Have you ever cooked beetroot? Most people only know it bottled in vinegar and to be brought out with the pickled onions, gherkins and chutneys. But beetroot is more versatile than many other root vegetables and is great roasted as in this recipe.
Before roasting, the beetroot needs boiling for anything between 30 and 90 minutes until tender. You can tell when it’s cooked by piercing with a skewer. However, before boiling, just brush off any soil and wash the skin and any top and root without damaging the skin. This preserves the colour and goodness inside. And, regarding the colour, you may wish to wear rubber gloves when skinning and cutting it up so as to avoid red hands.
Serves two
Two 175g fillets of salmon – skin on, scaled and pin boned
Eight smallish new potatoes
Two medium raw beetroot
One clove of garlic – peeled and crushed
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper
A little rapeseed or extra virgin olive oil
Place the washed beetroot in a pan in salted water, bring to the boil and simmer until tender as described earlier. At the same time, boil the potatoes for around 15 minutes until tender but not fully cooked. When cooked, allow the beetroot and potatoes to cool a little before halving the potatoes lengthwise.
To peel the beetroot, rub the skin off with a clean tea towel which lets you keep the original shape rather than using a knife which means you end up with a 50 pence piece shape. Cut two thirds of the beetroot into wedges and reserve the other third.
Pre-heat the oven to 200°C (gas 6). Pre-heat a large oven-proof frying pan, add a little oil and then the salmon, skin side down. While that’s cooking, add the potatoes, cut side down. As the salmon cooks you’ll you see its colour change, rising up the fish from the base of the pan. When it gets about a third of the way up, about five minutes, turn the salmon over by which time the skin should be crispy. Add the beetroot wedges to the pan, season everything with a little salt and pepper and place in the oven for five minutes.
While that’s roasting, puree the rest of the beetroot or push it through a sieve into a bowl. Add the garlic, a little salt and pepper and enough olive oil to make a paste when all mixed together.
To serve, pile the beetroot and potatoes onto warm plates, place the salmon on top and some beetroot puree on top of that. Maybe finish with a little oil over and around.
Saturday 20 March 2010
We all want staff like this
We don’t have an HR department. Despite our company being nothing other than a collection of people, we’re too small to merit a manager specifically for personnel, let alone a team dedicated to it.
So the role of personnel manager, as that of virtually every other manager, falls to yours truly and I have to admit to falling down on the job at times and not really being as good as I, or our staff, would wish. I try to keep up with the appraisals, keep the contracts of employment up to date, monitor the training schedules and generally keep everybody motivated and happy.
But still, despite all my efforts as a manager, mentor and motivator, that well-known British malaise occasionally rears its ugly head: “I’ve got the flu and I can’t come in today. I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow”.
Flu? As was explained to me by a hard but fair employer many years ago, you’ve only got real flu if you can’t pass the £20 note test. That is, if someone places a £20 note at the foot of your bed, tells you it’s yours for the taking if you’re prepared to sit up and reach over and pick it up and, and this is the important bit, if you can be bothered and you’re actually able to, then you haven’t got flu.
But whatever, they can’t come in today because the raging cold and fever they’re experiencing prohibits them from catching the bus. This despite their subsequent entry on Facebook explaining how their exploits down the pub last night meant that they’d had to take a day off work.
Well one of the stories must be right. However, either way, it’s a sad indictment of some of the members of our society from which we, as employers, source our teams. It’s not necessarily a sign of the times. Thus have always things been.
But there are exceptions to the rule. And more than one of them works for Oldfields.
Take Jarrod who’s a chef at our Durham Eating House. He’s only young, and in fact looks a few decades younger. But in our busy run-up to Christmas he, and without him being asked to or appropriately trained, was an absolute star when it came to leading and keeping things together in the kitchen, despite customers coming out of our ears. His efforts and initiative are alone a great testament to the young of today.
But even he could hardly believe it when his colleague, Sarah Hodgson, arrived at the restaurant an hour and a quarter early for work one recent Sunday morning. Especially when he found out that, due to her car being snowed in just outside Consett, no taxis being prepared to come out and no buses operating early enough, Sarah set out from her house at 6:15 am and walked 14 miles to work.
You may even have read about it in the national press, heard about it on regional and national radio or watched stories about it on the TV because, so astounded were the media when they heard about Sarah’s dedication, they wouldn’t leave her or Oldfields alone.
Why did she do this? For the actual answer you’d have to ask Sarah but she’s probably too modest to tell you. I can only guess that she considered her position as restaurant supervisor important enough, that she respected her colleagues highly enough, that she had pride in herself and her work enough, to plan ahead and make an effort that nobody expects of anybody these days.
It humbles me to think of what she did and no amount of management training that I’ve undergone regarding the organisation and motivation of staff would have led me to expect that a member of our team would go to such lengths.
But then I’m lucky enough to work at Oldfields with people like Sarah.
So the role of personnel manager, as that of virtually every other manager, falls to yours truly and I have to admit to falling down on the job at times and not really being as good as I, or our staff, would wish. I try to keep up with the appraisals, keep the contracts of employment up to date, monitor the training schedules and generally keep everybody motivated and happy.
But still, despite all my efforts as a manager, mentor and motivator, that well-known British malaise occasionally rears its ugly head: “I’ve got the flu and I can’t come in today. I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow”.
