I’m afraid this is a bit of a cheat. Our three-day week – thanks to lovely Kate (err, Katherine) and William – has got me feeling a bit lazy, so this will be a quick post. Not only is it a quickie, it’s borrowing from my last post – Wild Garlic Pesto Risotto. In that post I made a wild garlic pesto that I used in a simple spinach risotto. Think of this recipe as the sequel. A good one. Not like Superman 4, or Rocky V. God forbid. Continue reading
You will know us by our carrier bags and scissors, our bottoms in the air as we bend low beside forest-lined riverbanks and reach deep into thorny hedgerows, sniffing and snipping. We are the foragers, and it is our time – of year, that is. Yep, it is the start of the Great British freebie-athon known as foraging season. First in line to be picked is wild garlic. Looking a bit like lily of the valley (which is poisonous) but smelling distinctly and unmistakably of garlic you can now find Allium ursinum (wild garlic/bear garlic/ransoms) under the broad-leafed trees that line streams and rivers all over Britain. Although it is free to pick, if you buy the pungent leaves in a greengrocer’s or market expect to pay quite a price. So don’t. Wild garlic season is short but potentially very rewarding for those who bravely take up the carrier bag. Continue reading
I can barely believe it but here in Scotland we have had two stunning weekends – in a row. Now, those of you who are not familiar with Scotland perhaps cannot appreciate how newsworthy this is. Even in the height of summer (denoted by calendar dates, not weather) we can go weeks without baring our toes. My summer wardrobe is so lightly worn that, because I am averse to getting rid of things unless they no longer fit or are a bit tatty, I still have wearable – but deeply unfashionable – items from the 90s. I kid you not. Summerwear is really in name only, or something to pack when visiting more southerly climes. In fact one summer, thanks to Marks & Spencer’s then-generous returns policy, I ended up returning still-ticketed summer clothes that Miss R didn’t get a chance to wear. How sad is that. The British, and the Scots in particular, are however nothing if not optimistic, always making the most of any break in the clouds and wind to have lunch in the garden, or recline in public green spaces, trouser legs roughly rolled above pallid knees to catch the sun. So, we are all beyond excited at the prospect of a warm and settled summer. I am putting my fingers metaphorically in my ears and singing ‘ la la la’ to anyone who insists on saying, ‘That was our summer’. It is only Spring for goodness sake: plenty of time for pavement dining, allotments filled to bursting and the dreaded hosepipe ban. As I write this in the garden in shorts and tee-shirt, the weather prognosticators are saying it is set fair for the forseeable future. Just this once, I choose to believe them. Continue reading
This morning I treated my daughter to the smell of freshly baking bread. Don’t I sound like a brilliant mother? Can’t you just picture a Mad Men vision of pinafore and pearls, oven mitts at the ready? Well, don’t be too impressed because it was actually due to neglect on my part. When Mr A left for work I noticed the bread bin was open – empty, save for a forlorn wrap bread of unknown vintage. On the countertop there was no sign of a plate, lidless jam jar, or butter-smeared knife – universal man-signs indicating the finishing off of bread. Super-sleuth me realised that Mr A probably went out the door with just a bit of fruit for his breakfast as there was also no soya or dairy milk (ruling out cereal). As Mr A often doesn’t have time for more than a five-minute lunch (I am not exaggerating) I was feeling very guilty. In mitigation I’m neither a bread or cereal person in the morning so can be completely unaware when things reach crisis point, such as today. Short of zooming out to a shop, pre-shower/pre-face, the only thing for it was to make some bread, a quick, delicious soda bread. Although this was not going to assuage the guilt at my 6’1” husband facing the day with a ‘fun-size’ banana, at least Miss R wasn’t going to go hungry. Or me for that matter.
I had a pleasant surprise when out at the Edinburgh Farmer’s Market this past Saturday, and not just that it is incredibly warm for this time of year – a flesh-baring 21C – but that I spotted a rarely seen favourite childhood food. Although I have lived in Edinburgh for many years, I actually grew up in Tennessee and Florida, two states famed for their prodigious agricultural output. Now this is going to sound odd to most of you but one thing that I have always been very fond of, and always try and eat when I visit my family, is bitter greens – collards, various types of kale, mustard and turnip greens. These grow in abundance in the southern states of America and are now well loved by many, including myself. They haven’t always enjoyed mainstream culinary attention and were for a long time eaten almost exclusively by livestock (as they are in the UK) and the African-American community. The rest of the South has gradually come to their collective senses and now greens of all kinds are a popular side dish, with even the rather grand Martha Stewart knocking up a recipe for her devotees. I just love the astringency and the way you can actually taste the minerals. They are strangely moreish in the way that the fire of really hot chillies is addictive. And I like them with loads of Louisiana Hot Sauce, so that’s two cravings for the price of one.
I had a phone call from my lovely Dad the other day. Amongst other things, we had a nice chat about how for once my weather is better than his (thunderstorms/tornadoes on the Florida Gulf coast and unseasonably sunny weather in Edinburgh). But he couldn’t help being blunt about something that needed bringing to my attention. It is something that some of you may have noticed but been too shy to point out. That is, that I’ve featured beetroot in at least four posts. “What’s with all the beetroot?” were Dad’s exact words. I apologise. I’m still in the shallow end of this blogging thing so I have a lot to learn, balance being one of them. Sorting out page breaks is another. I will from henceforth relinquish my self-appointed post as beetroot PR supremo. I’m not saying I won’t feature it. Oh no, I use the vegetable too much to retire it. But 4 posts out of 15 is a little excessive.
