I remember you, lemony ragu

It was some time around 2.30am on January 1st, 2005. I was perched on a bar stool at 'inoteca, a little Italian joint on the corner of Rivington and Ludlow. The festive buzz was all around and I was gurgling away with pished contentment, waiting for a final indulgence after a night full of ‘em; we’d kicked off the night with a glittering cabaret performance from Eartha Kitt and seen in the new year slurping cocktails while Adam DJ’d at Ding Dong. But there was one more little treat left to make this the specialist…

Just to back up a bit: Adam and I were on our 'let's pretend we live in New York' holiday and, for maximum effect, we'd rented an apartment on the lower east side for two weeks. It was a few doors down from 'inoteca where, a few nights earlier, I had discovered my food obsession of the moment: a plate piled with mushroom ragu and creamy lemon polenta. Soft, tart, juicy, sweet, zingy – mmmmmmmm.

So, returning to New Year's Eve and the fact we'd found 'inoteca still open when we were on our way home. Adam had quietly crept away as I enthusiastically explained my must-have craving to the maitre d’ type person, along with the kicker that I really wanted to take it back to bed rather than eat at the restaurant. While loopy-hour take-away may not have been the 'inoteca staple – the joint seemed kind of fancy – rather than shoo me out the door, kick me to the curb or, worse, ignore me, the guy was impressed with my zeal for his ragu. He happily elbowed a little space at the bar and sat me down with a tasty glass of wine. There I waited, merry as could be, for my plate to be made.

And so it was that Adam and I slurped on our first meal for the year – in our PJ’s, sitting in bed in our temporary Manhattan apartment, sipping champagne and taking in the sounds of the city. Blish.

What you'll need

3 large or 6-8 small shallots, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
A few fresh sprigs of thyme (rip the leaves off the stalks)
2-3 cups of chopped mushrooms (I used enoki, button and shitaake, but any small mushies'll do)
Butter
Olive oil
1 lemon
2-3 cups veggie stock (I was out so used miso paste & vegemite instead, which worked fine)
1/2 cup of old red wine
Salt & pepper
Polenta (I used 125g for 2 people)


For the ragu

Fry the shallots and garlic in olive oil, careful not to brown or burn them (stir regularly). Once they are soft and transluscent, add the mushies and thyme. Stir on med heat for a minute before adding the wine. Stir in a teaspoon of butter (optional) and the stock and turn the heat up to med-high. All you need to do now is reduce the liquid so let it bubble away, stirring occassionally.

For the polenta

You can do the polenta while the ragu is reducing. For 125g of polenta, you'll need the grated rind of one lemon, 1/4 of its juice, about 600ml stock and a spoonful of butter (if you ain't vegan). Bring the stock to the boil. Stir in the butter and add your lemon rind and juice. Reduce the heat then pour in the polenta at a steady stream, stirring repeatedly. Let it cook on medium heat, stirring like a vigilante. It should only take five minutes. You want it kinda on the sloppy side, so don't do it too early or it'll firm up while it cools. When it's done, turn the heat right down and leave the lid on.

When the ragu has lost most of its liquid, plate up.



It might not look so flashy but the combination tastes brilliant, with the smooth, tangy polenta a perfect foil for bitey red mushies. And even though I’ve never been able to perfectly recreate the harmony of the original, the flavour always takes me back to our first dinner of 2005 and that little patch of NYC we happily roamed for a fortnight.

This weekend at Borough Market: best eggs in town

Sleep and dreams being my favourite things, there are very few activities I'd get up early for on a Saturday morning (much less leave the house for). But when the craving hits for Spanish scrambled eggs at Brindisa, there's nothing for it but to set the alarm and haul my lazy head out of bed.

Even though Brindisa is at the end my street it still requires considerable effort to dress, buy the paper, face the world and get there with a reasonable chance of being seated before the strict kitchen cut off time of 11am. It can't be done with too much of a hangover: finding the right person to get you a table is a challenge; everyone moves very fast; the proliferation of shiny-haired people with babies can be daunting (as can the Borough Market crowds generally); and a bubble bap at Maria's inside the market is often a better option for the bug-eyed and dehydrated.

