Persiana - Sabrina Ghayour

I'm fairly sure I met Sabrina Ghayour once at a book thing, I definitely have a memory of someone charming and glamorous talking about this kind of food and having one of the rare moments when I  wish I lived in London (or some other similar city) where there is so very much more going on than Leicester (which has it's own charms - though they're not always obvious to me).

I get very excited about Middle Eastern inspired food and perhaps even more excited by books about Middle Eastern food. I love how colourful it can be - jewel like pomegranate seeds, vivid green salads, glowing orange segments, the wonderful deep yellow of saffron, scarlet peppers, dusky pink rose petals, jade green pistachios - it's the sort of exotic I find deeply appealing, it puts me in mind of the Arabian Nights and Oscar Wilde in about equal measures. There's also something very attractive about the way this kind of food quickly builds up into a multi coloured banquet - a bowl of couscous, a salad, something meaty, maybe a couple of dips, or possibly a whole lot of mezze, possibly a bread... it's all the joy of a picnic at the comfort of a table and perfect for sharing. More than that it's food that demands to be shared. Finally the flavours suit me, I'm a wuss when it comes to really spicy food, most of the (really good) Indian food which Leicester excels in is far to hot for me but the gentler spiciness of Middle Eastern food is just right. I'm also a big fan of fruit in savoury dishes (it always surprises me when I find people who really don't like that) along with things that mix honey and citrus - basically I'm a fan.

'Persiana' is billed as recipes from the Middle east and beyond, some of the recipes are traditional others are the result of a cultural exchange which must mirror the authors own life. Her family is Iranian but she grew up in England and as a cook is self taught as it seems nobody in the family was particularly interested in cooking. In terms of learning how to cook that's possibly a bonus, it suggests you get the kitchen to yourself and an audience ready and willing to be experimented on if it saves them having to face an unwelcome chore. Family influences also encompassed Turkish, Arab, Armenian, and Afghani cultures and cuisines, so that along with the more English elements really does make for a cultural exchange. The British bit comes in with the use of some ingredients (fennel, pork, rosemary) which really aren't traditional in Middle Eastern food but the spirit feels authentic. Recipes evolve - another thing I really like about this sort of cooking is that although the ingredient list can be quite long there are elements that can be played around with according to what the cook has on hand and personal preference (I'm not a fan of coriander leaf and will happily do away with it wherever I can).

I've had this book for the past week and have been having a lot of fun with it, I've made a pistachio orange blossom and honey ice-cream which has a brilliant texture, a herby rice dish that's traditionally served with dried fish but which is a meal in itself, a really good orange salad rich with sumac and pomegranate molasses, experimented with herby sugars to go with pineapple and strawberries (I prefer those without sugar, herby or otherwise, but admit that they look considerably more dressed up with) and have any number more things bookmarked. There's a lot of great looking stuff in here, some of it demands a little time but it's all really good tempered food with no unnecessary complications, and there are plenty of really simple (but very effective) bits - like those herby sugars. In short this is a really exciting book from an equally exciting writer.

Curing and Smoking - Steven Lamb

I love the River Cottage handbooks, every time I write about them I find myself enthusing about the same things - they're lovely to handle, look great, are funny and engaging as well as informative, and generally speaking are as useful as any set of books could possibly be. Book number 13 deals with curing and smoking, it's been my bedtime reading for the past few nights and is the reason I've spent the best part of an hour researching salt on the internet this afternoon. I had no idea there was so much to know about salt.

As someone who lives in a city centre flat deep in the Midlands there are titles in this series which are of limited use to me on a day to day basis - the ones about fishing, sea shore foraging, and chickens don't get quite as much use as I'd like - but at least I have enough garden access through D to have found the allotment and fruit tree volumes more than just inspiring. It's the flat dwelling part of my lifestyle which will hold me back from really exploring the world of smoking and curing. I have nowhere to hang sausages to age them, and although I'm still playing with the idea of buying a stove top hot smoker I suspect that it'll just be something that gathers dust. My father and stepmother however have the space, equipment, and expertise to do all these things (my stepmother's pickled herring is amazing, she does one cure with Christmassy spices which is particularly memorable, it has nothing to do with this book - just thought I'd mention it) so perhaps I can experiment a bit more with the smoking element when I'm next up there.