Even if you like beetroot as much as I do you might be relieved that today’s recipe doesn’t feature it, not even in a tiny supporting, non-speaking role. Instead I give you a zingy, light pizza with the usp (unusual selling point) of not having tomato sauce or cheese. Technically I’m not sure it qualifies as pizza, and I would be happy to be corrected if it’s not. Wikipedia, Britannica and various know-it-all websites define pizza by its inclusion of tomato sauce and cheese. Perhaps my recipe has more in common with the cheeseless pissaladiere of southern France, or maybe the nearly-nude olive oil and rosemary pizza bianca. I’m not quite sure what this is. For now, it is pizza.
I concocted this simple, but flavour-packed ‘pizza’ because (I’m whispering), I don’t really like pizza. There. I said it. It’s not that I never eat the stuff, because if someone orders a big pizza I will certainly help myself to a slice: I’m not crazy, or weird. But neither am I fond of the typical thick-crusted behemoths with the chewy bubblegum-esque cheese and wheelbarrow of toppings. I love a thinnish, bubbly olive oil-enriched crust with just a scatter of things like marinated artichoke hearts or semi-dried tomatoes, but this is largely fantasy, unless you go a bit up-market and a bit knife and fork. The posh pizzas at California Pizza Kitchen or Pizza Express are quite nice but most are unfortunately loaded, and I mean loaded, with sodium and saturated fat. A nice, occasional treat, but not an anyday choice if you value your heart and kidneys – or waistline. I much prefer this eat-in option. And I hope you give it a try, even if you quite like pizza with the works.
The make or break point for any pizza is the dough. For years I persisted with making a heavy-ish wholemeal dough, thinking that the only way to redeem pizza nutritionally was to go all out with the fibre. It tasted nice, but what I really wanted was a thin crusted, delicate pizza, with a bit of crunch, but also a soft interior. I also like the random bubbles you get with these kind of pizzas – somehow the bubbles make it taste even more delectable. But I was darned if I could achieve this with wholemeal. So, I ditched the wholemeal, holier-than-thou dough for perfectly respectable white spelt flour dough.
Other than flour type, what separates a passable pizza from a lustable pizza is the rise. A great pizza is worth waiting for. But not too long. Especially if you have a family. For this pizza I have played around with various types of dough until I reached a balance of lightness, through the dough proving (fancy word for rising), and speed, through not having to wait ages on the proving. Peter Reinhart, the much-lauded bread guru, has an unbeatable ‘delayed fermentation‘ (or you could also call it ‘delayed gratification’) dough that I have tried, but as I don’t always think that far ahead, I’ve relaxed a bit and settled on a perfectly acceptable – to my mind – one and a bit hour rising time, and quite a bit less bother. If even my version sounds taxing, by all means use bought dough, but honestly I do think you will find this an easy and delicious option, especially with the inclusion of lemon thyme and lemon zest. You can also use this dough to make wonderfully light crackers: just roll out thinly, slice, bake until golden and puffy, and top with olive oil, extra herbs and salt. Yummo.
As for the scant toppings, what can I say – unusual. To my mind perfectly decent pizzas can be ruined by putting everything you like on something that you want to rise. The physics don’t add up. I think pizzas are best with just a few well-chosen toppings, but making a number of different pizzas to get the variety we all crave. This pizza dough makes enough for 4 generously-sized individual pizzas. Make them all different and have a slice of each. Best of all worlds.
If you really like your carbs maybe lay on a some thin slices of leftover new potatoes that have been lightly lightly pan-fried in garlic oil. Now if that doesn’t tempt you to put away the pizza menu, I don’t know what will…
Nutrition Notes: I am not going to tout this as a health food just because it isn’t covered in cheese and pepperoni, but it is certainly on the healthy side for a comfort food. You could add more fibre to the dough by using half wholemeal and half refined, but I’d just as soon add fibre by eating a few slices with a substantial mixed salad. Be fairly generous with the olive oil to keep everything lovely and moist, and don’t skimp on the peppery Vitamin C-rich rocket leaves – they balance the oily tuna and the salty capers. Btw, rocket is also packed with beta-carotene, fibre and an amazing anti-cancer chemical called sulphoraphane. If you can eat a good handful of rocket everyday – or other sulphoraphane-containing veg such as broccoli, kale or cauliflower, you will be doing your body a big favour. Here’s just a short list of how this potent phytochemical helps prevent and fight cancer:
• Reduces DNA mutation, which is a precursor of cancer
• Slows down the increase of abnormal cells
• Increases apoptosis (programmed cell death) in cancer cells
• Helps prevent benign tumors becoming malignant
• Prevents metastasis- the spread of cancer
• Reduces the growth of blood vessels which supply tumors with glucose and oxygen (angiogenesis)
• Boosts the immune system
Basically sulphorophane is a one-compound warrior, attacking cancerous changes at many levels. It also helps keep our arteries ‘fur-free’, staves off age-related retinal damage, is anti-diabetic and reduces the level of a harmful gut bacteria called H. pylori. And it comes in delicious packages too.
