Jack's Dinner

My youngest grandson loves food. Eating it and cooking it. He cooked these fresh mackerel, asparagus salad and crushed new potatoes for dinner this week. Jack has a natural flair for cooking and a good palate although he insists he doesn't want to be a Chef de Cuisine.

Balkan Food Market

We've just returned from our travels through The Baltic Countries beginning with Sweden, moving on to Finland, then Russia, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Poland, Germany and finishing in Denmark. All this achieved cruising on The Clipper Adventurer, a small cruise ship with just over one hundred passengers, a wonderful crew, delicious food and The Baltic Sea and The Gulf of Finland as calm as a duck pond all of the way. I ate fresh fish every day and above is a small example of the foods sold in a local food market - but I can't remember which country we were in when I took the photos!

Most of the time I was caught up emotionally with the people in Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia as the local guides proudly showed us their towns and cities and talked gently of The Troubled Times leading up to 1991 and their eventual freedom. Freedom from the Nazis to the left of them and the Russians to the right of them. Centuries of occupation, invasion and they are at last free. I kept imagining if this had been us here in the UK and simply how lucky we all are as no matter how we feel about our governments we have no idea how it was for the people of these countries. They are rebuilding their beautiful cities and they welcome visitors like us with great charm and speak our language perfectly.

We were in Finland and a pompous Git in our very privileged group asked the Finnish guide if they 'had a lot of trouble from the Eastern Europeans coming into their country and taking their jobs' I held my breath waiting for her reply and she answered

'We have many Estonians coming here to work and they are excellent carpenters so when they arrive they start up their own carpentry businesses and are a great asset to us and our economy'

That shut him up.

Summer Moules

Lovely dish of mussels and the fattest chips and mayo eaten sitting in the afternoon sunshine in The Bull Hotel courtyard. Although next time I order them I'll ask for them cooked with no cream. I prefer them Mariniere -simply white wine, garlic and parsley so I can drink the liquer like a soup and dunk my bread. I was left with a bowl of cream - undrinkable.

High Peak Food

I had these scallops in a local Dorset eating place. They were horrid. Smelt fishy, not in a good way, and had been microwaved to the point where the edges had gone hard and crusty.

The scallops below were eaten in another local hostelry, very small and shrivelled, and I had no leaves or bread to mop up the garlic butter so I had to ask for some. 

 
We were in The High Peak this weekend. So of course we ate a lot. The above is yet another variation on the ubiquitous scallop. These were some of the best I've eaten lately, resting on some very lush, moist black pudding. I'm giving up on scallops until an imaginitive chef comes up with something new. How about deep fried in a tempura batter? Why not?

These two photos are of our Roast Sunday Lunch in The Fallow Deer in Chapel en-le-Frith, Derbyshire. Yes-two massive Yorkshire Puddings. That's gravy in the brown jug. The vegetables were fresh and lightly steamed, the roast beef was good. This plate of food is far more hearty than most Sunday lunches where I live and only cost £7.95. Locally some places charge almost twice that. Of course we couldn't eat both Yorkies but most plates were going back to the kitchen empty so plenty of diners managed to eat them. Or maybe they gave them to a friend.

On cooking. With all these baby leaves being presented as a garnish on many dishes and they are so very small why not go back to mustard and cress?

Fish in a Bag at Jamie's Italian

Jamie's Fish in a Bag served to us in Jamie's Italian in Bath. I took loads more photos of our delicious meal but the battery was flattening so this is the only image that showed up properly.

His food just gets better and betterer. I ate a perfect Frito Misto with good bread but unless you were there and ate it or I could show you how good it looked as well as tasted there's no words.

But if you get the chance to eat at one of his Italian restaurants then take it. The prices won't hurt your pocket either. Great value, such a relaxing atmosphere and always very charming servers, well trained, polite and seemingley very happy as if they are enjoying their work.

How To Cook The Perfect Christmas Dinner!

How To Cook The Perfect Christmas Dinner!