Meanwhile there are still projects (anything that takes more than a few hours to cook is surely a project) that even I can have a go at. There's a recipe for salt beef which looks especially good, theoretically I could make sauerkraut but despite it being a really good probiotic food I've never really taken to it. What I really want to have a go at though is dry cured streaky bacon. It looks like it can basically be done in the fridge, takes about 10 days to have something ready to fry, and seems like a skill it would be good to have. The required pork belly is easily, and reasonably cheaply, available from local butchers so if I somehow make a mess of it at least I won't have spent a fortune in the process. What I feel I can make from this book though is only part of it's charm for me. I like to know how food is put together, there's a world of cured meat products in here which had hitherto passed me by which means all sorts of things to seek out and try even if I never do get the chance to make them.

'Curing and Smoking' also feels slightly different to the other River cottage handbooks - this is the first one that explicitly deals with the possibility that you might want to sell what you're producing with a short but helpful section on commercial considerations. This is a subject dear to my heart, I would love to see more small producers working on a local basis, I want to buy things from people who really understand what they're selling, who know their product inside out, and who care about them because basically I consider it to be a far more sustainable model. Paying a bit more to support small, quality, producers is future proofing.
That section on commercial considerations is only a couple of pages long but in some way it changes the tone of the whole series - the others have essentially been about hobbies and activities (which is no criticism) but 'Curing and Smoking' has the potential to be something more than a hobby or a weekend activity. I'm hopeful that at some point a book about cheese making will be forthcoming - something else I've always wanted to have a go at but won't be able to do in a flat but meanwhile this is an excellent addition to a brilliant series.    

Goan Pork with Potatoes (for Debbie)

This is, so far, the best recipe I've found in the Madhur Jaffrey book. As a pork dish it's great but I like it because I think the sauce part will be extremely versatile - I certainly mean to use it with some sort of white fish (salt cod if I can find it) and possibly with beef or lamb. Jaffrey says it could be described as a simple Vindaloo which is intriguing. 

This quantity serves 4...

2 teaspoons whole brown mustard seeds, 1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds, 2 teaspoons whole coriander seeds, 3 whole cloves, 140g of onions peeled and finely chopped, 5 cloves of garlic peeled and chopped, 2.5 cm piece of fresh garlic peeled and chopped, 2 tablespoons of cider vinegar, 1 teaspoon of cayenne pepper (I halved this), 2 teaspoons of paprika, salt, half a teaspoon ground turmeric, half a teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper, 560g boneless pork shoulder cut into cubes, 3 tablespoons of oil (corn or peanut) 340g of small waxy potatoes, half a teaspoon of sugar.

Put half the mustard seeds, all the cumin seeds, coriander seeds and cloves in a clean coffee grinder and grind as finely as possible. Put this mix with the onions, garlic, ginger, vinegar, cayenne pepper, paprika, and 3 tablespoons water into a blender and blend till smooth. 

Rub a generous teaspoon of salt plus all the turmeric, black pepper, and 2 tablespoons of the spice paste over the meat, marinade for at least half an hour.

heat the oil in a large heavy non stick lidded pan over a medium high heat, when the oil is hot add the remaining mustard seeds, after a few seconds they will start to pop at which point add the rest of the spice paste, stir and fry for about 5 mins or until the paste is lightly browned, add the pork and marinade and stir for a minute. Cover and reduce the heat to medium, let the meat cook for about 10 minutes until it's lightly browned, add the potatoes, sugar, and a little more salt, cover with water, reduce the heat to low and cook gently for about an hour or until the meat is tender.   

Madhur Jaffrey's Ultimate Curry Bible

Really? This much spice for one little stew?

Sometimes a thing is so blindingly obvious that I just don't see it, sometimes blind prejudice gets in my way, and sometimes I feel really stupid about it. Leicester is arguably the best place in the country to find and eat an authentic, excellent, curry (people certainly argue about it and I'm prepared to back my city to win on this). The thing is that I really can't handle hot food, anything but the very mildest of heat floors me and because there's no shortage of good (if beyond my pain threshold) curry to be had in the city I'd never thought about cooking it.

spices being heated prior to grinding - very satisfying process

When I was in Shetland earlier in the summer my step mother (who's a chef) was trying recipes for a wedding she was catering, one of them was a bhuna from Jaffey's book and long story short it was delicious - and here's the bit that makes me feel stupid - she'd gone easy on the chilies. Obvious isn't it, catering for a 150 people with wildly different tastes made a very mild heat more desirable and so all you need to do is dial it back a bit. Inspired I tried the same recipe when I came home (happily I had the same book courtesy of a Christmas present a few years ago) and it was pretty good. Since then I've been experimenting with a  few other things in there and again they've been great which is all quiet exciting.

