Wow, this feels a little like those movies where the city family heads to the beach for an epic summer that changes their whole lives and when they return home to remove the dust covers a symbolic montage explains that, though nothing appears different, nothing will ever be the same again. It's been a good couple of months since I last posted (I'm sorry Chew!)... tumbleweed indeed.
I moved house in June and I've been sniffing suspiciously round my new kitchen ever since, not particularly inspired to develop a relationship with it. I could search for a deep psychological explanation but, really, I think it's because the oven is shit. That said, I am now slowly getting a cooking groove back on, mainly thanks to two foxes who've taken up residence in my back garden. I can see them frolic and play from my kitchen window and their excited yapping and tail shaking is a beautiful thing (even if they drag all kinds of crap into my yard).
Drunken Lentils
Getting back on the horse with something simple -- and in need of uber nourishment after an epic 40 kilometre mountain climb -- I opted for a big plate of marinated mushrooms and boozy Puy lentils. I wanted a big bang of flavour in the lentils, so cooked them down in a miso sachet stock and big cup of water, sharpened with generous splashes of white wine, vodka and Pimm's No. 1. A good forty minutes simmer time saw them reduce into a thick, salty stew, the ideal companion to some stir fried mushrooms (marinated in lemon juice, olive oil, sesame, balsamic and a splash of soy), brown rice, toasted seeds and ribbons of flash fried egg. Looks dirty, tastes foxy.
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