Tuna and Creme Fraiche Pizza
This pizza turns out stupendously well baked on a pizza stone. These are basically flat stones or pieces of ceramic that more evenly distribute heat than metal or glass, and will give your finished pizza a professional result. You can get them at any cook shop, on the Internet, or go to the the hardware store and buy a flat, unglazed quarry tile for about 50 pence. Buy a few for baking a couple of pizzas at a time (I have a fancy pizza stone and a DIY tile, and they work equally well). The only caveat for using a stone as opposed to a baking sheet (which will warp at the super high temps needed for great pizza) is that it needs to go in a cold oven and heat up over 45 minutes, and then it needs to cool down in the oven while you are enjoying your lip-smacking pizza. Not really tricky but necessary to prevent the stone cracking.
The dough
500g/18 oz refined spelt flour OR strong/bread white flour
2 tsp fine sea salt
1 tsp fast-action yeast (or use fresh and dissolve in warm water first)
250ml/9 fl oz warm water
25 ml/1 fl oz olive oil, plus extra for drizzling
1 tbsp honey (optional)
zest of one unwaxed lemon
1 tbsp fresh lemon thyme leaves (or ‘normal’ thyme or 1 tsp dried thyme)
Maizemeal (cornmeal) or fine polenta or semolina for dusting (gives a restaurant-style crust which is lovely and crunchy)
The Toppings
Tub of creme fraiche – I use half-fat, but push the boat and use full-fat if you like
Fresh lemon juice and lemon zest from one lemon
Best quality jarred tuna in olive oil (enough for four pizzas)
Marinated artichoke hearts, halved
Caperberries (the big ones with stems) or capers
Fresh lemon thyme leaves
Fresh black pepper
Anchovy fillets in olive oil OR anchovy-stuffed olives, sliced
Chilli flakes, optional
Fresh rocket/arugula for scattering
To make the dough mix the flour, salt, yeast, lemon zest and thyme leaves together in a large bowl. Make a well in the middle, and add the warm water, oil and honey. With one hand in a claw shape mix the ingredients to form a rough dough – much better than a spoon. Turn the dough out onto a flour-dusted surface and start kneading away for 10 minutes, or until smooth and elastic. It may seem really sticky at first but it will smooth out. I usually cheat and use a dough hook fitted to my precious Kitchen Aid mixer (a favourite present), but I rough mix it by hand in its metal bowl first. Give it a five minute kneading if using a mixer. When you have a silky smooth dough, which should spring back a bit if prodded, pop it into a large oiled bowl, cover and let double in size, probably at least an hour. Here in cool Scotland I usually stick it in the airing cupboard otherwise I might have to wait a couple of hours.
When risen, gently knock the air out of the dough with your finger tips before tearing off four equal pieces. Use a rolling pin or your hands to roll or stretch one piece into a thin shape (round, oblong, teardrop – whatever you like), not more than 5 mm thick, thinner if you can.
Partway through the rising time put your pizza stone in a cold oven and then turn it up to 250C/480F. If you don’t have a stone heat up the oven to this temperature just before you want to bake. 
When it’s time to bake your pizzas organise your toppings: mix lemon juice and zest into the creme fraiche, to taste; tear up the tuna into generous chunks; snip the anchovy fillets into slivers if you like. Take out your exceedingly hot pizza stone, scatter it with maizemeal and carefully lay on one pizza base. Working quickly, slather on some creme fraiche and add a quarter of all of the toppings, except the rocket. Bake for 5-10 minutes, depending on how ‘fast’ your oven is. I like the base to be crisp and the edges golden brown. Remove and immediately drizzle the edges with more olive oil (or garlic oil if you have some) and scatter over a generous amount of rocket. Now get on with the remaining pizzas. If you are using a baking sheet, preheat it for a few minutes before continuing as above. Buona fortuna!
Chocolate is a divine, celestial drink, the sweat of the stars, the vital seed, divine nectar, the drink of the gods, panacea and universal medicine.” – Geronimo Piperni, quoted by Antonio Lavedán, Spanish army surgeon,1796
Chocolate is medicine for many people – mender of broken hearts, healer of disappointment, drug of choice. But its universality makes it right for all occasions and situations. Whether it’s a Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut nibbled in front of the telly or a few squares of finest 85% single estate to round off a dinner party, chocolate is the everyman of foodstuffs. Or should that be ‘everywoman’?
It is undoubtedly women who have the closest relationship with chocolate. And the most fraught. For those of us females who enjoy at least the occasional square, or bar, chocolate is a prime source of guilty pleasure. More than the half bottle of red wine on a weekday evening, or the cadged cigarette at a girls’ night out, eating chocolate is something over which many feel at least a modicum of regret. A chap would just stand in the kitchen, peel away the wrapper and start chomping away. And, good for him. But many of us cannot adopt this healthily insouciant attitude. We may run companies, have our own bank accounts, do what we please, but eat an entire Galaxy bar without the slightest twinge? I think not.
When women are under emotional stress many reach for food. It soothes away internal tension and makes us feel safe. And what is the number one comfort food for Western women? Chocolate, of course. American research shows that men, on the other hand, tend to reach for comfort foods when they are happy (?!). So, women eat chocolate when they are upset and men eat it when they are happy. Because men don’t eat nearly as much chocolate as women, does that mean that both sexes are miserable most of the time? There is a flaw in this logic. I think women eat chocolate for both negative (stress) and positive reasons (pleasure), possibly even rebellious reasons, too.