But this weekend, with my moon in the sign of can-do, I dragged dazed sweet cousin Annie off the couch at 9.30, shushing her confused mutterings with the promise of a perfect plate of Saturday morning sunshine.



The Brindisa breakfast menu only has a few things on it (most around £6), including chorizo, egg and chips for the meat-eaters and lavender honey on toast for the vegans. But there's really only one plate that matters, my heart having long ago been lost to a pile of deliciously fluffy, golden scrambled eggs with country toast, tomato, manchego cheese and wild mushrooms, accompanied by a cafe con leche that is better than most coffee in town. Annie was a little sceptical at first, likening her pile of mushrooms to the snake pit in Raiders of the Lost Ark, but she couldn't fault the flavour.

This weekend the eggy pile was as delectable as always, albeit a little smaller than usual. So I followed it with a rich, dark hot chocolate made with 70% solid Barcelona chocky. Sweet, dreamy love in a cup, it's so thick you'll need to spoon the ends out. If you get hooked on this or any of the other Spanish produce, you can buy most of it at the Brindisa stall in Borough Market.

And if you miss the 11am brekky deadline, no drama. Just go grazing in the market for a while then come back after noon when their tapas menu kicks in.

Gong Xi Gong Xi Gong Xi Fa Cai! (part 3)

Sang Choi Bao (Lettuce Cups)

A few handfuls of dried shittake mushrooms
A few handfuls of dried black fungus
1 big can of whole water chestnuts
1 big can of liiiittle baby corn
2 iceberg lettuce
Peking duck sauce
Sesame seeds



Peel away the lettuce leaves, try and keep them intact. Wash and store in container in fridge.
Pour boiling water and a few splashes of soy sauce over mushrooms and fungus and leave overnight.

Chop all the ingredients to the same shape. Heat some oil in a frypan and throw everything in. Splash with soy sauce. Fry until heated through. Empty into a big bowl. Top with sesame oil and sesame seeds.

To serve: Get the lettuce cups out of the fridge, place next to filling and peking duck sauce. Guests can now make their own by spooning a couple of tablespoons of mixture into the lettuce cup, topped with a spoon of sauce.

Gong Xi Gong Xi Gong Xi Fa Cai! (part 2)

The directive for Chew’s Chinese New Year feast was to bring a plate of Asian inspired deliciousness. Fusion! Brilliant! Me being no Iron Chef, I needed that sort of lateral thinking. And if it worked for Miles Davis…

I’ve always wanted to make chicory leaves stuffed with blue cheese the way they do at our Spanish local, Brindisa. I had most of the ingredients on the weekend... as well as rice paper sheets. Not only would this combination make for an interesting clash of textures, it'd be perfect for Chew's party. I was going to call them (con)fusion rolls. But then Confucian Rolls seemed more in keeping with the theme.

Confucian Rolls

What you need

Red and white chicory leaves
Blue cheese
Cream
Walnuts
Chives
Round rice paper sheets (I got them at a grocery in Chinatown)
Bowl of boiled water
A couple of slices of firm tofu
A tester (mine is called Adam)
Squeeze of lemon juice
Shredded lettuce

How it happens

I would recommend doing a few test rolls before cranking them out proper – to make sure your stuffing mix is right and the whole package is tasting a treat. This is where your tester comes in because if you try too many in a row you will be stuffed yourself.



Stuffing the Leaves

Wash the chicory, cut off its end bit, chuck out the skanky outer leaves and separate the rest. You want the leaves to be dry.
Mash up the blue cheese with some cream, dash of lemon juice, chives and pepper. I reckon sour cream could work too. How much cream? I just added little bits at a time until the mixture was smooth. When I first tried it the blue cheese was a little overpowering but I didn’t want to put too much cream in so I mashed the tofu in to thin out the flavour a bit. Up to you.

