Dessert recipes | Funky Foods

Hold on, don’t chuck out your chip pan just yet. Every so often, it’s the only thing that will hit the spot

Fried food has had a bad rap. To hear some, you’d think the frying pan was the source of all earthly evils – or at least dietary problems. And if you can get past that, there are those who fear they can’t rustle up a plate of chips without setting fire to the house. Today, I’m flying in the face of fears and fashion – and giving you my favourite deep-fried treats. I don’t advocate you eat them every day, but once in a while the lure of a crisp, golden coating is too strong to resist.

You don’t need a deep-fat fryer, just a large, deep saucepan and a frying basket or a “spider” spatula (the type that has a wide, flattish basket at the end). A cooking thermometer would be handy, too, but if you don’t have one, there’s a simple temperature test – a cube of white bread browns in 60 seconds at 160C, 40 seconds at 180C and 20 seconds at 190C. And just in case, check the batteries in your smoke detector.

When it comes to selecting oils, a high smoke point is what you want. No extra-virgin – it’s too delicate, and burns. Most of the time I use sunflower or groundnut, though rapeseed works well for croquetas.

Before starting, make sure the oil doesn’t come more than a third of the way up the sides of the pan – adding moist food to hot oil makes it bubble fiercely, so give it room. And fry in small batches – throwing in too much at once makes the temperature drop dramatically so the food absorbs too much oil and becomes soggy. And we’re not interested in soggy. Crisp is what we’re after. Here, have a chip…

Churros

Dusting the churros with a little cinnamon as well as sugar isn’t strictly traditional, but it does taste good. Serve your churros with cups of hot chocolate thickened with a little cornflour. Serves four.

120g butter
A pinch of salt
130g plain flour, sifted
½ tsp baking powder
3 eggs, lightly beaten
Vegetable oil, for frying
4 tbsp caster sugar
¼ tsp ground cinnamon (optional)

To make the dough, put 250ml water, the butter and salt into a saucepan and bring to a rolling boil. Lower the heat and beat in the flour and baking powder. Stir vigorously until the batter pulls away from the sides of the pan and forms a ball – about a minute. Remove from heat, beat in the eggs until smooth, then leave the dough to rest for 10 minutes.

Prepare to fry the churros by heating 4cm oil in a deep pan to 160C/325F.

Spoon the mixture into a piping bag fitted with a large, star-shaped tip. Squeeze 8cm strips of dough into the hot oil. Fry four strips at a time until golden brown, turning once – about two minutes on each side – then drain on kitchen paper. Mix the sugar and the cinnamon, if using, and toss the churros in the mixture while still warm. Serve immediately.

Proper chips

If you need to, do the first frying a few hours in advance and finish off with a final fry when you’re ready to serve them. Serves four.

4 large, floury potatoes – Maris Piper, King Edward or Desiree
At least 2 litres of groundnut or vegetable oil, for deep frying
Flaky sea salt

Peel the potatoes and cut them into fairly thin chips. Put them in a large bowl of cold water and swish to remove some of the starch, then drain and pat dry on a tea towel.

Pour the oil into a deep-fat fryer or large, deep pan – it should come no more than about a third of the way up the pan. Heat to 140C/275F. Put a batch of chips into a frying basket and carefully lower them into the hot oil. Fry for five minutes, until the chips have softened but are still floppy and not coloured. Remove from the pan and drain well on kitchen paper. Fry the rest of the batch the same way.

When you’re ready to serve, reheat the fat to 190C/375F on a cooking thermometer and fry the chips, again in batches, until crisp and golden. This should take only about two minutes. Drain well on kitchen paper, sprinkle with sea salt and place in a serving dish in a low oven to keep warm while you cook the rest.

Croquetas

A good way of using up leftover ham or roast chicken, and a delicious starter or nibble. Makes 12-14.