Our twisted relationship with this most pleasurable of substances probably has much to do with the Victorians. I know it is quite a leap from chocolate eating to our famously piano leg-covering antecedents, but bear with me. In the upper echelons of Victorian society women enjoying food was frowned upon. Like their seen and not heard children Victorian women lived in an era of seen, but not eating. Feminist philosopher Susan Bordo writes that, “women eating and demonstrating sensuous surrender to rich, exciting food was taboo”. It was socially unacceptable for any monied woman to show a desire for food or actively indulge in it. I suppose this was the beginning of the dangerous notion that you can never be too rich or too thin – the more you have the less you should be seen to desire it. This notion filtered though the classes and has yet to fade.
According to Bordo, modern females go against this taboo by seeking emotional satisfaction from what they eat. To my mind this clashes head on with the near-innate negativity we feel when we enjoy our food ‘too much’. For many women the line connecting so-called taboo foods with comfort is suffused with self-loathing. With its enjoyably high-fat, high-sugar content chocolate is top of the list of taboo foods, and presumably why it is seen as off-limits or subject to self-restriction. When you deny yourself chocolate you are a ‘good girl’. But ours is a very natural desire: we are hard-wired to seek energy dense foods. It has only come about recently in our species’ history that we don’t actually need such foods to live. Some may argue against this last sentence: Man cannot live by chocolate alone – but women sure can. – Anonymous.
The Science Bit: I don’t understand why so many “so called” chocolate lovers complain about the calories in chocolate, when all true chocoholics know that it is a vegetable. It comes from the cocoa bean, beans are veggies, ’nuff said. – Author Unknown
We now know that chocolate – at least the dark stuff – is actually very good for us. The way it used to be prepared was undoubtedly even more so. The cacao tree was first cultivated by the Mayans at least 3000 years ago although it was around earlier as a wild plant. The Mayans, and their successors the Toltec and the Aztecs, not only drank cocoa as a bitter ‘tea’ but also used the pods as currency and saw it as a gift from their God, Quetzacoatl. Can’t see beetroot getting the same treatment…Xocoatl, as drunk by the ancient peoples of Central America, was made by adding water, pepper and cinnamon to roasted and ground cacao beans. This mixture was heated and the resulting ‘butter’ that rose to the top was whipped up to a foamy liquid, which was drunk cold. In fact, the word chocolate actually refers to the sound made by the whisking: xoco, “noise” and atl, “water”. The conquering Spanish kept this same technique but replaced the aromatic spices with sugar. Through this europeanisation chocolate attained the “divine” taste that we appreciate today, at least in Europe. In 1753, the father of taxonomy, Carl Linnaeus, named the cacao tree Theobromoa cacao, which is Latin for “food of the gods”. Who would argue with that?
Cacao beans themselves are a scary 50+ per cent fat. Although much of it is saturated, a goodly proportion (35%) is oleic acid, a monounsaturated fatty acid found namely in olive oil and known to be beneficial to the heart. Saturated stearic acid is only half-heartedly absorbed by the body, where it is partially transformed in the liver into more oleic acid. So, the potential downside is actually not too bad: the oleic acid has a neutralizing effect insofar as cholesterol is concerned. The fact that sugar is almost always added to dark chocolate somewhat dilutes the goodness but it still has a relatively low glycemic index score of 22 (under 50 is okay), compared to 115 for frozen tofu dessert and 88 for boiled potatoes. Hmm, which would you rather eat? And even though dark chocolate is always going to be a better bet than milk chocolate (because of milk fats, added vegetable fats and usually much more sugar per gram) both should only be eaten in moderation.
I am wanting to get on with sharing my recipe but the nutrition facts for chocolate are too interesting and important to ignore. I know I am not having to convince anyone to eat chocolate as I might a cauliflower or some lentils, but it is still reassuring to know that good quality chocolate doesn’t have to be a guilty pleasure. Far from it.
The health benefits of this bitter pod boil down to their polyphenol content. Unbelievably a small square of dark chocolate has twice the amount of heart-protecting and cancer fighting polyphenols as a glass of finest cabernet sauvignon, and about as much as in a mug of properly brewed leaf green tea. Even well-made milk chocolate, derided as a poor relation, has some. Although there are numerous polyphenols in chocolate it is the catechins that are of most interest. This makes them actually quite similar to the very virtuous green tea. In fact, as recounted in the book Foods To Fight Cancer, the antioxidant activity of a cup of quality hot chocolate is five times greater than in black tea, three times that of green and twice as much as a glass of red wine.
What does all of this antioxidant activity do for us? Well, it helps to prevent cardiovascular disease by relaxing blood vessels, lowering blood cholesterol and blocking the formation of arterial plaques. And, to which many can attest, it is confirmed that chocolate actively reduces stress – by lowering cortisol levels. Interestingly, high levels of cortisol are linked with abdominal weight gain. Dark chocolate is good for your waistline: go figure.
Chocolate’s cancer-fighting credentials are only just being studied but are almost universally positive. What is known, at least in test tube and animal studies, is that the proanthocyanadins in cocoa can slow the development of certain cancers by cutting off tumour blood supply. It is also likely that these and other compounds may contribute on numerous levels to preventing cancer initiation – the stage when cells are exposed to a carcinogenic substance, triggering irreversible damage to cell DNA that is then copied. How amazing is it that there are foods such as chocolate that contribute not only to helping slow a tumour’s growth, but may actively nip it in the bud before it has an opportunity to grow. The power of food never ceases to amaze me.