1. Don’t.
2. If you have to, remain sober.
3. Not sober? Don’t be over ambitious.
4. Check size of turkey in relation to size of your oven.
5. Only invite guests that drink too, then they won’t notice the state you’re in.
6. Lower the lights so they can’t see the cat’s hairs in the first course.
7. Pour plenty of wine in the gravy to camouflage alien flavours.
8. Try to eat something yourself to soak up the alcohol intake in your blood.
9. Wear waterproof mascara for the inevitable moment when you cry/sweat.
10. Don’t ever get talked into doing it again.

My then still comparatively new man is assuming that because I ran a restaurant I could cook, and on the strength of this invited six good friends to Christmas day lunch. My cottage is small, and my kitchen is a galley.

They, including man looking smug and proud, are sitting round the dining table in the glow of myrrh-scented candles (No: 6). Their glasses are permanently being topped up, and they are feeding from a large oval dish of crudités and dips while I cook the first course. I have a very large copper pan full of mixed seafood being sautéed in butter, olive oil, garlic and herbs for the Italian style ‘Frito Misto’ I am ambitiously preparing. (No: 3) I give the heavy pan a chef like swirl over the heat, and amazingly, the entire contents of prawns, scallops, mussels and squid, take on a life of their own, and spiral into the air, hang suspended and dump themselves over the kitchen floor and into the cat’s dish!

I look furtively at my guests from the open plan galley. They’re laughing, drinking (No: 5) and talking merrily! Haven’t apparently seen a thing! I scoop everything up, from under the edge of fridges, washing machine and yes, the cat’s dish and throw it back into the pan, add fresh lemon juice, more black pepper, pray and serve it up in a large dish
for them to shell and pick at and dunk their crusty bread into the hot, garlic butter. I am saved. I sit and join in, but I can’t bring myself to eat (No: 8), so partake of a little more wine. (No: 2)

My oven is too small to take a turkey adequate enough for eight diners (No: 4). I am cooking three plump whole boned turkey breasts. They have been roasted, basted in butter and ready to ‘rest’ out of the oven to continue cooking in their own heat, while I make my gravy. I like gravy. I like rich, slightly thickened gravy, not much of a ‘jus’ person.

The saucepan has all the delicious roasting juices from the turkey breasts and I’m whisking in my flour, making a roux. I gently add my homemade chicken stock, stirring continually, watching it satisfyingly thicken. I reach over for my old fashioned Gravy Browning, pour, and stare in disbelief at the Fairy Liquid bottle in my left hand and the green globule slowly dissolving into my pan full of rich gravy! I panic! I slurp! I honestly think for one moment I am able to scoop the offending green Fairy Liquid out of the pan with a slotted spoon, add lashings of wine and get away with it! (No: 7)

I tip the gravy down the sink. I look at the residue in the roasting pan where the breasts are resting, but I’ve used it all. I have to resort to a chicken stock cube, cornflour and this time, the Gravy Browning, and not the Fairy. I am dripping, with perspiration and with tears. (No: 9)

My guests are having a deliriously happy time. I’m glad somebody is. I’m the hostess and I’m not! I serve up. Roast potatoes the Delia way; Crispy chipolatas and bacon; Baby Carrots caramelised with fresh grated ginger; Sprouts and roast chestnuts; Roast parsnips with Cinnamon; Moist Fruit stuffing; Carved Turkey breast and disgusting wishy washy gravy….

The compliments flow, the wine flows, the conversation gets more outrageous, my galley
kitchen is a tip, but I know the cheese course will be trouble free, and we have home-made Christmas Pudding Ice-Cream, Syllabub and fresh fruits and nuts to follow.

I manage the coffee and fudge without serious accidents, and feel my job is done, so sit back with an impressive looking Brandy Bottle in front of me, my special glass, my roll up tin and eventually join in the fun.