I'm sticking with dishes which are on the milder side anyway - if something is genuinely meant to be hot it would probably lose something fundamental by the time I'd scaled it back to my palate but cooking in a different tradition with a whole new set of spices is something I love doing, and in this case I couldn't be in a better place to do it, there is no ingredient no matter how obscure which I shouldn't be able to get hold of within a 15 minute walk from my flat (or at a push a 5 minute bus journey away). I also understand for the first time why the basic spices for this kind of cooking are so often sold in such epic quantities. I've never cooked anything that demanded so much seasoning or so many different seasonings before so learning my way around these flavours is going to be interesting.        

Lemongrass and Ginger - Leemei Tan

I know I mostly write about baking here, but cooking generally is something that gives me real pleasure - especially when it's food to share. Somehow cooking for one is less satisfying, most likely because I end up with a lot of something which I'll then have to spend a week working through, something I've not taken as much care over, or something that's quick but not very exciting. I'm lazy when I only have myself to please, so it's perhaps lucky that I'm given to enthusiasms for different foods which galvanise me into action, and demand some care and attention (it's even better when the quantities can be adapted for one).

'Lemongrass and Ginger' was waiting on my doorstep when I got home yesterday, it's proving to be a hit. I had a friend coming for dinner and just had time to change my cooking plans. An emergency dash to M&S got me some Nam Pla fish sauce which was all I lacked to make caramelized salmon with pineapple. It's a recipe that apparently has it's roots in Cambodia and Vietnam (that at least is the chapter I found it in), is a combination I wouldn't have considered off my own bat, and was really very good. Bar Chinese and Japanese food I normally steer clear of Asian dishes - I have a pathetically low tolerance for hot food (not a curry girl) which makes me unadventurous when it comes to restaurant choices. That in turn has led to a small frame of reference, separate books dedicated to the cuisine of Cambodia, Thailand, Sri Lanka etc. would be underused in my kitchen. A book that nods to all of them is a different matter. 

The great thing about cooking at home is that I can seriously back pedal on the chilli where others might ramp it up. On a roll I made braised pork ribs tonight - without doubt the best I've ever cooked or eaten - despite having to improvise with a couple of ingredients. Both these recipes are keepers and I have plenty more bookmarked.

I hadn't realised but 'Lemongrass and Ginger' started life as a blog which will be interesting to explore (although, and I find this interesting, so far I like the book far more). It is the most beautifully produced object - the cover particularly is delightful (if you were judging by covers this one would win every time). The pictures are a good mix of informative and decorative and although the two recipes I've tried were at the simpler end of the scale they're well laid out and easy to follow.

The one thing I find daunting about this type of food is the number of reasonably specialist ingredients you need, and the number of things that can go into each dish - fine if you cook this way all the time, not great if you only want to dabble (and not spend a fortune), so having a few recipes which only need a few things is appealing. Most measurements are in spoons and cups - something else I find appealing, and there's a really handy looking set of basic recipes for making various pastes - all designed to make the exact amount for it's specific recipes which seems amazingly sensible yet is quite rare. 

Finally, worth saying again - those braised pork ribs were fantastic (vegetarians might want to look away now).

Hawksmoor at Home

I would love to eat at one of Hawksmoor's restaurants, the steaks sound wonderful, the drinks even better and they seem fond of marmalade - it's a heady combination and sadly not one I'm likely to find locally. However you can still have 'Hawksmoor at Home' - this is a new kind of cook book for me in that it feels like it will be a transient visitor in my kitchen - normally when a book finds itself on the shelf it's on it for the long haul, this one gives an impression of being on a journey and when it's taught me all it can it'll demand to be passed on to someone new. 

'Hawksmoor at Home' is as much scrapbook and biography as it is cookbook. It's lavishly illustrated with pictures of food, staff, happy customers, and a whole lot of bits thrown in for ambience - everything from Hogarth prints to - well, rather more contemporary cartoons with lots in the way of Victoriana in between. It's an attractive way to share a philosophy - which is what this is. There's nothing really ground breaking; the range of recipes is pretty much limited to steaks, ribs, oysters, lobster, and reworked classic puddings (trifle, jelly and blancmange) and other things in a similar line - it's a few things done very well - which is an approach I can't help but approve of.

