Silverbrow on Food

Books (and a newspaper) to put a smile on your face

I can't get enough of having a good time at the moment.  That could be because things are a bit crappy and I'm built to have a good time, so like some crazed compass needle, I'm seeking my due north.

It could also be simply that having fun is so much more enjoyable than being a miserable sod.

I never cease to be amazed at how many people who 'enjoy their food' are thoroughly miserable when it comes to food.  They treat food as a mountain they must conquer.  Their faces are stern, their chins set.  They tend towards argument and introspection.  Not enjoying a damn good meal.

The untimely death of Keith Floyd has resulted in the loss of a man with an obvious love of what he did.  Simon Hopkinson is clearly cut from similar cloth.  It was therefore a delight that in this rather rubbish week Simon's new book The Vegetarian Option and a re-print of Floyd's Food should land on my mat courtesy of their respective publishers.

Reading their books in bed the other night I was reminded that I love food because I love it, by that I mean I get great enjoyment from cooking it, eating it, shopping for it, talking about it, even washing it up.  It's fun.

Sometimes it's not though.  As someone who keeps kosher I'm all too often relegated to the vegetarian section of the menu - and it is a relegation - it's a place you really don't want to explore.  Hopkinson makes me hopeful that others will get as excited by veggies as he clearly is. 

I challenge you not to swoon at Boiled onions with poached egg & Lancashire cheese.  If for a moment you dare think it sounds anything less than sublime, go to your local bookshop and take a look at the photo on page 73.  It's only a matter of days until I'll be feeding the family Cheese-crusted fried parsnip strips with romesco sauce and if this chilly weather is here to last the only pumpkin carving I'll be doing is to make Pumpkin soup 'Paul Bocuse'.  I might not have been tempted by Gratin of chicory with mustard sauce had it not been for Simon's closing words on the recipe "Rich, I believe, might be the word, here."

Don't be fooled that this is just a book about what to do with the bits of the veg box you get flummoxed by - try the Riverford book for that - it is a book that will make you cook better and in many ways is very classic.  His analysis of how to use agar-agar is one example of that, as his reminder of what a real Caesar salad is.

Cookbooks don't get much more classic than Floyd's Food.  Yes Absolute did do a quick print job following his death, but let's not be cynical.  It's a very good book.  It may lack the slick production and photos of The Vegetarian Option but it is the antithesis of the big cookbook.

Floyd like Hopkinson is not one to mince his words.  His instructions for Salade Nicoise are limited to "Whack the lot into a salad bowl and eat it."  His helpful tips for chip making include "You can do this hours before you intend to use them, that way avoiding the panic while you are making the bearnaise and everybody is getting sozzled in the garden."  I was rather surprised to see one ingredient in Watercress Express is instant potato mix, but because it's Floyd and was first printed in 1981, I'll let him off.  (Yes you're right, I will never forgive Delia for similar shortcuts, but this is my blog and I'll be as hypocritical as I like.)

Despite this aberration, I can't recommend either book highly enough.  They're great reminders about the sheer pleasure of food.  They may not be the best if you like to follow recipes like a religion.  If you're happy with the ebb and flow of the kitchen then purchase them in the knowledge you'll be in for a good time.

Speaking of good times, I had an all too brief drink last night at Mark's Bar for the launch of Galley Slave.  It's a freesheet edited by Joe Warwick, formerly of Restaurant magazine and briefly The Napkin Sniffer. 

It's very much focused at the London restaurant scene and is intended for those in the business.  But with a tag line of "Putting the wind up the London restaurant scene" and columns entitled  'Blog Standards' and 'Galley Chumps' a restaurant critic version of Top Trumps - genius - it is likely to become required reading for us obsessives as well.

Do it for the kreplach

I've been thoroughly impressed by David Sax's single-mindedness in his attempt to Save the Deli in the US.

Deli, read Ashkenazi, food is a phenomena in the US, but has never reached the same vaulted position in the UK.  If David thinks things are getting bad in the US, he should look at the UK.  Well he did, and he liked what he saw.  But can there be any doubt that what we have pales in significance to the US experience.

This video is the preview for the US edition of his forthcoming book.  Having just watched it I'm hungry and drooling at all that pickled meat.

As the video reminds us, what the world needs now is schmaltz, sweet schmaltz, it's the only thing that there's just too little of.  Other than gribenes, of course.

Ferran Adrià, author

In the past year I've been to two events where Ferran Adrià was speaking, both associated with book launches.  First promoting A Day at elBulli and more recently for Food for Thought. Thought for Food.  

According to Amazon there are three more Adrià related books due out before the end of the year: Modern Gastronomy (with a foreword by Harold McGee), he has written a foreword for the latest Maze book and he's featured in Coco, the latest in the Phaidon 10x10 series.

It seems uncontroversial to suggest that Adrià has morphed into a man of letters.  Yet I can't really find any reference to it.  Whilst there has been a lot of excitement regarding Adria's move into the art world, his appearance at Documenta 12 was the genesis of Food for Thought, no-one has attributed any significance to this urge to write.

