickness.  For this you will be charged the princely sum of around 70p.

All of the above has made me fall in love with my local bakery.  However, I have not yet mentioned the one thing that excites me most.  Empty shelves.  When walking past TJ Parkers in the evening or on a Sunday, perhaps on the way home from the station or the pub, I occasionally glance in.  The shelves are completely bare.  I worked in my mother's cafe for several years and I know that the sign of a good food establishment is having empty shelves at the end of the day.

The people of Northfields and West Ealing are extraordinarily privileged to have a proper independent bakery which bakes fresh daily.  I just hope enough of us appreciate it to ensure it remains open, saving the locals from processed white supermarket bread.

I celebrated my 25th birthday in a none too remarkable way - it was early spring 2008 and I gathered with many friends to enjoy the watery sunshine in the beer garden at the Drayton Court pub in West Ealing, my local. My birthday was a fun day spent with people I love. It was not however extraordinary. Except for three extraordinary gifts. David, a friend from work, gave me The City of London Cook Book by Peter Gladwin. Cat, a friend from pub quiz, gave me Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries (this remains the only cookbook I have ever read from cover to cover). And Justine, a friend with whom weekends are rarely spent without, gave me my first Le Creuset dish. Duck egg blue, it is small but perfect.

To say that these three gifts started my love affair with food and cooking would be to exaggerate a point. My mother was a caterer when I was growing up and went on to own a cafe. She is therefore a very good and imaginative cook and I was brought up to love and appreciate good food. These gifts did however kick start my appreciation of food as an adult. This blog is intended to chart my cooking and eating experiences for my own sake. Should it inform, entertain, amuse others, that would be a bonus.