So far this book has helped me reach a new level of brownie making - leaving out the whole nuts (although I like to substitute some of the flour for ground almonds) and cutting down the sugar a bit you spoon 200g of marmalade over the top of the batter. (I stuck with a much loved though adapted version of Nigella's brownies when I saw that the Hawksmoor recipe which claims to make a mere 15 squares of chocolate heaven called for 8 eggs, half a kilo of sugar, and another half kilo of chocolate. Either those brownies are huge or you'll end up with rather more than 15 - and either way it's a lot to eat.) It's a revelation, never will you have a better, more fudgy brownie and the slightly bitter orangey marmalade hit is heavenly.

It's also dramatically improved my ability with a steak. Cooking steak is one of those things you take for granted as being quite simple and so often turns out to be a bit disappointing. Well in truth it is simple, but still needs to be done properly. It's worth searching out the best meat you can afford, ensuring that it's been dry aged for - well 21 to 28 days are what I managed to find on offer, 28 days is probably better, 21 days is what was left by the time I finished work and could buy my steaks. After that it's a matter of getting a pan (preferably griddle) as hot as possible, resisting the urge to season with salt or oil the pan, (if it's hot enough the meat won't stick presumably because the fat in it does the job oil would), flipping the steaks regularly, not overcooking them, and then letting them rest for 5-10 mins before you eat. The Scottish one confirmed  these as the best steaks I'd ever cooked and as good as he'd had in a long, long time. I'm sticking with what I've learned - there will be no compromise.

This is a lovely book, to look at, to read, to cook from. It still has a bit to teach me both in technique and history, and when I've finished with it I look forward to passing it on to someone equally carnivorous so that it can raise their expectations and change their table too. Highly recommended for meat eaters everywhere.  

Cracking Nuts

I love my mother; she is a wonderful generous woman with an amazing array of talents and achievements including a way with a telling a story that’s irresistible. I love that her generosity extends to garden the produce her flat bound daughter couldn’t get anywhere else, and am only mildly suspicious that it’s always things which take an eternity to deal with, (kilos of plums, cherries, and hazelnuts) and make a sticky or crunchy mess. Today I’ve cracked the shells of about 2 kilos of hazelnuts, thankfully my friend C came round for coffee and did the last of them – between us we put in some 4 hours work. There are worse things than hitting nuts with a hammer – I’m now a crack aim, they are now all beautifully preserved in honey and I daresay that in a week or two I’ll have located (probably by standing on them) all the shards of shell that dispersed in the traditional manner of shrapnel around the kitchen.

It has been a proper kitchen day although one with mixed success. The nuts and honey look good but as that was a task of attrition rather than skill any pride in it is restricted to the stamina C and I displayed in getting through the job. More impressive –I feel – has been my first attempt at Lebkuchen. I’ve never made biscuits quite like these before, not that they’re especially challenging – but they felt quite exotic, I think it was the boiling honey and the profligate use of clove and cinnamon, maybe it was the dissolving bicarbonate of soda or the vaguely unexpected inclusion fruit and two types of nut, or wondering why it’s called gingerbread when there’s no ginger – but no, on reflection it was definitely the smell.

The honey, clove, and sugar element was as black and sticky as tar, it also got everywhere and on everything (I’m still sticky despite some serious scrubbing) but I deeply enjoyed making these, I wish I’d realised that the dough is meant to rest for 24 hours before luring C with promises of biscuits – I made some anyway after a mere 4 hours (nut crushing time) and they seem fine, but will see tomorrow if even more chilling makes a difference. I expect it won’t but you never know.

The recipe called for dried orange and lemon peel which I didn’t have and couldn’t find in town so I used apricots that desperately needed seeing to instead which I think sounds nicer anyway and you can’t argue that the Austrians don’t like apricot (I realise as I type this that I’m basing this entirely on an ancient episode of Two fat Ladies which has inexplicably stuck in my head – I’m sure they were right though...) There were still apricots left and because C doesn’t like sultanas, and because the Lebkuchen looked like it might be a non starter I thought I’d make fruit buns with them. Disaster followed wherein insult was added to injury.

casualties 

My poor electric hand whisk gave up the ghost - which it’s been threatening to do for a while and brings the number of hand whisk casualties up to 4 (I have form with these and hoovers). It means a serious, and expensive, dilemma. I can’t do without some sort of mixer and as another whisk gives up the ghost I have to admit that perhaps I really do need (as opposed to just want) a kitchen aid (such a middle class sort of a problem). I might conceivably have the money for one by March. I can hear the siren call of the credit card - almost every fibre of my being is telling me to be extravagant but there is a very quiet voice urging common sense and debt avoidance and I can’t help but blame the dastardly buns for all of this nonsense.