Now to the recipe, also starring the potent cancer fighter, beetroot. See my “Beetroot Zinger” post for everything you wanted to know about beetroot but were afraid to ask.
Chocolate Beetroot Cake with Chocolate Icing
Probably the favourite food that I bring into the Maggie’s Centre on my Nutrition Workshop days is this, chocolate beetroot cake. Everyone seems to like it, and I guess get a weird kick out of finding out there is a heck of a lot of beetroot in something that tastes very much of chocolate. I usually make the participants try and guess the mystery ingredient: they never do. The beetroot makes the cake so incredibly moist and deepens the colour, but doesn’t add any particular flavour, just some extra nutrients and phytochemicals. Provoke a furious debate by trying this at home.
100g/3.5 oz cocoa powder
200g/7 oz refined spelt flour OR unbleached plain flour (or a combination)
2 tsps baking powder
150g/5 oz muscovado sugar
300g/11 oz home-cooked beetroot* (or use vacuum-sealed)
3 eggs
150 ml/5 oz rapeseed oil
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 tbsp dairy or soya milk
50g/1.8 oz dark chocolate, chopped (OR quality chocolate chips OR cocoa nibs)
Icing: 150g/5 oz dark chocolate and a few drops rosewater (optional, but makes it like a Turkish Delight!)
*If using raw beetroot: In a large pan of boiling water, boil the beetroots in their skins until tender when pierced with a knife, 40 minutes usually but older, larger beets may take longer. Let cool and rub away the skins with your fingers or the back of a teaspoon.
Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Butter and base-line a medium (20cm) cake tin. Sift the cocoa powder, flour and baking powder into a bowl; add the sugar and set aside. Puree or finely grate the beetroot (whether vacuum-sealed or cooked at home). The picture shows raw grated beetroot, but I usually use whizzed up cooked beetroot. In a large bowl, whisk together the beetroot, eggs, vanilla and oil. Fold in the remaining cake ingredients to just combine. You can do all of this in a food processor but it might not be as light. Pour the mixture into the prepared tin and bake 45 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean. Cool 20 minutes in the pan, then remove to a wire rack. To make the icing, heat the chocolate gently in a double boiler or microwave, mix and cool until spreadable. It makes enough to thinly cover the cake to within a centimetre or so from the edge: use more chocolate if you want a thicker or wider spread of chocolate. I often sprinkle over sugared rose petals (bought) if using the rosewater, otherwise I shave chocolate over the top and serve with berries.
Note 1.You can use grated raw beetroot if you like (it tastes very good), but add about 50 ml of milk.
Note 2. I usually make this as muffins, in which case oil muffin tin holes, and fill ¾ with batter (see bottom photo). Bake for 20 minutes until well-risen and starting to pull away from the tin. Makes 16 muffins (which freeze well without the icing).
Miss R LOVES sushi. She had her first encounter with raw fish and sticky rice at the tender age of three, gleefully pressing the pink and white parcel into her little mouth with the relish other three year olds might have for a chocolate bar or burger. Unfortunately, when she was young, Scotland might as well have been Mars when it came to finding Japanese food, so we were rarely able to indulge her. Even fish shops very rarely stocked the quality of fish with which to make your own sushi and sashimi. But gradually over the years the restaurant and fishmonger situation has improved and we can now make sushi as often as we like – or as often as the purse allows. For one of Miss R’s birthdays we even had a sushi making party, which was great fun even if I was picking rice out of the carpet for days afterward. Five years later I still vividly remember one bold boy sucking down the contents of the wasabi tube and trying desperately hard not to cry.
I can’t pretend to be an expert on sushi. As I am self-taught in this art, my efforts would probably appall a 10-year apprenticed sushi chef. But I can’t afford to frequent sushi bars very often, so Miss R and I make do by rolling it ourselves with the freshest ingredients. Even though Mr A is the only one in our house to have visited Japan we all love sushi, sashimi, miso and all the other delicacies of this most refined of cuisines. I love the ‘clean’ flavours, precision and attention to the tastes – sweet, salty, bitter, sour, spicy (many will debate this one) and umami.
This last taste – denoting meaty, savoury, yeasty flavours – is a Japanese word that roughly translates as ‘savouriness’ or ‘deliciousness’. This word and concept covers the often indefinable tastes we sense in some foods, and has filtered into British culinary thinking by chef Heston Blumenthal and in the US by David and Anna Kasabian – see the Umami Information Center for more about this subject. You can even buy umami paste to add to dishes. I used to think I liked salty things but I now realise that umami, which often pairs up with salt in savoury foods, such as Marmite, is really what I like. It’s only taken 40 something years to figure that out. It explains why I love parmesan cheese, tomatoes, shiitake mushrooms, fish sauce and black olives – all high in free glutamate acid – an amino acid that is the hallmark of umami.
With sushi, you can play with taste elements to great effect emphasising, say, salty and umami (smoked eel + sushi seaweed/nori) or sweet and spicy (mayonnaise and peppered mackerel). I like to add in hot, sour and bitter garnishes such mustard-hot wasabi, pickled sushi ginger, spicy togarashi (here’s my recipe) powder and salty-sour umeboshi paste to satisfy my craving for taste contrast. But even a slug of Kikkoman makes a brilliant partner for sushi.