Flu? As was explained to me by a hard but fair employer many years ago, you’ve only got real flu if you can’t pass the £20 note test. That is, if someone places a £20 note at the foot of your bed, tells you it’s yours for the taking if you’re prepared to sit up and reach over and pick it up and, and this is the important bit, if you can be bothered and you’re actually able to, then you haven’t got flu.
But whatever, they can’t come in today because the raging cold and fever they’re experiencing prohibits them from catching the bus. This despite their subsequent entry on Facebook explaining how their exploits down the pub last night meant that they’d had to take a day off work.
Well one of the stories must be right. However, either way, it’s a sad indictment of some of the members of our society from which we, as employers, source our teams. It’s not necessarily a sign of the times. Thus have always things been.
But there are exceptions to the rule. And more than one of them works for Oldfields.
Take Jarrod who’s a chef at our Durham Eating House. He’s only young, and in fact looks a few decades younger. But in our busy run-up to Christmas he, and without him being asked to or appropriately trained, was an absolute star when it came to leading and keeping things together in the kitchen, despite customers coming out of our ears. His efforts and initiative are alone a great testament to the young of today.
But even he could hardly believe it when his colleague, Sarah Hodgson, arrived at the restaurant an hour and a quarter early for work one recent Sunday morning. Especially when he found out that, due to her car being snowed in just outside Consett, no taxis being prepared to come out and no buses operating early enough, Sarah set out from her house at 6:15 am and walked 14 miles to work.
You may even have read about it in the national press, heard about it on regional and national radio or watched stories about it on the TV because, so astounded were the media when they heard about Sarah’s dedication, they wouldn’t leave her or Oldfields alone.
Why did she do this? For the actual answer you’d have to ask Sarah but she’s probably too modest to tell you. I can only guess that she considered her position as restaurant supervisor important enough, that she respected her colleagues highly enough, that she had pride in herself and her work enough, to plan ahead and make an effort that nobody expects of anybody these days.
It humbles me to think of what she did and no amount of management training that I’ve undergone regarding the organisation and motivation of staff would have led me to expect that a member of our team would go to such lengths.
But then I’m lucky enough to work at Oldfields with people like Sarah.
Pearl barley and beetroot risotto with cauliflower cheese
This is a complete dish from our current evening menu and, even though I’ve done another recipe for barley risotto before, I make no excuse because it’s such an underused food. I also used beetroot a couple of weeks ago but I’m really into beetroot at the moment, so there.
You could cook this dish without the cauliflower cheese and serve the risotto on its own or with something else. But this really is a tasty and complete vegetarian dish.
Serves two
One small head of cauliflower – leaves removed and florets divided
50g butter
50g plain flour
200ml milk
100g mature cheddar - grated
200g pearl barley
One carrot – peeled
½ an onion – peeled
Two cloves of garlic – peeled
A little extra virgin rape seed or olive oil
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper
One whole beetroot – fresh or pre-cooked and vacuum-packed
If you’ve got an uncooked beetroot, wash it, trim the root and the leaves but don’t cut into the skin in any way. Place in a pan, cover with cold water and bring to the boil. Simmer for 30 to 90 minutes until it’s tender when you insert a pointed knife. Drain, allow to cool a little and then rub the peel off with a cloth. The cooked beetroot then needs pureeing in a food processor or pushing through a sieve.
To make the cauliflower cheese, bring a pan of salted water to the boil and blanch the cauliflower florets in it for two to three minutes. Drain and cool under running water.
Melt the butter in a small saucepan, add the flour and stir, allowing it to cook for a couple of minutes over a low heat. Add the milk bit by bit, stirring all the time to avoid lumps and then bring to a simmer for about five minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat, add the cheese and then taste before seasoning with salt and pepper.
To make the risotto, blend the carrot, onion and garlic together in a food processor or chop all very finely. Place in a largish pan, add a slug of oil, the barley and enough water to cover plus another centimetre. Bring to the boil and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes until tender – topping up the water if it appears dry but the aim is to end up with no liquid left.
To serve, place the blanched cauliflower into a heatproof dish, pour the cheese sauce over the top and place in a hot oven for five to ten minutes until beginning to bubble and colour. Stir the pureed beetroot into the risotto (standing back to observe the incredible colour) and spoon onto warmed plates serving the cauliflower cheese on top or alongside.
You could cook this dish without the cauliflower cheese and serve the risotto on its own or with something else. But this really is a tasty and complete vegetarian dish.
Serves two
One small head of cauliflower – leaves removed and florets divided
50g butter
50g plain flour
200ml milk
100g mature cheddar - grated
200g pearl barley
One carrot – peeled
½ an onion – peeled
Two cloves of garlic – peeled
A little extra virgin rape seed or olive oil
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper
One whole beetroot – fresh or pre-cooked and vacuum-packed
If you’ve got an uncooked beetroot, wash it, trim the root and the leaves but don’t cut into the skin in any way. Place in a pan, cover with cold water and bring to the boil. Simmer for 30 to 90 minutes until it’s tender when you insert a pointed knife. Drain, allow to cool a little and then rub the peel off with a cloth. The cooked beetroot then needs pureeing in a food processor or pushing through a sieve.
To make the cauliflower cheese, bring a pan of salted water to the boil and blanch the cauliflower florets in it for two to three minutes. Drain and cool under running water.
