Rouille of fortune

It's a rare occasion that sees me pass a merguez sausage without buying it. Many a night, in the back streets of Toulouse after a hard day at Art college followed by the necessary 'unwinding', I could be found loitering by one of the many 'merguez-frites' vans. The meat may have been dubious, but if you add enough spices to something (and by those spices I also include everything that went in the sangria at Le Chat d'oc) it tastes amazing.

These days, I neither spice myself nor eat dubious things from vans. No matter that eating from a van or a skip is the height of fashion, and far be it from me to not appear as a man about town, full of a la mode encounters, I prefer to have a cosy night in knowing that what I'm eating is of du bon provenance, as it were. And besides, the idea of eating on a cold London street is frankly quite beyond the pale for a man of my age.

The newly opened butcher's shop down the road from us knows each farm that supplies their meat, if not each animal they slice up in the brightly lit back of the shop in the village. If things aren't up to scratch, they don't stock them. This gives me confidence in them, they really seem to care.

A large vitrine looks into the chilly fridge as you walk in the front door, framing the animal version of a gruesome Mafia scene and a pale red neon glow gives a rather voyeuristic feel to the whole set up. I ask for some bones for the dog, stock up on chicken and beef then spot the merguez. Ben, the tatooed and bearded man with the cleaver hands me the bag of body parts meat and I slowly, smilingly, back out of the shop and drive home through the leafy sun-dappled streets of Dulwich.

Back home, the dried butter beans(*) go into a bowl, covered with boiling water and soak for an hour before cooking. And I cook them in chicken stock made from Fosse Meadow farm birds until soft and velvety. Stirring through a good handful of parsley and a large pinch of dried mint I then pour in a lot of olive oil and leave the beans to quietly cool in a corner of the kitchen.

Later I will grill the merguez until oozing red oil comes out and the skin starts to crisp. The egg yolk(**) I've kept back from the stock clarifying is perfect for the rouille to go on top. All it takes is some toasted cumin seeds(***), ground to a powder with some saffron(*****), a couple of small garlic cloves(*****) and some salt(******). The olive oil(******) goes in a thin stream into the mortar as the egg yolk breaks golden into the spices. Thickening slowly it will add a hit of flavour to bring the sausage and beans together like a sun-tanned priest at a wedding.

*From Madagascar, apparently. For some reason or other I'm sure.
**From a nice farm in the Cotswolds.
***Packed in the UK, apparently. What a weaselly thing to say.
****From La Mancha. Saffron Panza de la Mancha. A quixotic strand.
*****French. I think.
******This, of course, is from Maldon.
*******La bella Liguria. This is really all over the place isn't it?

Turmeric latte. And a lot of people.

Life is full of surprises. Take me for example, I'm not as young as I look. And that's all down to the restorative elixir made from Nature's wonder: turmeric. Yes, that's right, for only a few pence a day, you too can look and feel like me. And you will have the guaranteed extra benefit of living forever.*

Try as I might these days to shop and eat food from sources I know and trust, it's not always possible if I want to continue with the occasional exoticism. We have been trading spices for years as a nation (not always necessarily in a morally legitimate way) so I accept that my cupboards are full of fragrant wonders of the world I thoughtlessly spice up our meals with.

The turmeric in this drink came from Peru and I have no idea of what the lives of the farmers and workers is like. The almond milk supposedly came from organic small growers and co-operatives, but we all know that a lot of almond farming is on environmentally shaky ground and the cost of growing is huge.

The pepper came from Telicherry, Kerala, meant to be the finest pepper in the world. As I stir it into the drink, savouring its fruity aroma, what's the picker doing after a day's work? And the saffron, cardamon and coconut oil that goes into it too? Could I not just be happy with a fresh mint tea, made from the herbs growing in my garden? But then I think if there was no demand for all of this, there would be no point in growing it and no economic benefit. Is a pathetic wage really an economic benefit at all?

I love this drink though. It's comforting, healthy, tasty and nourishing. But as with everything we ravishingly consume it's worth stopping to think a little about where it comes from and the people who have been involved in its journey. From the earth to the farmers who grew it; the pickers and packers; the delivery drivers who collect and transport it; the shipyard workers and the ship's crew; the distribution workers here and the people you hand your money over to before you bring it home. All for a moment's pleasure and the guarantee of eternal life.**

*not a guaranteed benefit.
**not a guarantee.

Method
I make a paste from about five tablespoons of turmeric powder (dried is best for this, it is more concentrated so you get more of the curcumin) and add a fair amount of water until it's the texture of houmous.
This is all done in a small pan on a gentle heat, so when I add a tablespoon of coconut oil, it melts easily in and is quickly absorbed.

A good twist of pepper, some ground cardamon (about a teaspoon's-worth), a pinch of chilli flakes or cayenne pepper and sometimes a touch of ground cloves go in.

Finally, a pinch of saffron if I'm feeling the urge, maybe some ground ginger or cinnamon and then I transfer it to a glass jar, kept in the fridge to use over the course of the week.