My company were blissfully unaware of all the ghastly happenings in my galley, of which I’m glad. I made man promise NEVER to invite friends for Christmas again, bearing in mind, the only time he goes into the galley is to visit the fridge for a beer……………

To summarise: This leaves points one and ten! I mean it, it’s just another roast dinner, well, that’s what we’re told. They’re lying! It’s a monumental task, hard, stressful, fraught, expensive, over lavish, unnecessary, somebody’s always drunk, either the guests, the host, or in my case, both.

This year, twenty of us are all contributing in our local by preparing and bringing all the vegetables, deserts, first courses, nibbles and a French Run for the booze, and our landlady is cooking the geese, ducks, turkey and beef and leaving us to run riot in the comfort of her lovely Inn.

All Fur Coat and No Knickers

I'm in a quandry when it comes to judging restaurant food these days. There was nothing wrong with the above first course of pigeon breast on a cauliflower puree. But it had no substance - All Fur Coat and No Knickers. As if some cooks these days think a big plate, a miniscule portion and an arty farty bit of garnish pass for great cooking.


There was nothing wrong with the above deep fried prawns, a fig chutney and dressed leaves. It tasted good but somehow uninspiring. Somehow not honest.


The above side order of Triple Cooked Chips were fantastic. I would have liked three times as many chips and a bowl of mayo as a main course and nothing else.

I know what it is. On almost every plate of food this cook places in front of the diner the various components of the dish Do Not Touch Each Other. Like they've had a row or have a contagious illness. They never meet, never blend, touch either on the plate or in the mouth. This is perfect food cooked without love.

And I would like to meet the chef who introduced the paintbrush to the kitchen. You know - when the chef puts a puree on a big plate and drags the paintbrush through it. I would like to meet the chef who ever first did this and then I would like to smack him.

The Riverside

We've been eating at The Riverside At West Bay since the 1970s when it looked like this.

It looks like this now. The food has changed, under the same ownership, as much as the building has. The first picture is my starter of fresh king scallops. Perfectly cooked and presented.

My main course was Catch of the Day served with a lovely soupy, garlicky sauce. I ate it all and then used my spoon and good bread to wipe my plate clean.

I couldn't decide on the desert so I had a medley as in the above photograph. Service was friendly and relaxed and the view overlooking Lyme Bay added to the eating experience.

At the end of the evening Arthur Watson, the owner, asked if we had enjoyed our evening. I was emboldened with good food and good wine and suggested to him that he would have been far better as a presenter of seafood on the television than Rick Stein and Arthur replied 'Maybe, but I am ten years older than he is'.

But you are better looking, have a far more interesting voice and wittier than he is. Shame the TV Celebrity Chef thing just missed you Arthur. I loved what Floyd said about Chefs. That we all misunderstand the language. If we cook in a kitchen we are a cook. If we run a Restaurant kitchen, then we are a Chef de Cuisine. Although I believe the popular phrase now is Executive Chef.

I was married to a Chef and we once holidayed in Brittany and ate every evening for a week in a small family restaurant with three generations running the kitchen and front of house. The food was historic and on our last evening I approached the Grandmother who kept a watchful eye on everything, and told her in my basic French that my husband was a Chef.

'Chef de que?' she asked.

'Chef de Cuisine' I replied.

Floyd was right wasn't he?

Opposite Sides of the Street

Above is a starter course of King Scallops on a bed of puree of minted peas topped with crisped streaky bacon. Served in an East Street hotel restaurant. It was fine to eat.

Above is a starter course of Queen Scallops on a bed of puree of minted peas. Served in an East Street Restaurant directly opposite. It was fine to eat.

Although I am a fishmonger's daughter and in the 1960s my Mum would cook us King Scallops and crispy bacon topped with a fried egg for Sunday breakfast.

King Scallops are better than Queen as I love to eat the orange coral. Crispy bacon is a far better accompianment than Black Pudding or Chirizo Sausage. And please don't offer me a combination of fish and chilli.

Food does go in trends but I wonder who copied who in my High Street eating places?