I have always thought that the two keys to good sushi are super fresh fish and properly cooked sushi rice. Well, I have amended this slightly to also include properly cooked quinoa. Yep, quinoa. My friend Niki gave me the idea after she wanted to make the first recipe that I posted, smoked mackerel and quinoa fishcakes, but didn’t have all the ingredients, so made a sort of sushi thing instead. I don’t know what she ended up putting in this invention but I’m positive it was delicious. This was a stunning revelation as, although sushi is super healthy, it isn’t all that low in carbohydrates. We need carbohydrates and I don’t have any truck with the lingering fad for high protein-low carb diets that may end up wrecking your kidneys, but I do believe that we should include more unprocessed, ‘brown’ carbohydrates. You can of course use brown sushi rice to lower the GI rating, but I can never get it to work as well as the white stuff. So the near-sacrilegious substitution of rice for quinoa struck me as rather genius. And it worked, beautifully.
Sushi doesn’t have to involve raw fish. By all means use just the smoked mackerel, or maybe try some smoked salmon, quality tinned or jarred tuna, chicken, cooked prawns, crabsticks (which are a complete misnomer but perfect here) or keep it veggie. This is made for ‘free-styling’ so put in what you like and what you can neatly roll up. Kids are sometimes a bit funny about the look of the seaweed, so get round that issue by rolling it up as inside-out rolls, with the seaweed safely curlicued up inside the rice. It takes a little more skill, but only just a little. I will guide you through the steps but there are plenty of on-line videos to help too. Here’s one on California rolls.
Once you have the hang of rolling sushi, increase the chances of your children trying this healthy nibble by getting them to have a go as well. Have plenty of counter space, a bowl of water for keeping hands clean and damp and be prepared for plenty of giggles. Apparently this is National Parenting Week here in the UK. Prime Minister David Cameron, a father of three young children, was asked on Radio 2’s ‘Jeremy Vine Show’ for his top parenting tips. First on his list was for parents and children to cook together, making a lot of mess and having fun in the process. I think sushi making fits this bill perfectly. Give it a go, but don’t blame me if you are picking up rice for the forseeable future…
Sushi Made Simple
285g/10 oz sushi rice
360ml/12.5 oz water
3 tbsp rice vinegar
1 tbsp caster sugar
3/4 tsp salt
4 sheets toasted nori (sushi seaweed)
100g/4 oz super fresh salmon, cut into long strips (you may not need all)
100g/4 oz smoked mackerel, torn
Good quality mayonnaise, mixed with a little wasabi paste if you like (we like) – optional
Black sesame seeds, optional
Vegetable fillings: thin strips of cucumber, avocado, carrot, beetroot, spring onion/scallions – but use any vegetables that you like such as shiitake mushrooms, peppers or mooli.
You Also Need: a bamboo sushi rolling mat, Japanese condiments such as togarashi, umeboshi, pickled ginger, soy sauce/shoyu sauce and wasabi – get all of these in Oriental supermarkets, some mainstream supermarkets or online; bowl of clean water, sharp knife, cutting board, cling film, foil or large baking tray.
The rice is the only bit that you kind of need to get right as the rest is just to your taste. Wash the rice in cold water until the water runs clear: I do this in a sieve. Pop it into a lidded saucepan and add in the 360 ml water. Leave it to soak for 15 minutes then bring to the boil. Cover and lower the heat to simmer for 10-12 minutes or until the water is absorbed. Remove from the heat and leave, covered, for 10 minutes. You can do all of this ahead of time and bring up to room temperature before making your sushi, but I find it is best if you use freshly made rice. While the rice is cooking and waiting you can get on with sorting your fillings and work space. Mix together the vinegar, sugar and salt until dissolved. When the rice has rested spread it out onto a long sheet of foil or onto a large baking sheet, sprinkle generously all over with the the vinegar mix. Fork the rice around to mix the vinegar solution. Experts say to fan the rice as it makes it glossier. 
Now you are ready to roll! Place your rolling mat on your work space, lay one piece of nori on the edge closest to you. If you are having a shot at the inside-out rolls then trim off the top quarter with a pair of scissors. Spread some rice onto 3/4 of the nori, leaving the top quarter bare, or up to the edge for inside-out rolls. Dip your hands in water and clap to remove excess. Doing this regularly while smoothing on your rice will keep it from sticking to your hands too much.
For regular maki sushi lay your fillings in a line, one-quarter from the bottom edge (see photo), starting with the mayo or umeboshi, if you like. Don’t be tempted to pile on too much or it will be trickier to roll up. I usually use about four fillings at a time. Once all of your toppings are on start rolling from the bottom edge, using your fingertips to guide and contain the filling as you roll away from you. Take your time, gently squeezing as you roll, using the mat to push the seaweed roll forward. You will hopefully end up with a neat, tight sushi roll. Trim away any filling peeking from the ends and set aside while you set up another roll. When they are all completed cut each roll into 6-8 pieces and place cut side up on a platter along with your condiments. 
For inside-out rolls place your nori on the worktop next to the rolling mat and press on your rice, as instructed above but taking the rice all the way to the trimmed top edge. Now, if you are brave, carefully grab the two bottom corners and flip the rice-laden nori over onto the mat, aiming for the bottom edge to line up. If you are less brave, press a piece of clingfilm over the sushi, lining up the bottoms and then flip. Doing it this way is trickier for rolling up as you need to ensure that you pull away the clingfilm as you roll, but some may find this easier to begin with. Now carry on with the filling but laying it directly onto the nori. Roll up tightly, roll in sesame seeds if you like, and cut to your desire thickness. Now, attack with chopsticks!