Melt the butter in a small saucepan, add the flour and stir, allowing it to cook for a couple of minutes over a low heat. Add the milk bit by bit, stirring all the time to avoid lumps and then bring to a simmer for about five minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat, add the cheese and then taste before seasoning with salt and pepper.
To make the risotto, blend the carrot, onion and garlic together in a food processor or chop all very finely. Place in a largish pan, add a slug of oil, the barley and enough water to cover plus another centimetre. Bring to the boil and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes until tender – topping up the water if it appears dry but the aim is to end up with no liquid left.
To serve, place the blanched cauliflower into a heatproof dish, pour the cheese sauce over the top and place in a hot oven for five to ten minutes until beginning to bubble and colour. Stir the pureed beetroot into the risotto (standing back to observe the incredible colour) and spoon onto warmed plates serving the cauliflower cheese on top or alongside.
My vote
I’ve got a friend who many must think has more money than sense. Tradesmen see him a mile off and make a beeline for his door. It’s not as if he’s stupid; in fact he’s actually very successful at what he does and has made quite a lot of money.
However, when it comes to the practicalities of life, that’s where he’s sadly lacking. I used to say that he didn’t know which end of a screwdriver to use to knock a nail in. Now it seems a local builder got wind because it appears he’s been taken for a ride by an apprentice from Rogue Traders with whom he’s signed up for more work than he needs, in a way that could be done so much better, so much quicker and so much cheaper.
I’m lucky when it comes to things like this. I may not have had the success in business that he’s had but, thanks to my engineering background, when I employ a builder, I have some idea about what’s going on and therefore I’m not at his mercy. I’m not an expert but I know my ridge tile from my rafter. Whereas my mate thinks the former is found in the bathroom and the latter designs lifeboats.
I’ve also got something else over my mate because, while watching the job being done and when standing back once it’s finished, I can gain a certain pleasure from appreciating the level of workmanship because, after all, I might have been able to have a go myself.
Musicians must be the same. While most of us like listening to a bit of music and find it a very important part of life, someone who’s been professionally trained, or at least knows a bit about the subject, will be able to get that extra bit of pleasure from understanding the technique and appreciating the skill used.
And so to food. Eating’s an even more important part of life than listening to music and yet fewer and fewer people seem to have an understanding about what they’re eating. Content to nod acceptance to our government’s missives about eating less fat and consuming our five a day, we rarely seem to question such supposed wisdom and its origins. But could you imagine our reaction if our leaders told us what sort of music we should be listening to – even if we’re not musicians?
As a restaurateur, if I’m not careful it can become irritating when a customer questions the way we cook or source something. But I have to remind myself that that customer is actually taking an interest in the subject and may know something about it – maybe more than we do. That’s a good thing.
A bad thing is people stuffing food into their mouths that’s been grabbed off the shelf, maybe being passed through some sort of domestic oven along the way, with little regard to any list of ingredients or their method of processing. And as if to exemplify such lack of thinking, I recently had a letter from someone disputing our interpretation of a traditional dish and suggesting that to get the correct recipe, we visit a particular national fast food chain of takeaways. Which is a bit rich when you realise there’s little chance of their knowing the provenance, makeup and constituent parts of food from such a place.
It’s obvious that we, as a nation of eaters, do need help. But instead of hearing simplistic messages about fruit and veg and fat that promise an easy solution to long life, perhaps if there were a political party that promised they’d make A levels in cookery mandatory for every school child – and make the law retrospective by 30 years - they’d get my vote.
However, when it comes to the practicalities of life, that’s where he’s sadly lacking. I used to say that he didn’t know which end of a screwdriver to use to knock a nail in. Now it seems a local builder got wind because it appears he’s been taken for a ride by an apprentice from Rogue Traders with whom he’s signed up for more work than he needs, in a way that could be done so much better, so much quicker and so much cheaper.
I’m lucky when it comes to things like this. I may not have had the success in business that he’s had but, thanks to my engineering background, when I employ a builder, I have some idea about what’s going on and therefore I’m not at his mercy. I’m not an expert but I know my ridge tile from my rafter. Whereas my mate thinks the former is found in the bathroom and the latter designs lifeboats.
I’ve also got something else over my mate because, while watching the job being done and when standing back once it’s finished, I can gain a certain pleasure from appreciating the level of workmanship because, after all, I might have been able to have a go myself.
Musicians must be the same. While most of us like listening to a bit of music and find it a very important part of life, someone who’s been professionally trained, or at least knows a bit about the subject, will be able to get that extra bit of pleasure from understanding the technique and appreciating the skill used.
And so to food. Eating’s an even more important part of life than listening to music and yet fewer and fewer people seem to have an understanding about what they’re eating. Content to nod acceptance to our government’s missives about eating less fat and consuming our five a day, we rarely seem to question such supposed wisdom and its origins. But could you imagine our reaction if our leaders told us what sort of music we should be listening to – even if we’re not musicians?
As a restaurateur, if I’m not careful it can become irritating when a customer questions the way we cook or source something. But I have to remind myself that that customer is actually taking an interest in the subject and may know something about it – maybe more than we do. That’s a good thing.