You don’t need a whole lot of the mixture in each – you want it to be a lovely little flavour burst contrasting with the crunch of the leaves rather than full on blue oozing out. I used one supermarket pack of cheese for nearly thirty rolls.
Lay the walnuts on an oven tray and toast them for a few minutes. Let them cool then crush them (not too fine).
Spoon some of the blue cheese mixture into each chicory leaf and sprinkle over a few walnut bits, then cover the stuffing with some shredded lettuce leaves.



Rolling it up

To prepare the rice paper, you need to drop the sheets into a bowl of boiling water. I do them one at a time. Leave it for a minute then scoop it out with a spoon or fork. Let the water evaporate, then flatten it on a plate. You want the sheet to have lost all its hardness but not be too sloppy. You’ll need to replenish your boiled water regularly – the sheets don’t get soft enough if the water has cooled.

Place the stuffed chicory and shredded lettuce onto the sheet and roll it up, folding the edges in early. The stickiness of the sheet means it will attach to itself and stay rolled in a neat little bundle. Some of the sheets will tear, fail to roll or end up looking like crap. Don’t worry, just start over with a new one. Or feed your tester.

This is a bit of a fiddly and time consuming plate to prepare, but if you haven't got any other party tricks this one's a surefire winner.

Gong Xi Gong Xi Gong Xi Fa Cai! (part 1)

Being 16913km from home means I can't celebrate the New Year in the usual way (hanging out at a relative's house, eating and drinking until my stomach splits, collecting some Ang Pao - red envelopes containing money - and then rolling home.) So I invited 25 of my nearest and dearest friends in London over for a feast so extravagant it put Empress Dowager Cixi's marble boat to shame.



Yu Sang (New Year salad)

For best results, use the mandolin shredding attachment on a food processor. It's fun and it will save you a lot of time.

What you need
1 daikon (chinese white radish), peeled
1 bag of organic carrots, washed
2 cucumbers
1 bag of crunchy noodles (in Australia, Chang's crunchy noodles - in London I think they are called flour noodles)
Fried shallots (available in all good Chinese grocers. I put these on EVERYTHING)
1 jar of japanese ginger (gari), drained - get the bright red ones in thin strips, not the light pink ones you get with sushi
a few big handfuls of roasted peanuts chopped
1 bunch of coriander, chopped
3 lemons or limes or a mixture of both
sesame seeds

for the dressing
equal parts of vegetable oil and asian sesame oil
add sugar to taste, mix with a fork and add more if needed
salt to taste
a few shakes of white pepper
a few shakes of five-spice powder
lemon juice

Run the daikon, carrots and cucumber through the food processor.
Place in separate containers and cover with water until close to serving time.
Drain ginger.



Later on...
Drain and squeeze out excess water from daikon, carrots and cucumber. On a big tray, arrange daikon, carrots, ginger, coriander, peanuts, sesame seeds and cucumber in an aesthetically pleasing fashion.
Right before serving time, get the packet of noodles and crush it. This is very satisfying.
Pour the broken noodles and fried shallots over the top.
Pour the dressing over the salad.

Now for the fun bit.
Armed with chopsticks, all your guests have to toss the salad together - the more frenzied the better!
Once the tossing frenzy has died down add a little more lemon or lime and sesame oil.
Derishous!

Serves about 25 people.

okonomi-yummy at abeno

I thought Chew had amazing telepathy when she texted me on Saturday to say she'd booked a table for us at Abeno, an okonomiyaki restaurant in Holborn. Then I remembered drunkenly telling her the night before how much I'd been craving 'one of those Japanese pancakey things.' Being far more cultured than I, Chew knew exactly where to get one.



At Abeno or its sister restaurant Abeno Too (Leicester Square), you can be fairly certain no angry chefs are spitting in your dinner: your meal is cooked on a hot plate at your table. This is highly educational -- it shows you just how simple this little plate of deliciousness is to prepare.