To make it up, put a heaped tablespoon of the paste in a small milk pan and top up with a tumbler-full of almond milk. You can, if you prefer use cow's milk, coconut milk, soy milk, rice milk, whatever.

Stir well and serve warm.

Sea aster time

    It's STILL the Easter holidays.The children have not stopped talking to me for two solid days. I think they must breathe through their ears. It's been a stream of consciousness/relentlessness that James Joyce would have struggled with.And from Joyce to Danté. We've just taken Charon's ferry to the new and as yet undiscovered circle of Hell called Gambado, a soft-play torture centre.While the sadistic and at the same time surely masochistic staff feed the crazed children sugary snacks, doubtless aware of the aftermath, all I can do is try and find a quiet corner (unlikely) and hide from their incredible energy levels like out of control hybrid chihuahua-mosquitoes.The children are having a complete riot. I still smell of prawns underlayed with a kind of lingering seaweed scent. No amount of aftershave can mask the possibility that Poseidon is decomposing under my chair.The reason for this is my need for an early lunch to fortify myself. I'd been to the Crystal Palace market on Saturday to visit my favourite fishmongers and support my friend Roberto of trufflestories.co.uk.The prawns wouldn't keep until today, so I'd frozen them when I got back. They were magnificent, and at £7 for two, while not cheap (and why should they be?) they are so much nicer, in my opinion, than lobster. I'd rather four of these, cooked in garlic butter than one small lobster any day.I'd also picked up a large handful of sea aster, reminiscent of samphire crossed with spinach. I bought a bag of truffle taglierini to go with them and that was all I needed. Cooking amazing food really can be this simple. Great ingredients and this dish was ready in about ten minutes, not taking into account the boiling of the pasta water. Make sure you wash your hands well after peeling the prawns and rootling about in the sea aster. Unless you like being chased by cats.Ingredients for two4 huge prawns, shell on50-60g truffle taglierini. If not, normal taglierini or angel hair spaghetti will do the job. God forbid, but you could possibly add a dash of white truffle oil if you were desparate for the funkiness of truffleA handful of sea aster1 large clove of garlic, crushedA pinch of chilli flakesA grating of nutmegExcellent quality olive oil. It really does make a difference hereMaldon salt to seasonMethodBring a large pan of salted water to the boil and cook the pasta until al dente. Drain and toss through with some olive oil.Meanwhile, cook the prawns in some olive oil with a little salt in a very hot sauté pan, then when done, add the garlic and cook for about a minute more on a slightly lower heat so you don't burn it.Throw in the sea aster and wilt it for a minute, give a good twist of nutmed and a pinch of salt to taste then mix through with the pasta. Serve immediately with another little drizzle of oil. 

Lamb and Rosemary Stuffed Squash

The evening light fades so quickly in September. It feels like only last week that the sun was setting late after nine o'clock and our nights were short with dawn flooding the bedroom around four.Now, it seems barely seven and candles are being lit and quilts thrown on the sofa. But for me, this is a time of great happiness. It's hygge time. Time to get roasting, stuffing and braising. There still will be salad on our table most nights though, no one comes between me and lettuce. Not even nature.I found these beautiful gem squash, fitting their name perfectly, at Crystal Palace Food Market on the weekend, among other great fruits of the season. A giant spaghetti squash, heavy as a medicine ball,  striped yellow and green courgettes, firm and skinny, ready for dicing and sautéing quickly with some garlic and olive oil. There were thick, short cucumbers, perfect for a salad, tasty and thick skinned unlike the watery green sticks of the supermarket.The colours of the season are reflected in the stalls. The oranges, browns and deep greens mirror the leaves on and off the trees. Black kale, red chard stalks and the inky purple of beetroot look like a Spanish still life and those evenings, warm inside against the soon to be here misty, haunted nights seem to be a comforting pleasure against the dark.I stuffed the squash with cubes of lamb chop. Cook the lamb first to render the fat and give some colour to the meat. Then let it cool a little and shred it from the bone. And if you don't have mushroom ketchup, use Worcestershire sauce. Be sure to have a gentle hand with the seasoning, those bottles pack a punch, and if you want chilli heat rather than warmth, add another chilli, or a sprinkle of chilli flakes.Ingredients6 gem squash, tops cut off and seeds scooped out6 smallish lamb chops1/2 a red onion, finely diced1 fat clove of garlic, finely sliced2 sprigs-worth of rosemary leaves, well chopped2tbsp pearl barley (I used toasted barley for extra nutiness)2tbsp mushroom ketchup1 red chilli, choppedA small handful of hazelnuts, choppedMethodHeat the oven to high and prepare the filling.Sear the chops all over and add the onion, garlic and chilli to the pan. Turn the heat down and continue cooking until the onion is soft and translucent.Add the barley and rosemary and a fairly large splash of water. Let that reduce away for a few minutes then add the mushroom ketchup.Remove the lamb, let it cool a little so you can then take the meat from the bones and finely chop it.Mix back into the pan and stuff each squash to the top. Sprinkle over the nuts and put the lids back on.Roast in the oven for 35-40 minutes, until the squash are soft.Serve straight from the dish.