A bad thing is people stuffing food into their mouths that’s been grabbed off the shelf, maybe being passed through some sort of domestic oven along the way, with little regard to any list of ingredients or their method of processing. And as if to exemplify such lack of thinking, I recently had a letter from someone disputing our interpretation of a traditional dish and suggesting that to get the correct recipe, we visit a particular national fast food chain of takeaways. Which is a bit rich when you realise there’s little chance of their knowing the provenance, makeup and constituent parts of food from such a place.
It’s obvious that we, as a nation of eaters, do need help. But instead of hearing simplistic messages about fruit and veg and fat that promise an easy solution to long life, perhaps if there were a political party that promised they’d make A levels in cookery mandatory for every school child – and make the law retrospective by 30 years - they’d get my vote.
Cullen skink with a poached egg
This week’s recipe is technically a soup but could be a meal in itself; a fish and potato dish that gets its name from the fishing village of Cullen, in Morayshire. "Skink" is a soup made originally from a shin of beef but in this case, the main ingredient is smoked haddock. Traditionally served on Burns night, the usual recipe comprises just fish, potato, onion, milk and parsley but this recipe is a little different as we currently serve it in the restaurants with a poached egg on top.
As with most soups this dish is one of the easiest things to make – unless like me, you have a difficulty with professional-looking poached eggs but there’s a tip for this in the recipe. However, the important thing is to try and make sure that the smoked haddock is of the un-dyed sort. Somehow I can’t bring myself to trust the fluorescent yellow stuff.
Serves four
Two fillets of un-dyed smoked haddock - skinned
One large onion – peeled and diced
Three celery sticks – diced
One leek – split open, washed and chopped
Five potatoes – peeled and diced
Two litre of semi-skimmed milk
A handful or two of chopped parsley
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper
Four eggs
Run your hand over the haddock fillets and, if you feel any bones, remove them with tweezers or snipe-nosed pliers. Then cut the fish into bite-sized chunks.
Starting with the poached eggs, you can cook them anyway you’re used to but I do like the spherical ones good chefs can do. They do them by swirling the water in a pan before dropping in the eggs but it rarely works for me. So I recently came up with the idea of laying a piece of clingfilm across a saucer, spreading a little vegetable oil on it and cracking an egg into the middle (the oil stops the egg sticking to the film). Gather the clingfilm together and twist well to seal, being careful not to have any air trapped inside. Repeat with the other three eggs before dropping them into a pan of simmering water for around four minutes or until set. These can be done in advance and then dropped, still in their clingfilm wraps, into cold water to stop them cooking.
To make the soup, put the potatoes and milk into a large saucepan and bring to the boil. Simmer for around ten minutes and then add the onion, celery and leek. Continue to simmer for another five minutes or so before adding the fish. Simmer for another couple of minutes before removing from the heat. You’ll notice that the potatoes have started to break-down slightly with their starch starting to thicken the soup. Taste and adjust the seasoning before stirring in the chopped parsley and spooning into warmed bowls.
A minute before the pre-cooked eggs are needed, drop them again into simmering water for 30 seconds to heat through before removing them, cutting the clingfilm with scissors and placing the perfect poached egg on top of your skink.
As with most soups this dish is one of the easiest things to make – unless like me, you have a difficulty with professional-looking poached eggs but there’s a tip for this in the recipe. However, the important thing is to try and make sure that the smoked haddock is of the un-dyed sort. Somehow I can’t bring myself to trust the fluorescent yellow stuff.
Serves four
Two fillets of un-dyed smoked haddock - skinned
One large onion – peeled and diced
Three celery sticks – diced
One leek – split open, washed and chopped
Five potatoes – peeled and diced
Two litre of semi-skimmed milk
A handful or two of chopped parsley
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper
Four eggs
Run your hand over the haddock fillets and, if you feel any bones, remove them with tweezers or snipe-nosed pliers. Then cut the fish into bite-sized chunks.
Starting with the poached eggs, you can cook them anyway you’re used to but I do like the spherical ones good chefs can do. They do them by swirling the water in a pan before dropping in the eggs but it rarely works for me. So I recently came up with the idea of laying a piece of clingfilm across a saucer, spreading a little vegetable oil on it and cracking an egg into the middle (the oil stops the egg sticking to the film). Gather the clingfilm together and twist well to seal, being careful not to have any air trapped inside. Repeat with the other three eggs before dropping them into a pan of simmering water for around four minutes or until set. These can be done in advance and then dropped, still in their clingfilm wraps, into cold water to stop them cooking.
To make the soup, put the potatoes and milk into a large saucepan and bring to the boil. Simmer for around ten minutes and then add the onion, celery and leek. Continue to simmer for another five minutes or so before adding the fish. Simmer for another couple of minutes before removing from the heat. You’ll notice that the potatoes have started to break-down slightly with their starch starting to thicken the soup. Taste and adjust the seasoning before stirring in the chopped parsley and spooning into warmed bowls.
A minute before the pre-cooked eggs are needed, drop them again into simmering water for 30 seconds to heat through before removing them, cutting the clingfilm with scissors and placing the perfect poached egg on top of your skink.
How fast can you cook?
I type these articles and recipes on a computer and, over the years, have very much convinced myself that to do so saves me time and makes my job easier. I’m all for this as, like most people, I live a busy life and will grab at anything that’ll give me more time. Computers are a Godsend – until they go wrong of course. Then, the amount of time spent trying to fix them is disproportionate to the benefit received. It’s made even worse for me because I think I’m a bit of a “techie” and believe I can fix anything. It usually takes me a long time to find out that I can’t.