He might be writing so prolifically because the money can't hurt and anything that extends the brand helps.  Adrià has form for such initiatives.

Then again, it could be that he feels a need to get his thoughts down on paper and it seems equally uncontroversial to say that much of what he has to say is interesting.

I'm thoroughly enjoying the Food for Thought, although I don't think it answers the question over whether food at elBulli is art, because it ties itself in knots trying to decide what art is.  It is a textbook on elBulli more than anything else.  It tries to encapsulate the history and DNA of the restaurant and therefore Adrià himself. 

I find the the photos of all the dishes ever made at elBulli from 1987 to 2007, fascinating, as are the various timelines in the book.  One shows the progression of Western haute-cuisine generally, another how techniques and recipes have developed at elBulli over the years. 

The transcripts of the roundtables with Heston Blumenthal, Carsten Holler, Adrian Searle and Bill Buford amongst others give an insight into how those with a unique perspective, chefs, authors, curators, artists, regard eating his food.  These discussions are important because whilst there may not be agreement on whether or not his food is art, it clearly is not prosaic and therefore deserves some analysis. 

In addition to the writing, Adrià has actively encouraged debate around his food.  The first of the two events I mentioned above was a full house at the Royal Festival Hall, the second was a panel discussion followed by luvvie party.  The point of both was to get the audience thinking and engaging with Ferran.

Whilst we're used to seeing our chefs on TV, or in bookstores, hardly any of them seem to engage in this way.  There are examples of chefs with blogs, or très a la mode on Twitter, but to me this doesn't count.  Compared to what Adrià seems to be doing it is marketing not education.

Adrià clearly is influenced from all around and the discussions and roundtables are another facet of his ongoing education.  It feels that the books are a way to codify what would otherwise be a jumble of ideas, discussion and snippets of knowledge.

I know I might be giving Adrià's intentions far more credit than they're due.  I know that many are sceptical about his food.  I know that his food is not for daily consumption - I've never consumed it and am unlikely to - but his ideas are important.  And books are the home for ideas. So I await his next outpourings with interest. 

I hope that other chefs and cooks start writing about their thoughts, rather than just pumping out more recipes.  Heston has come out of the blocks at a roaring pace.  But I feel very strongly that this space should not just be owned by the great culinary innovators.  I'm thinking more along the lines of the essays in Giorgio Locatelli's Made in Italy as an initial template.  I'd particularly relish hearing more from Shaun Hill or Rowley Leigh.  Cooks with exceptional experience of their craft (or is it art?) and who have something to add to the debate and as with any debate, will in return learn and benefit from what they hear.

Banana & sour-cherry ice-cream

I first made this recipe from a combination of necessity and desire.  Necessity to use up some sour-cherries that I'd had to buy in bulk from Bea, and desire because banana and sour-cherry ice-creams are two of my favourite flavours. 

I think it was at Persicco that I was introduced to great banana ice-cream that tasted of bananas rather than nasty sweets and Matteo at Scoop got me hooked on the wonders of amarena - a fior di latte based sour cherry ice-cream. 

One change you might want to make - and I think I will next time I make it - is to roast the bananas first.  David Lebovitz does this in his book and although I wasn't keen on the consistency of his roasted-banana ice-cream, the flavour was delicious: sweet, caramel, banana gorgeousness.

Makes about 1L

• 3 bananas
• 250g pitted sour-cherries
• 70g brown sugar
• 150g caster sugar
• 1tbp butter
• 300ml full fat milk
• 300ml double cream
  
• 4 large egg yolks

First you need to make the sour-cherry compote.  I like to keep the compote as sour as possible, so I follow a very simple method of heating the cherries with 50g of caster sugar and a splash of water.  The cherries will gradually release juice and lose their structure.  You may want to add more sugar to taste, but remember the overall ice-cream will be relatively sweet.  Puree the compote and leave to cool thoroughly in the fridge.  You won't want it melting the ice-cream later on.

Slice the bananas, sprinkle with the brown sugar and roast them in the butter until they're brown and glistening, this can take up to 20 minutes. Mash the bananas and set aside.

Whisk together the egg yolks and 100g of caster sugar.  You want them to be light in colour, quite thick but not frothy.

Heat the milk - don't let it boil - and pour over the eggs, but be sure to keep stirring so the eggs don't curdle.

Rinse the pan you've heated the cream in. Put the custard (egg, sugar and milk) into the pan and reheat. Keep stirring it.  It's ready once it coats the back of a wooden spoon.

Let the custard cool completely.  It could take up to an hour.

Stir in the cream to the cooled mixture.

Combine the mashed bananas with the cream mixture and place in your ice-cream machine and follow your machine's instructions.

Add the cherries as you decant the ice-cream from the machine into the tub you'll be freezing it in. Layer the ice-cream with the very cold compote.  I tend to add enough compote each time so that it covers the surface of the tub, then add another layer of ice-cream and so on.

Strawberry ice-cream

I always feel a twinge of guilt using great fruit in anything other than its natural state.  It feels sacrilegious to poncy up what is already pretty close to perfect.