2 tbsp olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
2 tbsp plain flour
375ml whole milk
130g cooked ham or chicken, finely chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
A few gratings of nutmeg, optional
2 eggs
100g fine white breadcrumbs
Olive oil (not extra-virgin) or rapeseed oil, for frying

Warm the oil in a frying pan over a medium-low heat and sauté the onion until soft and translucent, about 10 minutes. Add the flour and stir for a couple of minutes. Warm the milk in a separate pan and pour into the onion, stirring as you go. Cook slowly, stirring, until the sauce thickens – about three or four minutes – then add the ham or chicken. Continue to cook, stirring, until the béchamel is quite thick and pulls away from the sides of the pan as you stir, about eight minutes. Taste and season (if using ham, add a few gratings of nutmeg, too).

Pour the béchamel into a shallow dish. When cold, cover with clingfilm and refrigerate for three hours or overnight.

Use two teaspoons to shape the batter into ovals about the size of large walnuts. Arrange a bowl of lightly beaten egg and another of breadcrumbs, and dip a croqueta first into the egg and then roll it in the breadcrumbs, covering the whole surface. If you want them extra crisp, dip and roll them twice.

Transfer to a plate and continue with the rest of the batter. Chill for a couple of hours, or up to 24 hours.

Pour the oil into a heavy saucepan to a depth of 5cm and heat until it reads 180C/350F on a thermometer. Fry the croquetas three or four at a time until golden on all sides. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a plate lined with kitchen paper to drain. Continue until all the croquetas are cooked. Serve hot or warm.

Chorizo scotch eggs

A great twist on an old favourite. Makes six.

For the chorizo
600g minced pork
2 tsp each finely chopped thyme, sage, chives and parsley
2 tsp sweet smoked paprika
2 tsp hot smoked paprika
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 tsp fine sea salt
1 tsp fennel seeds, roughly crushed
¼ tsp cayenne pepper
2 tbsp red wine
Freshly ground black pepper
Plus…
7-8 eggs, room temperature
Plain flour, for dusting and coating
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
A couple of handfuls of fine white breadcrumbs
Sunflower oil, for frying

Mix together all the ingredients for the chorizo, cover and refrigerate overnight. Divide the mixture into six, place a piece between two sheets of baking parchment and press with the bottom of a pan until it’s about 5-7mm thick. Repeat with the rest of the mixture and chill for 30 minutes.

Boil six of the eggs (reserve one or two for the coating) for seven minutes, drain and cool under the cold tap. Shell the eggs. Lay out a bowl containing flour seasoned with salt and pepper, the chorizo mixture, a bowl of beaten egg and a bowl of breadcrumbs. Coat each egg with seasoned flour, then place it in the centre of a flattened piece of chorizo mix and carefully gather up the meat, pressing it firmly between your palms to wrap and cover the egg completely. Seal the joins well. Next, dip it in beaten egg and roll it in breadcrumbs until it is completely covered. To give an extra crisp coating, repeat the process, though you will need to use an extra, lightly beaten egg. Repeat with the remaining eggs.

Heat about 5cm of oil in a deep pan up to a temperature of 180C. Carefully lower the eggs into the oil and fry for six to eight minutes, turning frequently, until they are a nice brown colour. Drain on kitchen paper.

• Learn new skills on River Cottage’s four-day cookery courses; go to rivercottage.net for details.

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Dried fruit recipes | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall | Fairtrade | Food and drink

February 19th, 2011

Pep up your cooking in these last days of winter with a scattering of dried fruit here and there. And please, try to buy Fairtrade

As primates, I reckon we’re pretty much hard-wired to yearn for fruit whatever the season. Call me demanding, but I need more than apples and pears to keep me going until the first gooseberry of summer, which is why I grab the year’s earliest sticks of forced rhubarb (the vegetable that thinks it’s a fruit) like a man possessed. Even so, I long for greater variety.

And that’s when I reach for dried fruit. Fat raisins, plump apricots and perfumed mangoes add a fruity lift to compotes, tea breads, cakes and muesli. And in savoury dishes, too – apricots add a juicy tang to tagines, stuffings and pilafs; raisins are delicious sautéed with radicchio in a winter salad or in a piquant pasta sauce with capers and pine nuts; and dried mango makes a great chutney.

