MasterChef Live: The stand that was in the top 1.

Take the fun of trying a new culinary item, multiply it until it fills a large hall, then add a MasterChef show.   I found there was too much going on to actually concentrate on the live show, but in my quest for the hits, misses and maybes among the stands I could live with that.

My top find of the day wasn’t actually edible (or otherwise imbibable) but scores a perfect 10/10.  Used to using cheap, bendy, cutting-at-bizarrely-unintended-angle type knives, I was keen to try out some knives that worked.  Kin Knives (http://www.kinknives.com) had a stand, with their knives on display and a chance to put them through their paces.  The geek streak in me had a dim recollection from chemistry levels about the use of carbon steel for sharp blades, so after a brief similarly geeky chat with the stall holder about laminated steels vs carbon steel vs other tech specs that I have forgotten,  I tried out their carbon steel vegetable knife.

The knife felt amazingly well balanced in my hand, and I forced myself to stay objective to assess how well it cut.  Having got half a tomato skin side up on a chopping board, I gave the edge of the blade the merest suggestion of pressure, and with none of the slippage or resistance usually experienced cutting tomatoes with a non-serrated knife, the blade whispered through the flesh of the tomato, and a small way into the chopping board too.  Effortlessly perfect.   If I can make a knive perform like that, I can only imagine what someone properly trained in knifemanship could do- dreams of silk scarves being thrown into the air and severed mid-flight with a flick of the wrist…

 In the interests of fairness, I also tried out some ceramic knives.  They were good, exceptional even,  but compared to the Kin knife they were like Ikea’s shoddiest.

Oh I was tempted to invest in that knife, and a beautiful stone on which to sharpen it.  The thought of the practicalities of temporary accommodation intervened, but make no mistake, I have found my dream knife.

G and D Ice Cream cafe Oxford.

Good coffee is always welcome.  Good coffee served in an independent café which bills itself as an Ice Cream Café has me salivating at the world of coffee break opportunities.

I have The Geek God to thank for introducing me to G & D's Ice Cream Café- The Geek God has similar priorities to me when it comes to food and drink so I knew it was going to be good.

The Geek God also tipped me off to the fact that they make Stout flavour ice cream.  Naturally this set my curiosity meter to 'high'- would this work? would it be good? if the stout flavours included coffee, would it be a match made in heaven with an Americano? or would I be disappointed and wish I had gone for chocolate ice cream and an overall mocha taste theme?

The first sensation was unsurprisingly a hit of icy smoothness, followed by a definite hoppy tang, with underlying bitterness, and a pervasive creaminess (again unsurprisingly).  I was impressed, the combination of ice cream and stout worked very well even if it did lack the predicted coffee flavours.  That was amply made up for by my coffee which was obviously made from freshly ground beans and served at my perfect strength. Taking a sip of coffee before the ice cream also left heat in my mouth to help melt the ice cream...mmmm.

I'm also left wondering whether a grown-up ice cream float would work, replacing the lemonade with stout.  I will try this out in miniature on some willing friends and report back!

So 9/10 for G&D's, with their excellent food and drinks complemented by a relaxed yet buzzing atmosphere, complete with the scattering of self-consciously cool/studious people you'd expect in Oxford: essay crises via Jack Wills.

This is the website for G&D's:
http://gdcafe.com/FrontPage/frontPage.htm

Marks and Spencer Salted Caramel Chocolate

Having spotted this by the checkout at M&S I knew I had to buy some to greedily devour taste test and blog about as a purely scientific exercise.  Any sweet food which contains a salty or savoury element immediately fires my imagination and taste buds, so I was already enthusiastic about this before I even tried some.  Being M&S too, I was expecting it to be not just any caramel chocolate, but an M&S caramel chocolate.  It didn't disappoint in this respect, being far removed from what is probably it's nearest mass market relation, Cadbury's Caramel.

The bar was 100g, or 12 generous squares (large squares are probably required for a flattish bar with a liquid filling to work).  The chocolate itself was excellent.  It broke with an agreeably crisp snap and melted very smoothly in my mouth.  It reminded me of swiss chocolate though I am sure if it was it would have been blazoned on the pack.  I will return to the flavour of the chocolate later.  

The caramel was quite runny, although again this may be a practical requirement given the dimensions of the bar.  I feel that a chewier caramel adds more textural interest, and a cube or sphere of caramel is my ideal as it is easier for the caramel to shine and the chocolate to play a supporting role rather than the other way around, which was the case here.  I am aware, however, that my mental archetype of a salted caramel is from Galler (http://www.galler.com/index.php).  That was a definite 10/10 when I tasted it- alas, in pre-blogging days- and has inevitably suffered from mental exaggeration of its awesomeness so I try to remind myself not to compare others to it, but I just can't help it.

