It's all Tsar's fault. I was looking for something to read with my morning coffee and so I picked up 'Ministry of Food'. I sneered at the patronising introduction where he exhorts people to pass recipes on, like some kind of gourmet 'Big Society' - and then I started reading the recipes.
Simple, easy to follow - for the first time in years, a recipe book made me think "I could make that right now." Within about five pages, I was hooked. I started reading bits aloud to Tsar. Perfect roast lamb! Banana tarte tatin! And then I got to the vegetable jalfrezi and jumped up off the sofa - I have to buy this book!
And yes, I know you can get recipes online. But I'd much rather spill curry sauce on a paper book than on my laptop keyboard... and I am actually one of those old fashioned people who is rather attached to books. The more people talk about the digital revolution, the more of a forcefield I exert on the printed word, before it feels like books are just falling out of the sky...
Ok, so this has been exacerbated by the fact that my birthday has just come and gone. 9 out of 10 presents were books, and very welcome they were too. Here's what's on my bedside table right now:
- Marie Antoinette (biography) - Stefan Zweig
- Big Weather: Poems of Wellington (thanks Dad - very subtle!)
- Cats in Books - A Celebration of Cat Illustrations Throughout The Ages
- Se Croiser Sans Se Voir - Jean-Laurent Caillaud - letters sparked by an In Memoriam plaque (looks fantastic)
- The Help - Kathryn Stockett - black servants in the American South
- Finest Years - Max Hastings - Winston Churchill, 1940-1945 (thankfully for my bookshelves, this is a loan).
- The Book of Salt - Monique Truong - the imagined story of the Vietnamese chef of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. I started this on the Eurostar and am 3/4 way through it... food! Paris! What's not to like?
Fast-forward to Saturday, and Emma, Miles and I are paying a visit to their local butchers. This is exactly the kind of old-fashioned neighbourhood butchers you would expect Jamie (look, we're on first name terms already!) to drop into for three pounds of organic mince, with a camera crew in tow of course.
[Incidentally, vegetarians may want to look away now]
There are three men behind the counter, but no-one is in a hurry, so we wait patiently, reading posters extolling the tastiness of wild venison, welsh lamb and their free range chickens.
I have a recipe in mind which needs three quail. I tried it at Christmas with poussin (essentially baby chickens), but I want to spread my wings, so to speak. I inspect the freezer, and there are some little birds nestling in their own individual wrappers, but I want some for tonight. Have they got any fresh?
No quail today, unfortunately, but they have partridge.I know what the recipe says, but I like hearing from the experts, so I ask him how long he reckons they should cook for. A beardy chap with glasses behind us in the queue pipes up "15 minutes, tops, if you sear them in the pan first". Typical. Everyone's bloody Jamie Oliver these days.
So I take three tiny partridges home with me and marinate them lovingly in olive oil, garlic and lemon juice. Then I go out with Emma. Shopping ensues.
I come home several pairs of shoes later and carefully plan the whisky risotto, green vegetable sides and partridge to all be ready at the same time. I pull the partridge out after 15 minutes and poke it confidently. It runs a rosy shade of pink. I blanch. Not wanting to poison two of my best friends in the world, I call Miles for a second opinion.
Hmmm. We stand around and think. WWJD - What Would Jamie Do? Eventually Miles prescribes popping them back in the oven with foil over the top. Another 15 nervous minutes pass before they are pronounced cooked. Bloody amateur Jamie Olivers, I mutter, as I pick at my over-cooked asparagus.That's the last time I listen to a beardy guy in a butchers (who isn't actually wearing an apron).
But a good pinot gris cures many ills, and the setback is soon forgotten. It is agreed I have outdone myself with dessert - thinly-sliced pears (what else?) on flaky pastry, with an orange marmelade glaze drizzled over the top.
Ooh la la, I hear you say. How Frainch! Confession time: I got the idea from Mum. I never would have bothered until she showed the way - but it's an incredibly simple dessert and you can use just about any fruit at all. If you're at all nervous about the outcome, buy some rum and raisin icecream as a backup... easy peasey!
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