Recently in I Eat All the Pies Category

Petersfield Constituency, Cambridge

Fat, black, soft-leaded pencils were provided, and it was all over in seconds; stab at democracy achieved (Mister D, I reckon I'm definitely homophoric). I didn't vote as I'm generally inclined to do, and while I felt a momentary stab of regret about my choosing not to, it was a conscious decision borne of my own unwillingness to compromise. Strategic voting isn't my thing; voting with my heart, is. As the recent cover of the Economist resignedly highlighted, our choices are nothing to be proud of.

On my way out of the polling station, I nipped ahead of a flustered looking woman with a double-wide pushchair in order to hold the swinging door open for her. As she thanked her way past me, I saw her two tiny babies, and knew in that second that they were spitting images of their father, and definitely boys. I grinned and quipped,

"That'll be their first election then!"

Setting her hair with her fingertips, she punctuated her broad smile with a giggle, and offered,

"I suppose so, and hopefully the first of many."

While my expression remained kind, I experienced a confusingly visceral wave of sorrow; I'm not interested in analysing it publicly, but it was disquieting, and I'm rarely phased by anything. Ah well, it's done, and as the sectarians are wont to say, "God help us."

Today's low (high) calorie, low (high) fat scrumminess has been tested by your host on a number of occasions, and comes recommended as a tasty starter to a larger meal, or an easy to eat snack when you're glued to the box because Hugh Jackman is on-screen.

The dish, cha gio -- pronounced tchah djaw -- is one of Vietnam's takes on the spring roll, which appears in the local cuisines of almost every continent in one form or another. Consisting principally of white meat (pork is traditional but not something I eat, chicken a good alternative and turkey even better) augmented with a touch of greenery and a splash of ocean, the ingredients of these spring rolls are ground down to a greater, oxymoronic whole. The seafood component may disturb the culinarily boring (yes, my cooking is opinionated), but is undetectable in the finished product whilst nudging the flavour in a good direction. Ditto for the sauce, which is perhaps the most interesting flavour component of all.

The Filling:

2.5 tbsp chopped coriander leaves
2 tbsp chopped dark mushrooms (tree ear mushrooms are ideal, appetisingly sold in Asian supermarkets as "dried black fungus" in vacuum packs of julienned mushroom - any fresh, meaty alternative like shiitake is fine if you're stuck for the real thing)
250 g ground turkey or chicken
2 tbsp finely chopped dried shrimp or 100 g fresh shrimp, chopped
4 chopped spring onions
3 tbsp chopped bean sprouts
2.5 tbsp hot water
1.5 tsp chopped chili
2 tsp brown sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper
1/2 cup rice vermicelli (cellophane noodles)

Extras:

20-25 sheets rice paper (banh trangh, usually pre-cut as large quarter circles or triangles)
Large leaf Lettuce
Mint leaves

Sauce (nhuoc cham):

2 dried red chillies finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic chopped and pounded (garlic and chillies can be substituted with two teaspoons of good sambal paste)
0.5 tsp sugar
2 tbsp fish sauce (nom pla - any UK supermarket, and all Asian supermarkets)
1 tbsp fresh lime juice

Mix meat, shrimp, onions, coriander, bean sprouts, chillies, sugar, salt, and pepper in a blender or food processor and pulse to obtain a coarsely ground mix

  

Break rice vermicelli into short pieces and soak in hot water for 5 minutes; when soft, drain and add to the filling mixture. Soak the mushrooms in 2.5 tbsp hot water for ten minutes or until reconstituted, and add to mixture with water (if you use fresh mushrooms, just chop finely and add the water before blending). Massage the filling with clean hands to mix it all together thoroughly, whilst grimacing and making squelchy noises if you have an audience.

Immerse a couple of sheets of rice paper into water for a second and place on a flat working surface; they'll need a minute or two to soften, otherwise they'll simply crack when you try to manipulate them.
Next, place three or four teaspoons of the filling at base of rice paper -- you'll get a feel for how much is optimal based on the size of your sheets of rice paper -- fold the bottom edge up over the filling, tucking it into a cylindrical shape, then draw in the left and right corners and, holding them in place, roll up the rest of the sheet to the top. The rice paper should self seal when lightly pressed, but if not, moisten the last bit with water or beaten egg if it needs convincing.