Back now to the UK in 2010.  The caramel in the M&S version has a perceptible but subtle amount of salt which works well in highlighting the buttery element of the flavour, and by some kind of synaesthetic trick also enhances the smooth mouth feel of the caramel.  Despite this I can't help but feel that if you're going for a salted caramel it's worth really nailing your colours to the mast and going for a more prominence with the salt. I think I'd have to try an salted caramel that overdid it with the salt before I could specify what the happy medium would be.

The chocolate was sweet, and I wondered if it could do with being a bit darker, before realising that the chocolate does need to be sweet to be able to stand up to all the sugar in the caramel. 

This bar has a beautiful, lingering aftertaste of caramel which I absolutely loved, and thus had to chase by eating another square.  Health warning: the huge sweetness of this bar creeps up slowly but after about 6 squares, wow you are aware of it.  

Verdict: a solid 7/10.

Thinking about both  this bar and about lime-tequila-salt shots, I wonder whether salt a) makes things feel smoother in the mouth and b) prolongs a smooth aftertaste. 

Worcestershire Pearmain Apple

Autumn is here. Summer is wonderful, and I have no complaints when September has Indian Summer weather and the carefree summer vibe can linger on. That said, I do love the cosiness of autumn and find a kind of security in the rhythm of autumn days- the best kind of a back-to-school feeling despite being well past school age, with the added promise of evenings curled around a bottle of red wine and snuggling up against the cold.  Part of this romantic ideal of autumn for me is apple season.  I eat at least one apple every day throughout the year but admit that a fair proportion of these are imported from the reliable sun of South Africa when apples are out of season over here.  Now that it's mid-September, however, there is no excuse for such flagrant disregard of food miles.

I stumbled across several different varieties of English apples in the greengrocer's last week and selected one that appealed visually (and didn't yield to a gentle check of firmness..) This was the Worcestershire Pearmain.  Moderately sized and red and green-skinned, these are known for their strawberry flavour; see http://www.orangepippin.com/apples/worcester-pearmain for more details.

I only found out about the strawberry in the course of researching this post, but I did  taste floral and red fruit elements in this variety of apple.  The flesh was relatively crisp- to give an indication of where it falls in terms of red apples I'd say not as crisp as a Braeburn but crisper than your average Pink Lady.  It wasn't powdery at all which pleased me.  It was moderately juicy and with the tastebuds of faith I'd say I can see why people might describe the flavour as strawberry-like.

It pleased me to find this example of seasonal local produce, or at least produce from this country.  I've decided that I've been quite generous with my ratings and maybe need to be a little harsher, so this is getting 6/10.

Pimp my Mint Tea

Mint tea is pretty damn good, balancing as it does the soothing qualities of a warm cuppa with a refreshing mouth tingling zing.  It is drinkable in teabags from the supermarket and it is more delicate but still drinkable in the form of some leaves from the garden macerated (plus or minus a bit of helpful leaf-directed squishing from a teaspoon) in freshly boiled water.

I don't rate the genuine stuff from Morocco as drinkable; saturated sugar solutions aren't my thing, and I find the stewed mint flavour combined with the sweetness nauseating.  I had to politely sip at the stuff on far too many occasions during a holiday in Marrakech until I realised I could wait until The Photographer and The Bellydancer had finished theirs then discreetly swap our glasses. 

It was therefore with mixed feelings that I received a present from The Fiesta: a bag of Moroccan Mint loose herbal tea from The Cragg Sisters Tearoom in Aldeburgh- it could be good, it could be sickly, which way would it go?

Even just opening the bag released such a stream of minty freshness that my sinuses felt comprehensively invigorated.  It consisted of green gunpowder tea leaves mixed with dried peppermint leaves, and best of all for me, no sugar.

A pot of this tea was made in due course and I was delighted that I'd never imagined mint tea could taste this good.   It was the tea equivalent of the difference between freshly ground quality coffee and mediocre instant stuff.  The green gunpowder tea base gives the tea a strong backbone and staying power on top over which the clean taste of the peppermint can shine without becoming overwhelming.  9/10 for head clearing aromatic freshness.

Poulet au vinagire

Following a decision to expand the range of herbs that I cook with, I went to The Mothership's herb garden for inspiration. I hadn't used much tarragon before so I found a recipe that called for it. This is Delia Smith's adaption of 'poulet au vinaigre'.