However, modern life is full of things that make life easier and faster, enabling us to take on more and become more effective than ever. Or at least that’s the aim. For instance, I’ve got a very clever mobile phone that sends me emails, takes videos of my drunken friends, reminds me to do things I’d otherwise forget and lets me answer calls while driving – on the hands free of course. So obviously life is more productive. Isn’t it?
It’s one of the reasons we’ve developed fast food. Apart from making many people very rich by selling us over-seasoned, impossible-to-sell-otherwise remnants of meat, fast food is there to prevent us spending unnecessary time slaving over a hot stove when we could be doing much more productive things like watching television.
Every second of the day can thus be utilised usefully rather than just wasting it which was obviously what we used to do. Didn’t we?
Despite being a total convert to all things technological, I keep getting these nagging doubts that try to persuade me otherwise. My wife was driving me back from a meal the other day. So I grabbed a notepad from the passenger door pocket and wrote a letter that I’d normally compose on a computer. Even accounting for transferring it to my laptop when I got home, I somehow think I did it more efficiently. Impossible of course.
And a few days ago I spoke to wife as I left work and we both said that we couldn’t be bothered cooking that night so I offered to make a detour and pick up a takeaway – which took me 15 minutes out of my way plus a further 15 minutes to get home plus a reheat when I got there and resulted in a £12 bill for my efforts. And we left quite a lot of it.
As a lay, stuffed, on the sofa in front of the TV, this started to bug me and the thought must have lingered over the next 24 hours because the following evening, as I opened the cupboard door to remove vegetables with which to make a soup, I decided to time how long it took me to cook the meal from scratch.
Despite not being a particularly fast cook, I made a celeriac and parsnip soup in 12 minutes including the blending time. Of course I had to leave it to simmer but I used those 30 minutes to have a shower, pour myself a drink and read the paper. But my actual used-up time was 720 seconds. And the meal cost pennies. And was delicious.
There’s no doubt that cooking sure beat the takeaway but I’m not completely clear about all there is to be learnt from the exercise. Maybe I’ll have time to think about it when I’ve rebooted this computer to try and stop it playing up.
However, modern life is full of things that make life easier and faster, enabling us to take on more and become more effective than ever. Or at least that’s the aim. For instance, I’ve got a very clever mobile phone that sends me emails, takes videos of my drunken friends, reminds me to do things I’d otherwise forget and lets me answer calls while driving – on the hands free of course. So obviously life is more productive. Isn’t it?
It’s one of the reasons we’ve developed fast food. Apart from making many people very rich by selling us over-seasoned, impossible-to-sell-otherwise remnants of meat, fast food is there to prevent us spending unnecessary time slaving over a hot stove when we could be doing much more productive things like watching television.
Every second of the day can thus be utilised usefully rather than just wasting it which was obviously what we used to do. Didn’t we?
Despite being a total convert to all things technological, I keep getting these nagging doubts that try to persuade me otherwise. My wife was driving me back from a meal the other day. So I grabbed a notepad from the passenger door pocket and wrote a letter that I’d normally compose on a computer. Even accounting for transferring it to my laptop when I got home, I somehow think I did it more efficiently. Impossible of course.
And a few days ago I spoke to wife as I left work and we both said that we couldn’t be bothered cooking that night so I offered to make a detour and pick up a takeaway – which took me 15 minutes out of my way plus a further 15 minutes to get home plus a reheat when I got there and resulted in a £12 bill for my efforts. And we left quite a lot of it.
As a lay, stuffed, on the sofa in front of the TV, this started to bug me and the thought must have lingered over the next 24 hours because the following evening, as I opened the cupboard door to remove vegetables with which to make a soup, I decided to time how long it took me to cook the meal from scratch.
Despite not being a particularly fast cook, I made a celeriac and parsnip soup in 12 minutes including the blending time. Of course I had to leave it to simmer but I used those 30 minutes to have a shower, pour myself a drink and read the paper. But my actual used-up time was 720 seconds. And the meal cost pennies. And was delicious.
There’s no doubt that cooking sure beat the takeaway but I’m not completely clear about all there is to be learnt from the exercise. Maybe I’ll have time to think about it when I’ve rebooted this computer to try and stop it playing up.
Mince with leek dumpling and peppery swede mash
Spring may be on its way but we still need warming winter dishes, whether eating at home or in restaurants. The following recipe is reminiscent of school dinners or, at least, how they should have been if prepared and served well and is a popular dish at the moment at Oldfields. And it’s interesting to note that there’s no powdered stock cube to lift, add to or mask the flavours. Just making sure you use good quality beef and sweat the vegetables properly allows the ingredients to speak for themselves.
If you’re not sure how good the minced beef might be in those plastic-wrapped polystyrene trays, try buying a little rump steak, chopping it into cubes and dropping a few at a time into a food processor until minced, being careful not to over-process.