 Twas the bun mix that did the damage causing one of the hooks to cease turning for good and all, which I could have been philosophical about had the little devils risen. They would not; the mix sat leaden in the bowl, and sat leaden on the tray. You get to a point of no return with bread where you feel you have to see it through just in case of a miracle. There was no miracle and they went straight in the bin. I’m blaming this on a dodgy sachet of yeast, and they would have been so nice if they’d worked. Thank god for the Lebkuchen.  

I wish I was a...

It would be nice to be able to say that I was a genuine domestic goddess but truthfully candles are the best thing that ever happened to my housekeeping – turning off the lights and keeping it dim seems so much less trouble than hovering and my flat seldom depresses me more than on a sunny morning which brings with it the realisation that This Really Won’t Do. Every time I manage to impose order on the kitchen it turns out to be a remarkably temporary state of affairs – perhaps exacerbated by the general rule that I only get it really straightened out just before I’m about to cook , so within minutes the order is destroyed.

Monday being Valentine’s Day seemed to call for some sort of effort on behalf of the Scottish One both in terms of food and providing pleasant surroundings. Half of that went really well and the rest of it was covered by candlelight. Valentines is a tricky one – it’s not the sort of thing I’m at all inclined to get excited by, especially the more commercial aspects of the day but I would be devastated if I didn’t get a card from my mum (every year since I can remember – thank you mum). I also like the excuse to cook something vaguely decadent – this time I made Crème Brûlée with a gold leaf topping (flashy I thought) and thank Nigella it turned out very nicely.

Crème Brûlée has always been one of those things which I imagine will be horrendously difficult and turn out to be really not (regardless of the Scottish One’s feelings it’s also my favourite dessert – not at all sure what his is now I come to think of it). This recipe makes enough for 2 to 4 Brûlée’s

300ml double cream

4 egg yolks

2 level tablespoons of castor sugar

½ a teaspoon vanilla extract

Extra sugar - preferably golden castor or similar.

Take whatever the Brûlée is going to end up in (larger dish, or little ramekins, or in this case the prettiest teacups I could find) and stick it in the freezer.

Put the cream and vanilla extract in a heavy based pan and bring to the boil without actually letting it boil.

Whip the egg yolks and sugar together, and when the cream is ready pour it over still whipping.

Rinse and dry the pan, pour the custard back into it and over a gentle heat with continuous stirring wait for the custard to thicken – this should take about 10 mins. Apparently it’s a good idea to have a sinful of cold water ready to plunge the pan into if it looks like the custard’s going to split, but touchwood this has never happened to me. When the custard is ready (runny won’t be a good look) take it off the heat, retrieve the containers from the freezer and pour in. Leave to cool then put in the fridge to get properly cold. When they’re ready to serve sprinkle a good layer of sugar on top and either attack with a blow torch or put under a grill set as hot as it’ll go. (Blow torches are a fun kitchen gadget even if you don’t use them much).

I had some gold leaf I got before Christmas – 1 very small square which cost me £3.99 – and which I’ve been looking for an excuse to use. Broken up and brushed on with a mix of fingers and a pastry brush it went quite far and looked amazing (candlelight – hides the dust, flatters my aging complexion, and makes pudding sparkle like pirate treasure – brilliant).

Domestic Bliss – Even if it’s for only ten minutes

Today was the day I wanted to start Christmas shopping...and then I looked at my bank balance. By the time the shock and despair lifted my afternoon off had all but disappeared, and by the time I’d had a restorative glass of wine courtesy of a kind wine shop keeping friend the afternoon and part of the evening was gone too. Getting home to a cold flat – it’s definitely time to put the heating on – wasn’t the most welcoming experience but now I have a nice cup of tea (in a beautiful mug) and a cake in the oven courtesy of things found at the back of the cupboard. It’s chunky spicy fruit cake from and if it turns out well I’ll let you know.