Quinoa option: Rinse 200 grams of quinoa in running water and bring to the boil in 400ml of water. Turn the heat to simmer, pop on the lid and cook until the water is absorbed. Cool and season as above.
quinoa sushi (foreground) + rice sushi
Makes a great, healthy snack for school too!
I am a real advocate of what I call the ‘meal salad’; multi-sensory, bold salads that are platters of amazing colour, clear tastes, contrasting textures and even a hint of fragrance. I crave salads that invariably cause you to leave the restaurant with a little dribble on your chin because you were enjoying your food and not minding your manners. In short, I want to know I’ve had a proper feed, and not just been fobbed off with lowest common denominator assembling skills. Just because it’s a salad doesn’t mean it can’t be interesting and taste sublime. Being a greedy sort I don’t think that some frilly-pants collection of lettuces, scattering of delicately sliced vegetables and thimble of dressing constitutes a meal. Yet, if you go out and don’t fancy the meat-heavy or sleep-inducing carb options, this is usually what is left. If you are lucky someone might offer it with a miniscule piece of anemic-looking chicken (which I wouldn’t touch with a barge pole) or trio of king prawns (yawn), but the equation ‘woman+salad=dieter’ seems to be behind menu planning at many eateries. And I resent this. The notion (as I imagine it) that salad-eaters are just looking for something to move around the plate so don’t bother making it interesting or filling is insulting and, in my opinion, wrong. Just because I mainly prefer eating plants to animals doesn’t mean my tastebuds and appetite are dead. Sure, if you go up a notch or two you will undoubtedly find something more adventurous, but probably still not filling enough to see you through to supper, or keep you from later devouring that carefully-squirreled away Valentine’s leftover (am I revealing too much?). Are you weary as well of shelling out good money at places where they spend more time planning the wine list than they do the menu? I don’t even bother now. And that’s a bit sad because eating out should expose you to tastes and ideas that inspire and excite.
I’ve really had quite a wee rant to myself, and involved you who may be perfectly happy with your paid-for salady nosh. Sorry. I’m miffed probably because the UK restaurant and catering industry has upped their game almost unrecognisably in the past 20 years, but this is one area that is still a bit ‘Betamax’. I don’t know how we can get more interesting plant-based fare into mainstream restaurants but here is the kind of ‘meal salad’ I would be happy to pay money for. Let me know what you would pay good money for – keep it decent, Miss R reads this…
Warm Beetroot, Lentil and Pepper Salad
I am a big fan of Sarah Raven – she of UK gardening fame but also an inventive cook – and the au courant London chef Yotam Ottolenghi. Although neither is vegetarian they both display cunning and creative flair to bring out the best in what could be quite pedestrian ingredients. I find that plant-only cooks and cookery writers can be a bit worthy for my tastes, and so I tend to be drawn to omnivores who speak vegetarian as a second language. This earthy, punchy salad takes inspiration from the writings and recipes of my two favourite ‘bi-lingual’ cook-chefs.
4 small or 2 medium beetroots, scrubbed and roots trimmed a little (the smaller the beetroot, the sweeter)
2 red onions, peeled and cut into eighths (with some root attached if possible)
2 red peppers, deseeded and cut into chunks
Extra virgin olive oil
Seeds from 3 cardamom pods + 1 tbsp coriander seeds, + 1/2 tbsp black peppercorns + 1 tsp flaky sea salt – coarsely ground in pestle and mortar or clean coffee grinder
150g/5.3 oz Puy or Puy-type lentils
300ml/10 oz vegetable stock + 2 tbsp balsamic vinegar, and a little extra for later
2 bay leaves
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Leaves from two sprigs fresh thyme (lemon thyme if you can get it)
1-2 red chillies, deseeded and finely sliced
Juice and grated zest of 1/2 large unwaxed lemon
Rocket/arugula leaves, chervil and flat-leaf/Italian parsley – as much as you like
1/2 pack of halloumi cheese (about 100 grams), sliced into 1/2 cm depth slices
What To Do: Toss the beetroot, onion and peppers in 1 tbsp of olive oil and almost all of the ground spices. Put the beetroots in a small roasting tin and bake at 190C for 45 minutes – 1 hour. When the beetroots have twenty minutes to go pop the onions and peppers onto the tray. If you are a beetroot fan, you might want to bake a couple of bunches of beetroot for use in other dishes, or for pickling. Anyway, when the beets are tender when pierced with a knife, let them cool and then rub the fragile skins away and slice the juicy beets into big bite-sized pieces.
While things are roasting get on with the body of the salad – the lentils. You could very easily use one of the precooked packs of Puy lentils available in many UK supermarkets but they are really easy to sort from scratch and the suggested flavourings really lift the lentils. Pop the raw lentils into a medium saucepan with the bay leaves and cover with the stock and vinegar. Bring to the boil and then cook on a fast simmer (medium heat) for between 20 and 30 minutes. It is hard to give exact timings but check to make sure the liquid hasn’t evaporated at 20 minutes and give them a little taste as well. They should be tender but still quite firm: if your dental work is threatened, give it another 10 minutes. Drain as needed then pour the lentils into a wide pretty bowl to cool a bit.