Of course, all these ingredients are “exotic”, the very opposite of local, so are hardly stand-bys of the River Cottage repertoire, which is why we give a little thought to their sourcing. Fairtrade Fortnight starts a week on Monday, and provides a good opportunity to reflect on where our food comes from, how it’s produced and by whom. The power of the shopping basket is mighty – in 1999 we spent £21m on Fairtrade products; in 2009 it was £799m. This is a growing movement that makes a real difference to some of the world’s poorest farming communities. In all, around 7.5 million people from 58 developing countries – farmers, their families and communities – benefit from the Fairtrade system.

I know there are some who criticise Fairtrade, and I’ve heard all the arguments about protectionism ad nauseam, but the fact is, traditional trading arrangements push some of the poorest communities on our planet to the brink of destitution. And that is an irrefutable argument for change, for a fairer deal and for trading structures that encourage and foster sustainable development.

So I hope you choose Fairtrade dried fruit when shopping for today’s recipes. There’s a hearteningly wide range available, but if you have trouble tracking them down, tropicalwholefoods.com does a great range by mail order.

Dried fruit compote

This makes a great breakfast with thick, Greek-style yoghurt. It keeps well in an airtight container in the fridge for up to a week. This makes enough for eight to 10 servings.

200g dried apricots
200g dried mangoes
100g raisins
150ml freshly squeezed orange juice
80g honey
Zest of 1 lemon, pared with vegetable peeler
Zest of ½ orange, pared with vegetable peeler
1 cinnamon stick
3 cloves
1 star anise (optional)
Thick yoghurt, to serve

Pour 500ml warm water into a large bowl, tip in the dried fruit and leave to soak for an hour.

Pour 500ml water into a large saucepan along with the orange juice, honey, lemon and orange zest, cinnamon, cloves and star anise (if using). Bring to a boil, then add the fruit and its soaking liquid. Bring back to the boil, reduce the heat and simmer for 30-40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the fruit has softened and the liquid has thickened slightly. Serve warm or cold, with a big dollop of thick yoghurt.

Raisin pie

You can give this homely, delicious pie a decadent kick by soaking the raisins in a slug of rum or brandy, draining and adding them to the filling. Serves six to eight.

For the pastry
225g plain flour
A pinch of salt
150g chilled butter, cut into cubes
2 tbsp caster sugar
1 egg yolk

For the filling
4 eggs, slightly beaten
380ml sour cream
200g caster sugar, plus a little extra
Juice of 1 lemon
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
Finely grated zest of ½ orange
1 tsp vanilla extract
Pinch of salt
200g raisins

Sift the flour and salt into a large bowl and rub in the butter with your fingertips until the mix resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar. Whisk the egg yolk with three tablespoons of chilled water, sprinkle over the flour and mix in with a knife. Knead very gently into a dough. Wrap in clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes.

Heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. On a lightly floured surface, roll out two-thirds of the dough and use it to line a 22cm x 4cm pie dish. Chill for 15 minutes. Keep the remaining dough in clingfilm.

In a large bowl, beat together the eggs. (Set aside a tablespoon’s worth for glazing the top of the pie.) Now whisk them with sour cream, sugar, lemon juice and zest, orange zest, vanilla and salt. Stir in the raisins. Roll out the remaining dough into a circle large enough to cover the pie. Pour the filling into the pie, cover with the lid, seal the edges and trim with a sharp knife.

Beat together the reserved egg and a tablespoon of water, and brush this over the top of the pie. Sprinkle with sugar and bake for 20 minutes. Reduce the heat to 180C/350F/gas mark 4 and bake for a further 10-15 minutes – the middle will still wobble a bit as the custardy filling thickens up as it cools. Serve just warm or cold.

Amaretti biscuits

Crisp on the outside and chewy in the centre, these are addictively good and very easy. Makes about 16.

180g apricot kernels (or use ground almonds)
100g caster sugar
Grated zest of 1 lemon
1 tsp almond extract
1 pinch salt
2 egg whites
1 tbsp runny honey
50g flaked almonds
Icing sugar

Heat the oven to 160C/325F/gas mark 3. Line a large baking sheet with baking parchment.

Grind the apricot kernels to a fine meal in a food processor or clean coffee mill, then mix with the caster sugar, lemon zest, almond extract and salt in a bowl, ensuring the zest and extract are evenly distributed.