Thinking about things domestic, or at least thinking about the domestic things I like rather than the things I probably should be doing, has reminded me that I’ve got a book I should have written about an age ago. Patience Gray’s ‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ from the incomparable Prospect Books has been my tea break book for a while now and I’m going to try and tell you how good it is. I knew of Patience Gray from the Persephone Books edition of ‘Plats du Jour’ (which I’ve got and should have a proper look at) but know very little about her. The introduction to this little book has made me want to seek out the rest of her work because she sounds fascinating. It seems she upped and left her life in Hampstead and North London, which included two children and a career in journalism, to run off to Carrara with the artist and sculptor Norman Mommens. I think it must be quite a story because the voice that comes across in ‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ is an uncompromising no nonsense one and I want to reconcile the different impressions I’ve gathered of Patience Gray.

‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ is one of the jobs she took on to make ends meet and fund an expedition to the Greek Cyclades. It’s a cooking manual that only appeared in typescript designed for the use of the Chinese chefs on board the Blue Funnel Line ship ‘Centaur’ as she plied her trade between Freemantle and Singapore. The theme is basically Mediterranean, the recipes are to serve 8, and forget Delia Smith this should have been the first cookbook I ever got because everything in it is useful and everything is explained. For example on butter:

I have made no extravagant recommendation for the use of butter, but would like to remind chefs that only unsalted butter should be used in sauté-ing or cooking fish in the oven. Salted butter inevitably burns in the pan. And nor do I think in any circumstances that margarine can be substituted in these recipes for butter.

These are the sort of instructions I like – explicit with no room for doubt. The kind of kitchen equipment to use is discussed, essential storeroom ingredients are covered, basic sauces and salad dressings essayed, and a full repertoire of recipes for five courses and side dishes are naturally included. All of this fits into 124 pages with room for illustrations. Amazing.

The recipes are (very) good, but for me the best thing about ‘The Centaur’s Kitchen’ are the instructions and the Why’s. Why to add dressing to warm potatoes when making salad and then cool them, why to use copper or enamelled cast iron pans, why it’s better to use coarse rather than refined salt, why salad should be dressed in the bowl... These are things I’ve picked up along the way but I can’t help thinking how useful it would have been to have understood them properly when I first learned to cook in the bad old days of assuming margarine and butter were interchangeable.

Oh and please do have a quick look at Prospect Books, they have a great offer on and the books are brilliant.

Rhubarbaria and Prospect Books.

What with holiday reading, holiday book hunting, some very exciting book donations, and a sneaky amazon purchase, a lot of very good bookish things have come my way recently, with the end result that everything is piling up and I’m feeling a touch guilty about it. However I’ve dug out a notebook and made some lists which is giving an illusion of orgonisation, so now all I need to do is stop procrastinating and start writing this stuff up.

Second on my list, but bumped up to first place because of pure enthusiasm is ‘Rhubarbaria’ by Mary Prior published by the really wonderful Prospect Books. Mary Prior has a Shetland connection (including a daughter who’s a very talented cook, which all adds to the pedigree of this book) and I’d heard that this collection was in the pipeline a couple of years ago but nothing more since, and then on this last trip back I actually saw (and bought) a copy. Seeing it was published by Prospect books I looked them up and have been wondering how on earth I could have been basically unaware of such a treasure trove for so long.

As a cook book enthusiast I do own a copy of Alan Davidson’s ‘North Atlantic Seafood’ which I think is probably Prospects best known title, and I distinctly remember reading an article about them some years ago in The Guardian which made me think I should look out for their titles. Sadly I don’t see them very often in the markedly average bookshops which are within my reach, a fact which I’m increasingly inclined to think of as a breach of my human book buying rights. I got in touch with Tom Jaine who now runs Prospect and he very kindly sent me a handful of titles from the English Kitchen series of which ‘Rhubarbaria’ is part, he also sent me a catalogue...

Prospect publish cookery, food history and ethnology of food titles (my mouth is actually watering as I type this) and here are just a few: ‘Dinner for Dickens The Culinary History of Mrs Charles Dickens’s Menu Books’, ‘The Elder In History, Myth and Cookery’, ‘Outlaw Cook’ – no idea, but it sounds exciting – ‘Sugar Plums and Sherbet The Prehistory of Sweets’, ‘Rhubarbaria’ of course, and who couldn’t want ‘The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelm Digby, KT., Opened (1669)’ on their shelf? This is a very small cross section of what’s on offer, please, please go and have a look for yourself.