Prepare subsequent rolls in the same manner, and set aside on a lightly oiled or floured tray to prevent sticking; freezing should be carried out at this point if desired. When they're all done, prepare the sauce by combining the ingredients, and then either shallow or deep fry the spring rolls till they're golden brown (if well rolled, no oil will get inside), then remove them with a slotted spatula and place on a thick layer of paper towels to remove the excess oil. They should stay crispy for at least an hour.

Traditional consumption involves placing the fried spring roll at base of a leaf of lettuce, along with bean sprouts and mint leaves, rolling this up in turn, and then dipping it into the sauce for a flavour explosion in the mouth.

Yes, Terreus, this is for you:

Provided you have the right type of sushi rice (sumeshi), it should look after itself provided you get certain things right.

i) Ensure it actually is the right type of rice; in a moment of desperation, any short grain, high starch rice like Arborio or Carnaroli might work, but you really want the real McKoy; Shinode or similar (i.e. a real Japanese rice) from an Asian supermarket is perfect.

ii) Regular cooking routine; the rice needs to be washed five or six times to remove powdered starch, and the right quantity of water added. On a regular gas hob, the formula for rice:water applies for all types of rice except green and black rices, which can be cooked for just a little longer with more water:

Measure your rice out by volume, for example, two bowls. Add the same volume of water, plus half; in this case two bowls of water, plus one, totalling three.

The water should be cold - Europeans tend to boil their water, then add the rice, which is a quick path to yucky rice - and the lot brought to boil on a high flame. Once it starts boiling, turn down the heat slightly to maintain the boil. Keep it boiling for ten minutes exactly, stirring only occasionally to prevent sticking on the bottom of the pan.

Once your ten minutes has elapsed, turn off the gas, stir the rice once more, and immediately cover with a tight fitting lid or dinner plate. Give it another ten minutes, remove cover, stir and serve, but if you leave it for longer, it just gets fluffier and better.

This is exactly what a rice cooker does, and if you have one of those, just follow the directions!

iii) In the case of sushi rice, the water will acquire a thick glutinous texture not unlike... oh can I say that here? Meh. Anyway, this is normal, and stirring the rice will coat the grains in this sumptuous starch glue as it reduces.

As soon as you've removed the cover from the cooked rice, add your sushi-so (rice vinegar); about one tablespoon per cup measure of rice. Mix it in throughly, and with a slight slight chopping motion, air out the rice so that it begins to cool down really quickly (transferring it to a cold mixing bowl will help). Set aside to cool completely after a good minute or so of this rice karate (overdoing it risks breaking up the rice, so be gentle).

By the time it is cold, you'll wonder how you can make the rice not stick to everything it touches, including your fingers; a good homosexual will probably keep a bowl of tepid water and a little sushi-so to the side. Dip your fingers into it before working the rice and it'll all be a lot simpler.

No, no, nothing supernatural, or for that matter, gay, especially insightful or even fascinating - we certainly don't aim for that here - but excitement... excitement is subjective, so for the fiends who emailed me about it, well...

Remember that cake? Yes? Me too, and now you can enjoy it in the pleasure of your own home provided you can interpret Klingon units of measurement. Oui, my dames and messrs, je te presente:

Ginormous Chocolate Demon Orange Cake, a creation of über harlot, Cathy Moore
NB: Contains neither a chocolate demon nor a demon orange.

8 oz. butter or margarine (yes, yes, wtf is an ounce?)
8 oz. sugar
6 eggs (chicken ideal, duck too rich, for quail, use 32)
~ 2 oz. cocoa powder (this comes from Theobroma cacao)
~ 5 oz. pulverised wheat (Triticum) endosperm (often sold as flour)
~ some baking powder - this is the only iffy ingredient as far as amount goes; I'd suggest three level teaspoons or so, but haven't tried the recipe yet
~ rind of 2 oranges (Citrus sinensis), seville sized (the cultivar, not the city), and their juice
200 g dark chocolate (finally a real quantity), melt in a double boiler and stir into batter. You can eat some of it too.

Either bake one large cake and carry out a transverse dissection, or bake two smaller ones and glue them together with killer icing.