Serves two
200g best beef mince
One carrot – peeled and roughly chopped
One onion – peeled and roughly chopped
One medium swede – peeled and roughly chopped
One sprig of fresh thyme
A little vegetable oil
One tablespoon of plain flour
One leek – split down the middle, washed and thinly sliced
100g self-raising flour
50g suet
Butter for the swede
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper
White pepper – freshly-ground if possible
Pre-heat the oven to 180°C (gas mark 4)
Place the carrot, onion and a quarter of the swede into a food processor and blend until finely chopped. Heat a little vegetable oil into a large saucepan (oven-proof if possible) and gently sweat the blended vegetables for five to ten minutes, being careful not to let them brown.
Meanwhile, in a bowl, mix the self-raising flour, suet, sliced leeks and a pinch of salt and add enough water to make a firm but pliable dough – it’ll be four or five tablespoonfuls. Using your hands, mould into dumplings.
Turn up the heat a little under the pan, add the minced beef and brown. Add the plain flour and stir to cook it off for a couple of minutes. Then add the thyme, a little salt and pepper and about half a cup of water; enough to keep it wet. Place the dumplings on top of the mixture and place in the oven for 20 minutes or so, transferring the mixture to a casserole dish if the if the pan’s not oven-proof.
While that’s cooking, boil the remaining swede in salted water for 20 minutes or until tender. Drain, add a good knob of butter, a generous amount of white pepper to taste and then mash until smooth.
If you’re not sure how good the minced beef might be in those plastic-wrapped polystyrene trays, try buying a little rump steak, chopping it into cubes and dropping a few at a time into a food processor until minced, being careful not to over-process.
Serves two
200g best beef mince
One carrot – peeled and roughly chopped
One onion – peeled and roughly chopped
One medium swede – peeled and roughly chopped
One sprig of fresh thyme
A little vegetable oil
One tablespoon of plain flour
One leek – split down the middle, washed and thinly sliced
100g self-raising flour
50g suet
Butter for the swede
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper
White pepper – freshly-ground if possible
Pre-heat the oven to 180°C (gas mark 4)
Place the carrot, onion and a quarter of the swede into a food processor and blend until finely chopped. Heat a little vegetable oil into a large saucepan (oven-proof if possible) and gently sweat the blended vegetables for five to ten minutes, being careful not to let them brown.
Meanwhile, in a bowl, mix the self-raising flour, suet, sliced leeks and a pinch of salt and add enough water to make a firm but pliable dough – it’ll be four or five tablespoonfuls. Using your hands, mould into dumplings.
Turn up the heat a little under the pan, add the minced beef and brown. Add the plain flour and stir to cook it off for a couple of minutes. Then add the thyme, a little salt and pepper and about half a cup of water; enough to keep it wet. Place the dumplings on top of the mixture and place in the oven for 20 minutes or so, transferring the mixture to a casserole dish if the if the pan’s not oven-proof.
While that’s cooking, boil the remaining swede in salted water for 20 minutes or until tender. Drain, add a good knob of butter, a generous amount of white pepper to taste and then mash until smooth.
How're feeling?
Out of the blue I received a call from the Jeremy Vine Radio 2 programme last week. For some reason they wanted to ask how the news of the Corus steel works closing was going to effect business. I’m not clear why they picked on me but it might have been because they also rang us up when they heard about one of our staff walking 14 miles to work through the snow, realised I lived and worked in the North East and that I could talk without taking a breath.
After initial conversations with a researcher and while I was waiting for them to phone back, I wondered what I was going to say. “We’re all doomed” came to mind or “Someone’s got to do something” which always seems to be the cry of the drowning man. Maybe I could rant about the government, the opposition or all self-serving politicians in general. Then there’s always the refuge of the independantalists and I could blame it all on Europe or possibly, even, the rest of the world (I’m not paranoid but they are all out to get us).
Bolstered by caffeine and raring to go, the phone rang on cue and I was asked a question by Jeremy who then, to my surprise, just seemed to shut up and let me talk. And all my well-rehearsed stuff just disappeared. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten it. I just changed my mind. I felt I just had to “talk up” the North East. Here I was, in front of a national audience, with the opportunity to tell everyone what a great place our region is in which to live, work and visit. And maybe get a few extra restaurant bookings as a bonus.
Because in reality, steel jobs in Teesside don’t have a direct impact on the level of trade in businesses such as ours. We will have some customers who work there, or are related to someone who works there, or who work for someone who supplies them. But the thing that effects us the most, as I learnt during the foot and mouth outbreak, is that when things go wrong in one sector of the community, everybody’s made to feel down. Bad news is a good news story and spreads a bad mood like wildfire. You can’t blame the media because we’re all to blame. Hands up anybody who hasn’t had the urge, at least once in their life, to be the bearer of some major bad news they’ve just heard. We all like a bit of drama and good news just doesn’t seem to have as much as bad.
And the problem with restaurants is that no one actually absolutely has to go out for a meal. We have to get fuel for our cars. We have to buy food to eat to keep alive but eating out in restaurants is not a total necessity – more’s the pity.
But when we feel good, that’s when we book that extra little luxury in our lives. We start planning for our holidays, maybe buying a few extra clothes and, if I’m lucky, deciding to go out for meals. If only the region’s football teams were always at the top of their respective leagues, I’d be able to retire in a few years, such is the effect their results have on our mood and thus collective economic activity.
So it’s important that, despite the bad stories – and there will always be bad stories – we remember the other side: spring is coming, Newcastle United have won quite a few matches and we don’t live in the South East.
Who’s for dinner anyone?
