This gallery contains 44 photos.
Originally posted on Sheep's Head Food Company:
There was quite a lot of cooking done over the weekend. So much in fact that I had to spend Friday at home to make a start on it. Friday started with…
This gallery contains 44 photos.
Originally posted on Sheep's Head Food Company:
There was quite a lot of cooking done over the weekend. So much in fact that I had to spend Friday at home to make a start on it. Friday started with…
This Monday evening we had the remains of the best part of a roast chicken to finish off.
We ate it with fried potatoes, salad from the garden and a pungent green dressing cribbed from a Diane Henry book.
The dressing was made up of all the anchovy fillets I could find in the fridge (a total of five – a couple extracted from a jar and the rest from a couple of opened tins), a small handful of capers, a small bunch of parsley, basil and mint, a couple of cloves of garlic and the juice of a lemon. This was all put into a blender and as I pulsed it I poured in enough olive oil to turn it into a thick sauce. It didn’t need salt but I stirred in a few grinding of pepper.
To eat the salad was put on a plate, followed by the the potatoes and chicken. The sauce was slathered on top.
It was pungent enough to cheer up a grey and wet evening.
Sunday evening and the weekend has gone again and in a few hours I will be waking up and it will be Monday morning again. In a way you have to feel sorry for for Monday mornings – a day of the week lumbered with all the misery of a trudge back to work. Almost as bad as a Tuesday afternoon half way through February.
So the weekend done what has been cooked.
Friday evening was a tray of pork ribs. There wasn’t time to marinade them. It was just a case of come home, make up the sauce, slather it over and put them in the oven for an hour forty minutes. The sauce was one of those things that worked but no attention was paid as to what went in apart from knowing there was a good squirt of Heinz Tomato Ketchup, along with the last of the soy sauce.
It went down well – the youngest daughter and I pulling at the pieces of bone with our teeth. We had them with sliced tomatoes, onions and doritos.
Saturday night was pizza night. There was a request that one should have nothing else on it but caramalised onions but for the other two I was left to myself. In the event the caramalised onions ended up with a few slices of ham on top and the rest of us had them with a smear of cooked tomatoes, onions and ham and sausage.
For all the effort put into the pizzas the highlight for those eating were the dough-balls. the small pieces of dough pushed to one side and then rolled round my fingers before going into the hot oven and then eaten with a smidgen of melted butter.
Sunday and I followed back to to the brined chicken wings I had on Thursday lunchtime. This time I was working with a whole chicken and I steeped it water that had been boiled with a mixture of sugar, salt, orange juice and pith and, most important of all, bay leaves.
Truth be told the bay didn’t come through as strongly as I had hoped but it was still pretty good.
Before the chicken we had a dozen asparagus spears with a couple of barely hard boiled duck eggs.
The duck eggs were almost the highlight of the weekend.
Thursday and I found myself in London with the best part of four hours to go before I needed to be where I needed to be.
Walking out of Euston I took my bearings in the rain and worked out that Clerkenwell was within easy walking distance and there was good food to be had all in good time.
And if I was within walking distance of Clerkenwell then that meant I was within striking distance of Morito and so I set off to trudge through the rain, bag on my back.
I got there about 12.30, so just about right for lunch, and it wasn’t too busy so there was room for to sit at the bar.
Sat on the awkward stool and despite the bad fitting suit I could feel some of the cares of the day slipping away. I even asked for water instead of beer – at least for a while.
I set myself a spending limit and then prowled through the menu to see how I could fit into it. Three plates would do.
So I started with a pinchos – Gilda –a cocktail stick skewering a green olive, a pickled green chilli, a green olive and a sliver on anchovy. After the two hours on a train the clean hard hot taste of it exploded in the mouth. I asked for another and a small glass of beer.
Next – salt cod croquettes – about the length of my middle finger and as thick as a thick sausage with a slather of garlic mayonnaise on the side. At first they were almost too hot to pick up but then to finish I was running my finger through the mayonnaise.
Then – chicken wings – there were half a dozen of them on a small terracotta plate slathered in harrisa. There was a taste about them I couldn’t quite place so I asked. Transpired they had been brined with a mixture of bay leaves and rosemary. All of which sounded like the start of a good idea. As I ate then red oil ran through my fingers and almost got so far as to stain my white shirt.
It was with some reluctance that I pulled myself away from the stool and made my way back into the rain and an talk on the strictures of Back to the Future and a Restrictive Covenant but before doing so I bought another bright orange tea-towel to take back home.
A few hours late I had a quick ten minutes to slip into The Euston Tap and take a pint of fine IPA to settle the mind down for the travel back home.
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