But, a glut of very good strawberries has got me over my squeamishness, they were either going to rot away or be thrown away. What with the recent heat-wave ice-cream was the only thing to do. 

My recipe is an adaption of inspiration from a few other recipes: primarily David Lebovitz's Raspberry Ice-Cream (p93 The Perfect Scoop) and Rosemary Moon's extra-rich vanilla recipe (p21 Ice Cream Machine Book). 

For good measure, I tweaked the bastardised recipes further by chucking in a punnet of gooseberries.  I'd love to say that I alighted on the idea myself, but in truth I was watching HFW's latest series and they had a spot on strawberry jam making.  The lady (no doubt from the WI) showing Hugh how to do it, suggested using gooseberries for their sharpness, instead of the more normal addition of lemon juice - an ingredient I'd originally been planning for this ice-cream. 

This was a thoroughly delicious ice-cream, with clear, sweet strawberries being nicely offset by the sharp gooseberries and rich cream. 

I think possibly next time rather than adapting Rosemary Moon's ice-cream recipe to allow me to use up the double cream I had knocking around, I should have either gone for a straightforward custard base ice cream (fewer eggs) or a traditional gelato (no or at least little, cream). 

Finally, I made this in my Gaggia Gelatiera. It's a great piece of equipment, but I note hard to get hold of now, but there are other machines available.

Makes about 1L

• 750g strawberries, hulled
• 150g-200g of gooseberries, topped & tailed
• 175g caster sugar
• 300ml full fat milk
• 300ml double cream
• 6 large egg yolks

Macerate the strawberries in 100g of sugar for 1 hour.

Heat the milk but don't let it boil.

Beat the egg yolks and remaining sugar until pale and slightly thickened and pour onto the hot milk.

Return the mixture to the clean pan (to prevent the custard catching & burning), stirring continuiosuly as you heat it gently.

Once it coats the back of a spoon remove from the heat and cool.  It can take up to a couple of hours to cool thoroughly.

Stir the cream into the mixture.

Puree the strawberries and gooseberries.  If you want your ice cream totally smooth then pass the puree through a sieve.  My preference is to have the bits still in.  There may however be an argument to say you should pass the gooseberries through a sieve - and possibly peel - but not the strawberries.

At this stage it's important to make sure all the ingredients are cold, so that the ice-cream machine can churn as easily as possible.  If they're not all cold, wait for them to cool.  Combine the strawberries and the creamy custard and churn in the ice-cream machine as per your machine's instructions.

It's worth noting that in his recipe for Raspberry Ice Cream, David Lebovitz recommends that to preserve the flavour of the fruit, the ice-cream should be churned within 4 hours of making the puree.

Eat My Globe

"I love it when a plan comes together." So said Col. John 'Hannibal' Smith, one of the greatest tacticians of our age.

Plan's can be complex things, things of beauty even, rarely however are they as simple as Simon Majumdar's: "Fuck it. I'm off to eat" - I paraphrase, but that's basically what it boils down to. 

Instead of winning a battle, Simon's plan resulted in his first book Eat My Globe.  According to my current reading material, simple is good, and frankly Simon's plan seems splendid to me. There is obvious clarity of thought and purpose, with a definable and importantly, achievable, goal.

His book is not great for those dieting, those prone to hunger, those prone to lust, envy, greed. Frankly, I wouldn't advise reading it unless you are doing terrible things to a perfectly charred steak or bottle of single malt.

I knew the book was about food, and I knew that it was about Simon's travels around the world.  If nothing else I'd read all about it on his excellent blog, Dos Hermanos.  However, I was expecting the book to be about what the yanks might call 'fine dining'.  I expected that when in Chicago he'd be tucking into Alinea not Hot Doug's, I expected at least a mention of the Fat Duck in the UK and elBulli in Spain.

Instead the book is predominantly about meals with families or street food.  Almost directly as a consequence, it's a book about people and an absolute delight as a consequence.  Don't get put off thinking this is all about high falutin' food, it's not.  It's about great food, greatly enjoyed - with the odd exception of Brazil.

I did have some frustrations with the book, there seemed to be a few typos, but I guess that is a result of this being the first edition. Also in places Simon goes into great detail about how he ended up doing what he was doing, whether it was pre-planned or serendipity, but in other places he's remarkably vague.  For example, whilst he waxed lyrical about spending time with Adam Balic in Australia, he skips around who his two dining companions were at Chez Panisse.  Given that this book is largely about people and his obvious excitement to be eating at Chez Panisse, the ommission was glaring.

But these are minor niggles and essentially this is a beautiful (if hunger inducing) travelogue.

My last gripe is simply that the book I want to read is Simon's view on food (and people) everywhere. I want him to see more of Brazil than just Salvador because I reckon he'd love it. I want to hear his thoughts on Damascus Gate, I want to know if there's a good meal to be had in Utah and I'd be really interested in his perspective on elBulli.

It seems that the likes of Matthew Fort, Jay Rayner and Nigel Slater better take heed of that nipping at their heels.

The world's coolest cookbook?

This does look promising.