The tarragon complemented the chicken well. Its flavour is difficult to describe, I'd say that once cooked it was partly reminiscent of lemon, raw green pepper and maybe a tiny bit of aniseed. I think the tarragon I used was Russian Tarragon which is inferior to French Tarragon. From doing some reading about this it seems like French Tarragon is a very particular plant and needs a fair amount of attention for it to flourish. The tarragon in the garden seems to be growing very happily without any special treatment, plus I think it didn't give as much flavour to the finished dish as French Tarragon should.

This version was 6/10 but I will try it with French Tarragon (and without burning it) and see if this elevates the score.

For anyone who has, or aspires to have, their own vegetable/herb garden, I was interested to read that not many pests like tarragon and growing it amongst other plants helps keep the pests away from these too.

Here is the recipe I used:

From Delia's Summer Collection: Chicken with Sherry Vinegar and Tarragon Sauce

For 4 generous portions

1.75 kg chicken, jointed into 8 pieces
150 ml sherry vinegar (I used white wine vinegar)
425ml medium-dry Amontillado sherry
12 shallots, peeled
4 cloves garlic, peeled
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp fresh tarragon leaves plus small sprigs of tarragon to garnish
1 heaped tbsp creme fraiche
salt and pepper to taste

Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan, while doing this season the chicken pieces with salt and pepper.
Fry the chicken pieces until golden brown (this is best done in two batches) then remove these to a plate.
Add shallots and garlic to the pan until these are slightly brown.
Turn the heat down, put the chicken pieces back into the pan with the shallots and garlic, scatter the tarragon leaves into the pan and add the sherry vinegar and sherry. Pour glasses of sherry for the people you are cooking for and yourself too, enjoy.
Let the contents of the pan come up to a simmer, then turn the heat down until barely simmering.
Leave for 45 minutes, turning the chicken pieces halfway through this time. The sauce will reduce during this time.
Do keep checking there is still some sauce, don't leave it and go and enjoy a summer's evening in the garden with everyone else and plenty more sherry as I did, or you risk the sauce starting to 'caramelise' and yourself starting to marinade in sherry.
Remove the chicken pieces, shallots and garlic from the pan onto a warmed serving plate. Whisk the creme fraiche into the remaining sauce and season to taste. This still works if the sauce has started to catch a bit, as I found out!

Serve with new potatoes, or rice, or whatever you fancy. As the picture shows, in my slightly inebriated wisdom I had decided to add diced carrots to the rice part way through cooking the rice.

Bakewell Pudding

A camping holiday in the gorgeous surroundings of the Peak District was not going to be complete for me without a pilgrimage to Bakewell.  This was the birthplace of the Bakewell Pudding, made even more famous (particularly to masses of southerners) by Mr Kipling's Bakewell Tart.  I know their pastry tastes of cardboard.  I know you can feel the icing corroding your teeth as you bite through it.  I know the almond flavouring was what Agatha Christie had in mind every time she described that tell-tale almond scent of cyanide.  Despite all this I am quite partial to these, especially the newish Bakewell Slices they do as this equates to more almondy goodness with less pastry. 

Back to Bakewell: The Blonde and I were in an outdoor kit shop when the very friendly shop assistant started chatting to us about our plans.  She explained to us that a Bakewell Tart was the variety topped with icing and a cherry, but that 'pudding' referred to the true Bakewell delicacy.  She also told us where to go to find one, and the story behind the origins of the Bakewell Pudding. 

According to her, there was already a pie which featured a layer of almond filling topped with jam.  A maid at the Rutland Arms hotel in Bakewell once made the mistake of putting the jam into the pastry first and the almond mixture on top.  The resulting pie was serendipitously better than what was intended and the Bakewell Pudding was born.

We were also advised where to go to buy a truly authentic Bakewell Pudding- The Bakewell Pudding Shop is one of these places and off we went to get a pudding.

By the time we ate it, the paper bag it came in had turned translucent which left us in no doubt about the health credentials of this treat!  Aesthetically the pudding wasn't that impressive.  Nicely burnished on top but otherwise all the same shade of pastry beige. 

The crust was flaky pastry, rather than the shortcrust we were anticipating.  I think the jam layer was plum jam, at any rate the sweet fruitiness was complemented by a a hint of a woody/bitter note.  The almond topping was quite custardy, rather than the sponge cake-like affair used by Mr Kipling.

I enjoyed it, and think it merits 7/10.  It was quite aptly less synthetic and more subtle than the tart version.  It was also more filling, due to the fat content no doubt! 

In the course of researching the Bakewell Pudding further for this post, I've discovered that it should be served warm.  As with most pastry dishes this would make the pastry seem lighter; it would also make the filling less dense and I think maybe elevate the Pudding up to 8/10.