'Rhubarbaria' is a slim and very reasonably priced volume (to my delight all the headings inside are in a bright rhubarb pink). I have actually read it cover to cover, and caught the Scottish one doing the same thing. He was intrigued – and slightly repulsed - by recipes for Puffin and rhubarb, included for the sake of completism rather than for trying I think.

I learnt that rhubarb was first known for its medicinal qualities, only becoming a recognised food stuff in the last few hundred years. The leaves (poisonous) used to be eaten like spinach, which is perhaps why it took a while for rhubarb to become popular. I read about the heyday of the Yorkshire rhubarb triangle, complete with the rhubarb express which transported the sticks to London. The last express left in 1966 but it’s an image which has really fixed itself in my imagination. The promise of the introductory essay is more than fulfilled in the recipes which are presented with learning, humour, and anecdote – this is a book with a winning personality. Incidentally the recipes I can’t wait to try are for rhubarb jelly; I’ve never eaten it, but have an enticing image in my mind’s eye of something with a jewel like colour and a seductive wobble.

It’s fair to say I have my own cultural reasons for an interest in rhubarb – it’s one of a few things which grow well in Shetland, is indeed almost ubiquitous. Judging by the provenance of the recipes I’m not alone in associating the rhubarb patch with a well ordered home. I can’t say it’s the taste of childhood (though we certainly ate plenty of it) it’s more that I feel slightly adrift when I realise I can’t put my hand on a stick or two of it, and resent the high price I have to pay in supermarkets for it. I collect any recipe that comes my way as if it’s still a staple of existence, and see a romance in the fact of an ingredient shared across the world and including the Falkland Islands, Faroe, Shetland, New Zealand, America, Canada, Yorkshire, and the Persian court.

Finally, if anyone shares my enthusiasm for Rhubarb, thanks to the generosity of Prospect I have a spare copy which is up for grabs. I’m happy to send it anywhere and really can’t recommend this book highly enough. A comment or an email will get you entered in the draw.

Jekka’s Herb Cookbook – Jekka McVicar

I was going to leave off writing about this book until I got back from holiday and until I’d actually cooked from it but I’ve spent so much time just browsing through it that I can’t wait to share. I’ve reached that stage in life where I like to garden, but living in a garden free flat limits my ambitions somewhat. The Scottish one has been very obliging with the use of his garden (he’s a gentleman like that) and the arrangement is fairly satisfactory from my point of view (he limits himself to a reserved ‘it’s very colourful’ when I call for updates and opinions). As a very part time gardener fruit and veg projects aren’t very practical, but herbs are perfect because they do at least allow me to indulge in some of those River Cottage style fantasies.

It might be that I already have a few books about herbs but as ever there is the quest for the perfect book – and if I’m not mistaken this might well be it. For this particular quest the grail is something that covers a plants properties, uses, harvesting, varieties, and of course recipes, decent illustrations don’t go amiss either. Jekka's book has all of this and a bit more – she gives some history, and perhaps best of all (and something I don’t think I’ve seen before) she advises what to do when you have a glut of something. So far herb butters aren’t something I’ve really experimented with but I’m feeling that this will be the year I do, I’m also planning more herb scented sugars, and herb salts as well (and not for the first time I’m wondering how many clothes I need – my wardrobe would make a very good pantry, it already doubles up as a wine cellar...)

The illustrations deserve a proper word as well; done by Hannah McVicar (Jekka’s daughter) they are really responsible for a lot of the charm of this book. Although quite stylised the plants are still instantly recognisable, and they delight me, photographs are all very well and good but the very factual ones aren’t always pleasing to the eye, and the very arty ones can be distracting. (I will confess that I’m not that bothered about cookbooks being illustrated, and avoid ones which feel to picture heavy. I want recipe’s, I’m paying for recipes dammit, and it’s recipes I’ll have – and yes there are of course shelves of exceptions to that rule.) Anyway, the thing about these illustrations is that they are beautiful without being distracting and they haven’t once made me mutter dark things about improbably perfect kitchens and improbably perfect lives. (Kitchen envy is a disease, I tell you I can’t help myself!)

There are fifty herbs featured and I hope to work about forty of them into the garden over the next few years (currently I’m on a measly 13). What will make this project such a pleasure is the combination of history, romance, medicine and ingredient that will be being planted and gathered, which I feel is very much in keeping with a book that celebrates all these things.