Every okonomiyake has a common base of egg, cabbage, flour, spring onions, ginger and tempura batter that you add your chosen flavour mix to (apparently the base differs regionally in Japan). I went for the Kiso Mix with seasonal mushrooms, lotus root and cheese (and boy was it okonomi-yummy). All the ingredients are whisked together and dumped on the hotplate, then cooked a la pancake and topped with mayo and okonomiyaki sauce. Yum scrum. The fishy types at our table added little tuna flakes to the top of their okonomiyake that reacted to the heat of the pancake by flitting around like butterflies. You could almost hear them scream.

Best of all was the ambience. Forget giving Graydon Carter's PA a happy ending for the best seat at Waverly Inn, there's nothing like the back table at Abeno (right by the toilets) to give you the feeling you've made it. If you're lucky, the air conditioning unit will be on the blink, dripping legionnaire's onto your plate. Oh stop with the glamour already! If for some crazy reason you'd prefer to pass on this opportunity, maybe ask for a front table when you book.

Oh, and don't miss the snow man for dessert... a gooey chocolate parcel with an ice-cream head and marzipan hat served with peaches and toffee.



Check out Abeno's site.

Adam Dal Pozzo's pasta

Many of you have been asking for Adam Dal Pozzo's pasta recipe. Guess what! I stumbled across it in my notebook the other day - so here it is...


What you need
plain flour
eggs
salt
milk (optional)
cling wrap

Pile a few big handfuls of flour onto a clean surface.
Make a well.
Crack 2 eggs into the well and cover with flour. With your fingertips, rub the eggs into the flour. Keep adding 1 egg at a time until the dough begins to bind.
Note: Keep the dough on the dry side. It will get stickier as it settles.
Roll the dough into a ball and wrap very tightly in cling wrap. Let it sit for 1 hour.
Now it is ready to be turned into the pasta of your choice.

If you are feeling lazy, or have weak hands you can also make this dough in a food processor.

Chew made the london papers

And this time it wasn't on page three.

Check out this brilliant porky illustration she did for a Chinese New Year story published in thelondonpaper (their lack of spaces, not mine):



Ain't he a cutie? And in the spirit of the year of the oink, sharpen your chopsticks people -- there'll be lotsa tasty Asian treats to tempt everyone's porky bellies on Lily & Chew this week.

Today at Borough: Cooked Cheese heaven

I'll generally take melting dairy gooeyness any way it comes. But on a Saturday morning in SE1 there's only two that matter; and you'll find them both at the same Borough Market stall, in the Green Market right by Southwark Cathedral. They are the mouth watering raclette and its partner in cheesiness, a toasted sandwich boasting an international fan base. (There are a couple of posts about the stall's history here at Ripe London -- just scroll down).



Raclette is both the name of a type of cheese and its signature dish -- a plate piled with seasoned crushed potatoes and mini dill gherkins, then smothered with a thick layer of melted cheese. Traditionally, the fromage is heated in a metal contraption containing a grill with supports for two halves of a cheese wheel. These can be swung in turn to position them under a naked flame. Once the cheese is bubbling and crusty, it is scraped over your taters. (In French, racler means 'to scrape', hence raclette.)



It's bloody delicious and the smell of the larva-like cheese wafting across Borough's Green Market is so seductive you'll want to mainline the stuff by the time you actually sight it. Which is traumatising because there's often a long queue and then that painfully difficult decision -- raclette or sanga?

Next week, sandwich.

Add an avo to your day

Avocado on toast (ripped off from Cafe Gitane)

I can't go to Cafe Gitane everyday to enjoy this because, sadly, I don't live in New York. But I've tried my darndest to replicate it at home.

Toast some grainy bread.
Spread a generous amount of avocado on the toast.
Sprinkle some chilli flakes and Maldon sea salt on the avocado. Squeeze some lemon and drizzle some olive oil on top.