After initial conversations with a researcher and while I was waiting for them to phone back, I wondered what I was going to say. “We’re all doomed” came to mind or “Someone’s got to do something” which always seems to be the cry of the drowning man. Maybe I could rant about the government, the opposition or all self-serving politicians in general. Then there’s always the refuge of the independantalists and I could blame it all on Europe or possibly, even, the rest of the world (I’m not paranoid but they are all out to get us).
Bolstered by caffeine and raring to go, the phone rang on cue and I was asked a question by Jeremy who then, to my surprise, just seemed to shut up and let me talk. And all my well-rehearsed stuff just disappeared. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten it. I just changed my mind. I felt I just had to “talk up” the North East. Here I was, in front of a national audience, with the opportunity to tell everyone what a great place our region is in which to live, work and visit. And maybe get a few extra restaurant bookings as a bonus.
Because in reality, steel jobs in Teesside don’t have a direct impact on the level of trade in businesses such as ours. We will have some customers who work there, or are related to someone who works there, or who work for someone who supplies them. But the thing that effects us the most, as I learnt during the foot and mouth outbreak, is that when things go wrong in one sector of the community, everybody’s made to feel down. Bad news is a good news story and spreads a bad mood like wildfire. You can’t blame the media because we’re all to blame. Hands up anybody who hasn’t had the urge, at least once in their life, to be the bearer of some major bad news they’ve just heard. We all like a bit of drama and good news just doesn’t seem to have as much as bad.
And the problem with restaurants is that no one actually absolutely has to go out for a meal. We have to get fuel for our cars. We have to buy food to eat to keep alive but eating out in restaurants is not a total necessity – more’s the pity.
But when we feel good, that’s when we book that extra little luxury in our lives. We start planning for our holidays, maybe buying a few extra clothes and, if I’m lucky, deciding to go out for meals. If only the region’s football teams were always at the top of their respective leagues, I’d be able to retire in a few years, such is the effect their results have on our mood and thus collective economic activity.
So it’s important that, despite the bad stories – and there will always be bad stories – we remember the other side: spring is coming, Newcastle United have won quite a few matches and we don’t live in the South East.
Who’s for dinner anyone?
Yoghurt cake
This is one of the lightest and freshest desserts you can think of. And somehow just making and eating it reminds me that spring is just around the corner. The recipe calls for a vanilla pod. You could use a little vanilla extract or essence but don’t be tempted to use anything called vanilla flavouring; it’ll make the cake taste of chemicals.
The caramelised walnuts are a nice contrast from the fluffiness of the cake but you could use other nuts such as hazelnuts or pecans. Or you could even use mixed dried fruits with the nuts. The method’s exactly the same.
To serve four or five
Three eggs - separated
70g caster sugar
One vanilla pod
350g natural yoghurt
Zest of an orange
Juice and zest of a lemon
20g plain flour
A further two tablespoons of caster sugar
A handful of walnut halves
Pre-heat the oven to 180°C, gas mark 4
First, the nuts. Place the two tablespoons of caster sugar in a small heavy-bottomed saucepan over a medium heat. After a few minutes, the sugar will start to melt and, after a few minutes more, will start to colour. Give it a gentle stir once or twice to evenly colour and then remove from the heat. Break up the walnut halves a little and stir them into the caramel before spooning the mixture out onto greaseproof paper. Allow to cool before breaking into pieces.
To make the cake, in a bowl, and using a wooden spoon, cream the egg yokes with the castor sugar until the mix goes pale. Split the vanilla pod lengthwise and, with the point of a knife, scrape the sticky seeds out and add them to the egg and sugar mixture along with the orange and lemon juice, the lemon zest, flour and yoghurt. Mix well.
In a scrupulously clean large bowl, whisk the egg whites until forming soft peaks and, using a metal spoon, fold them into the yoghurt mix.
Spoon the mixture into a small casserole dish, loaf tin or flan dish with a solid bottom. Place that dish into a roasting tin and add enough water to come 1” up the outside of the cake’s container. Place in the oven and bake for 30 minutes or so until the top has browned a little and the cake resembles a light sponge with wet custard.
To serve, spoon a portion of the cake onto a plate and place broken pieces of caramelised nuts on top.
The caramelised walnuts are a nice contrast from the fluffiness of the cake but you could use other nuts such as hazelnuts or pecans. Or you could even use mixed dried fruits with the nuts. The method’s exactly the same.
To serve four or five
Three eggs - separated
70g caster sugar
One vanilla pod
350g natural yoghurt
Zest of an orange
Juice and zest of a lemon
20g plain flour
A further two tablespoons of caster sugar
A handful of walnut halves
Pre-heat the oven to 180°C, gas mark 4
First, the nuts. Place the two tablespoons of caster sugar in a small heavy-bottomed saucepan over a medium heat. After a few minutes, the sugar will start to melt and, after a few minutes more, will start to colour. Give it a gentle stir once or twice to evenly colour and then remove from the heat. Break up the walnut halves a little and stir them into the caramel before spooning the mixture out onto greaseproof paper. Allow to cool before breaking into pieces.
To make the cake, in a bowl, and using a wooden spoon, cream the egg yokes with the castor sugar until the mix goes pale. Split the vanilla pod lengthwise and, with the point of a knife, scrape the sticky seeds out and add them to the egg and sugar mixture along with the orange and lemon juice, the lemon zest, flour and yoghurt. Mix well.