Heat a griddle pan or saute pan to high and slap on the halloumi pieces. Griddle or cook until starting to colour or get griddle marks, then flip and do this again. I sometimes use the ‘light’ halloumi in other recipes but it gets bit dry if you do more than heat it through. Use the full-fat stuff for this one. Remember my rant; this isn’t a diet salad.
Add to the lentils the roasted, warm vegetables, chopped garlic, thyme leaves, chillies, lemon juice and zest, whatever amount of leaves you are using, then finally toss together with some extra olive oil and balsamic to taste. Sprinkle in the remaining ground spices if you like, and serve with griddled halloumi or hunks of broken feta cheese, and maybe some flatbreads. Enjoy!
Spring has at last sprung in Scotland. The outside thermometer in my lovely Skoda Octavia (that’s a car to any US readers) read 15C on Monday: this is sometimes a top temperature in July. I had planned on making a soup today, and had already bought all the ingredients. But I must admit to being sorely tempted to crack on with a delicate spring salad. I stopped in my tracks however, afraid that I would jinx us all, unleashing a torrent of plant-ripping hail and sky-scudding storms. And anyway, there is enough spring in this soup to fit comfortably with the unaccustomed sun and warmth yet cover the still-cold nights. Versatile, or what?
Another thing that is making me feel very chipper is the sight of my beautiful Black Rock hens (wrecking) pecking in the back garden. Such joy to see the sun glinting off their deep green feathers as they hypnotically bob their little heads, feasting on everything tender that I have dared plant out. Friends (and my husband) think they are the most spoiled hens ever, dining as they do on fruits, vegetables, herbs, grains and the odd bit of cake. I think it’s only looking after our best interests. After all, we eat what they eat. And as they eat gravel, worms, flowers and bugs I like to think that the diced mango, quinoa and coriander stalks are adding value and flavour to our daily delivery. The yolks are certainly as deep a saffron as those you get in Italy, and twice as delicious. Could be the saffron cake…
sugar and josephine
Science bit: I have indulged a bit in the ol’ nutrition stuff lately so I will calm down and try not to scare off you folk who are tuning in just for the nosh. Suffice it to say that leeks are the stars in this soup and that watercress comes a close second, but only because of the smaller amount. Not much research exists on leeks as they get lumped in with their fellow alliums, onions and garlic, but they are certainly useful to anyone wanting to eat more healthily. An Italian study noted rates of mouth, esophageal, colorectal and stomach cancers were lower the more alliums one consumes. Eating the equivalent of 1/2 a cup of alliums (leeks, onions, garlic, chives etc) per day is thought to be a health-promoting amount. It is certainly achievable if you make most of your own meals from scratch, but even adding sauteed onions, leeks or garlic to a bought meal is good. To get the most from your alliums, ‘box and cox’ (US readers, look that one up) between having them cooked and raw. Another tip: after cutting, leave alliums ten minutes as this develops the anti-carcinogen compound allicin.
Leek’s main nutrients are interferon-boosting manganese, Vitamin C, iron, folate, vitamin B6 and fibre. The cardiovascular benefits of alliums are more studied than for cancer, with numerous polyphenols known to help keep heart-damaging homocysteine levels low, blood vessels supple, cholesterol low, and protect blood vessels from free radical damage. For those who ‘know their onions’ (groan), but want to know more, click here.
field-fresh leeks from craigies farm shop
Leek, Parsnip and Watercress Soup
This is a tail-end-of-winter soup, with a hint of spring. Sweet local parsnips are almost finished and edging towards being woody, but maincrop potatoes, leeks and watercress are in full swing. I’m only just tiring of the heartier winter veg such as parsnips and swedes, but here in Scotland we have a wee while to go before our springier crops are ready for harvesting. While winter and spring battle it out on the weather front (spring is winning today – hooray!), hedge your bets and try this mixed season soup. Please don’t hunt around for the parsnips if they aren’t available, just up the potato: I happened to have some parsnips and liked the sweetness they added to the soup. Garnish with frazzled thin-cut pancetta if you like, or even garden chives that may be peeking through just now.
700g/1 lb 8 oz maincrop potatoes (basically not new or waxy potatoes), peeled and chopped
200g/7 oz parsnips, peeled and chopped
500g/1 lb 2 oz leeks, trimmed
1 tbsp rapeseed oil or butter
1.5 litres/50 fl oz vegetable stock or chicken stock (I sometimes use a combination)
1 tbsp fresh tarragon or 1 tsp dried tarragon
100g/3.5 oz watercress (use the stalks too – tasty and nutritious)
250 ml/8 fl oz full-cream milk (optional)
salt and white pepper
What To Do: Take the leeks and cut away the tough darker green leaves. The easiest way to slice leeks is to cut them lengthways and then again so you have four long pieces for each. Gather them up and slice them thinly. Pop them in a colander and give them a good rinse to get out any grit. Supermarket leeks are usually pretty grit-free but farm shop or vegetable box/CSA leeks will always have some clinging in there.
Add the oil or butter to a large saucepan and, when this is melted over a medium heat, add the leeks and sauté for four to five minutes, stirring. Add in the potatoes, parsnip and stock. Bring to the boil and then simmer – covered – for 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender. Turn off the heat and add in the watercress and tarragon; let them wilt. Whiz the soup very carefully with a hand blender or in a food processor, before putting the soup into a clean saucepan with the milk and reheating gently. Season to taste with salt and white pepper, if desired. Serves 6