Killer icing

Melt a stupid amount of chocolate (3-400 g), and mash in an equivalent volume of tart, orange marmalade. Very subjective, so adjust as you see fit, then use to glue the layers together, and subsequently to mudpack the outside. No need to rinse off; thicker layers are tastier layers. Oh, and if you hate oranges near your chocolate, omit them - just remember to add a quarter volume of thick cream to your icing or it'll set too hard. And yes, this isn't technically icing; that's what makes it nice.

This cake is fattening and may cause HDL/LDL cholesterol imbalance. There, I am indemnified and can't be sued, lives saved.

Yesterday afternoon, I discovered that the local supermarket had stocked a small quantity of belacan (pron. blah-chan) in its gourmet section. wtf?! I was thrilled.

So I made a Thai green curry - traitor to my roots, yes, but it's what I felt like. Oh hell, share recipe why do you not?

Heat some vegetable and sesame oil in pan till its angry, chuck in a teaspoon of belacan and break it up in the oil (this is where the housemate says "Wow, that smells great!" or, "Whoah, what the fuck is that stench?!").
Chuck in a couple of chopped shallots and two cloves of chopped garlic. Sautée lightly, then dump in half a kilo of dead, chopped bird - chicken breast is ideal - and cook till lightly browned.
At this point, add two or three tablespoons of green curry paste, which you've painstakingly prepared in advance (below), or purchased, and stir in. Then pour over 400 ml coconut milk, making sure that some of it ends up in the pan.
Stir more, and allow to simmer for fifteen or twenty, lest you end up with curry soup instead of just curry. When the consistency is a little on the wetter side of perfect - subjective, of course - add vegetables; I opted for butternut squash, which I boiled and cubed beforehand, sugarsnap peas, baby corn, coarsely sliced red peppers (capsicum) and an extra fresno chili (because I'm a bit stupid).
Cook, cook, cook, serve on a bed of brown rice, or egg noodles if you prefer.

It made enough to last through to Tuesday. Crumbs, but more than edible on consecutive days, I'm finding. Apologies for not listing the ingredients; who steals recipes from online journals anyway?

Curry paste as follows:

3 tbsp chopped shallots
15 green medium to hot chilies
1 tsp chopped galangal (or ginger if your Asian markets are pants)
1 tbsp chopped garlic
1/2 tsp chopped kaffir lime rind (or lime, ditto)
1 tbsp chopped lemon grass (citronella to some)
1 tsp chopped coriander root
5 peppercorns
1 tbsp coriander seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp salt
1 tsp belacan (if you like, but better added en route)

Lightly toast the coriander and cumin seeds in hot oil or beneath a grill before blending to a powder; combine with all the rest and blend to a paste. Survives adequately for 3 months in a jar in the fridge.

I interrupt the writing of my preliminary abstract to let you know that I just tried a two-tier chocolate cake covered in a dark chocolate and orange marmalade fondant. I think my exact words were,

...munch, munch, pause, "Oh my god, Cathy! Turn me straight already."

An hour on, and this cake's endorphin rush still has me grinning like a sprinklee of the fairy dust. Though a thoracotomy is far more efficient, the way to a man's heart is thought to be best reached through his stomach; I now know myself to be that fickle beyond any doubt. In a slightly different Universe, I think I'd drop everything to be with someone who could bake a cake this good; even a woman. Give me some AA batteries and I'll certainly try my best.

The day is finally ending; it was exhausting. Wonderful, but exhausting. One of these years I'm going to pass the oven-mitts and paring knife over to someone else and exercise my right to a slothful Christmas, though I fear that half the fun, perhaps, is in the flurry of preparation, and subsequently seeing people enjoy the fruits of a grand endeavour.

And while the body is just about ready for an early night, the mind is still racing; it's desperate to go dancing.

Hey Allie, take me dancing!

Alas, everything is shut, and I feel halfway pregnant as it is. Nuh-uh, mind will have to wait for another day.

Tonight, I ate sardines. Even as I took a bite, the mashed-up fish taunted me with its gelatinous, edible backbone and positively animated pectoral fins. For someone who happily eats pretty much everything, from frog and snail to snake, tinned sardines have long bordered on the stuff of phobia. And now, I have prevailed.

They were pretty good. And I'll probably never buy them again. They really don't compare to freshly caught and grilled sardines anyhow; those, as I learned in Casablanca last September, are an entirely different class of food entirely. Better than se Almost as delicious as calamari.