In a scrupulously clean large bowl, whisk the egg whites until forming soft peaks and, using a metal spoon, fold them into the yoghurt mix.
Spoon the mixture into a small casserole dish, loaf tin or flan dish with a solid bottom. Place that dish into a roasting tin and add enough water to come 1” up the outside of the cake’s container. Place in the oven and bake for 30 minutes or so until the top has browned a little and the cake resembles a light sponge with wet custard.
To serve, spoon a portion of the cake onto a plate and place broken pieces of caramelised nuts on top.
Taste
Of course, it almost goes without saying that I’ve got impeccable taste. Well I would think that, wouldn’t I? Just as you probably think you have too. In fact it’s unlikely that I’ve ever met anyone who declares that their own taste to be appalling – even if it obviously is. And what is taste? An understanding of what looks good to wear, or possibly how one’s house is decorated? All in the best possible taste.
But taste, as far as I’m concerned, is something you experience when you stick something in your mouth. And, when it comes to that, I’ve definitely got impeccable taste. If I like it, so should you. But you don’t always, do you?
So, why is it that we like different things? You know what I mean: he likes Marmite and she hates it and so on. I remember being surprised when I first went to school to find that other children didn’t like the things I did. I guessed this was for a couple of reasons: first, we were born naturally different and second, we were brought up in different ways. And it’s that latter thought that interests me because, if it’s correct, it means we can blame the parents. And we can change ourselves.
I know that I’ve deliberately made myself like something that I’ve previously hated. Not just forcing myself, over a period of a year or two, like I did with whisky - after getting myself so drunk on it as a teenager that merely the smell of it could make me retch. I’m so pleased I succeeded.
No, it was rather seeing other people get a kick out of certain foods that I wouldn’t touch that got me thinking I wanted the same kick as them because I was obviously missing something. And as a result, these days I’ll eat virtually anything that you’ll eat; with the caveat that it helps if it’s cooked well and made from reasonable ingredients.
You frequently hear that it’s difficult to get children to eat their vegetables but it occurs to me that if they’re made to experience them as a natural part of life, not give them any choice or prejudices, then life’s so much easier. When I had my own children, I made the conscious decision that, once they were old enough, whenever they wanted a snack or a treat, they received fruit or vegetables. And so it was that you’d see them sitting in their pushchairs sucking on orange segments, bananas and carrots. They thoughts sweets were something only grandparents produced.
As a result they didn’t actually get into sweet things until they were quite a bit older than their contemporaries and while, once they’d experienced it, they loved chocolate as much as anyone, they loved fruit and vegetables too. After all, if they hadn’t eaten the healthy stuff, they probably feared I’d starve them.
I’m sure this conditioning effects us all and the way we’re brought up from day one determines to a large extent what we’re prepared to eat in later life. This isn’t some scientific study but I reckon the theory’s got legs.
So, next time I see you in one of our restaurants, I’ll be able to listen to what you say when you read the menu, hear what you like and dislike and know exactly how you were brought up.
But, of course, you’ve got such good taste. It’s just that mine’s better than yours.
But taste, as far as I’m concerned, is something you experience when you stick something in your mouth. And, when it comes to that, I’ve definitely got impeccable taste. If I like it, so should you. But you don’t always, do you?
So, why is it that we like different things? You know what I mean: he likes Marmite and she hates it and so on. I remember being surprised when I first went to school to find that other children didn’t like the things I did. I guessed this was for a couple of reasons: first, we were born naturally different and second, we were brought up in different ways. And it’s that latter thought that interests me because, if it’s correct, it means we can blame the parents. And we can change ourselves.
I know that I’ve deliberately made myself like something that I’ve previously hated. Not just forcing myself, over a period of a year or two, like I did with whisky - after getting myself so drunk on it as a teenager that merely the smell of it could make me retch. I’m so pleased I succeeded.
No, it was rather seeing other people get a kick out of certain foods that I wouldn’t touch that got me thinking I wanted the same kick as them because I was obviously missing something. And as a result, these days I’ll eat virtually anything that you’ll eat; with the caveat that it helps if it’s cooked well and made from reasonable ingredients.
You frequently hear that it’s difficult to get children to eat their vegetables but it occurs to me that if they’re made to experience them as a natural part of life, not give them any choice or prejudices, then life’s so much easier. When I had my own children, I made the conscious decision that, once they were old enough, whenever they wanted a snack or a treat, they received fruit or vegetables. And so it was that you’d see them sitting in their pushchairs sucking on orange segments, bananas and carrots. They thoughts sweets were something only grandparents produced.
As a result they didn’t actually get into sweet things until they were quite a bit older than their contemporaries and while, once they’d experienced it, they loved chocolate as much as anyone, they loved fruit and vegetables too. After all, if they hadn’t eaten the healthy stuff, they probably feared I’d starve them.
I’m sure this conditioning effects us all and the way we’re brought up from day one determines to a large extent what we’re prepared to eat in later life. This isn’t some scientific study but I reckon the theory’s got legs.
So, next time I see you in one of our restaurants, I’ll be able to listen to what you say when you read the menu, hear what you like and dislike and know exactly how you were brought up.
But, of course, you’ve got such good taste. It’s just that mine’s better than yours.
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