Whisk the egg whites until firm peaks form, then whisk in the honey. With a large metal spoon, gently fold the meringue into the kernel mixture until you have a soft dough. Roll the dough into balls the size of large walnuts, flatten each ball a little, then roll in flaked almonds. Finally, roll them in icing sugar.

Place the biscuits on the baking tray and bake for 14-18 minutes – they should turn a very light golden colour and remain soft and chewy in the centre. Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely, then store in a sealed jar or tin.

Dried mango chutney

Dried fruit makes a delicious chutney and is a terrific stand-by when fresh fruit is in short supply. Makes five 240ml jars.

500g dried mango slices (roughly chopped, if on the large side)
4 onions, peeled and finely diced
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
250g raisins
350g light muscovado sugar
1 tbsp mustard seeds
2 small red chillies, halved, membranes removed, finely diced
500ml cider vinegar
Finely grated zest of 1 orange
Juice of 1 small orange
1 tbsp ground ginger
1 tsp salt
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp ground cumin

Put the mango slices in a bowl, pour over 1.5 litres of water, cover and leave to soak overnight.

Tip the mangoes and their soaking water into a large, stainless-steel saucepan or preserving pan. Add all the other ingredients and, over a low heat, stir until the sugar dissolves. Bring up to a boil and simmer, uncovered, for about an hour and a half. You should stir the mixture frequently, particularly towards the end of the cooking time, to ensure it doesn’t stick – it’s done when a spoon drawn through the centre of the chutney leaves a clear line for a second or two before the chutney comes back together.

Pour into hot, sterilised jars and seal with vinegar-proof lids. Store in a cool, dry place and leave to mature for eight weeks before using. Use within two years.

• Learn new skills on River Cottage’s four-day cookery courses; go to rivercottage.net for details.

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Keywords Alcohol recipes, Baking recipes, Breakfast, British recipes, Dessert recipes, Egg recipes, Features, Food & drink, Fruit recipes, Herb and spice recipes, Life and style, recipes, Side dish recipes, Snack recipes, Spicy recipes, The Guardian, Vegetable recipes, Vegetarian recipes

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s peach recipes

August 13th, 2010

guardian.co.uk/hughfearnleywhittingstall

From their plump curves to the soft down on their blushing skin, peaches are the most seductive fruit…

I hope last week’s plummy feast whetted your appetite for this week’s fruity treat, the peach ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì surely one of the sweetest and most seductive fruits ever. One juicy, dribbling bite, still warm from the tree, is all it takes to convince me that Genesis is wrong. The fruit that got Eve into trouble must have been a peach. From the plump curves, the subtle, suggestive cleft, the soft down on its blushing skin to its yielding, tender, juice-trickling flesh, a ripe peach must surely be the most tempting fruit of all. Frankly, it’s a sin not to eat one.

The first peaches grew in China, where wild trees still grow, though their fruit is rather mean and sour. They were transported along the Silk Road to Persia, where they flourished so marvellously they came to be regarded as a Persian fruit, hence their Latin name Prunus persica. It’s thought Alexander the Great took them from Persia to Greece and that, yet again, we have the Romans to thank for spreading them even farther afield.

Some think me adventurous, ridiculously optimistic, growing peaches in my Devon garden, but I’m not. Peach stones have been found in a second-century site near the old Billingsgate fish market in London, and peaches from their grand greenhouse have been the pride of country houses for centuries. But you, too, can grow peaches, especially if you happen to have a small, sheltered garden with a sunspot, ideally against a wall. In fact, townies often grow better outdoor peaches than us country bumpkins.

Mark Diacono, head gardener at River Cottage and enthusiastic embracer of the agricultural upside of climate change, is the one who convinced me to give it a go. Peaches need to ripen on the tree; they won’t get any sweeter once picked. That’s why many imported peaches are so disappointing. They’re picked before they’re ripe to make them easier to transport and biting into their woolly flesh serves only to remind you of the possibility of what a real peach can be; like trying to grab at something in a dream, the harder you try the more elusive it seems. So to get the full, sweet, nectar-dribbling-down-the-chin effect, you really should try growing your own.

The varieties we’re growing at home and at River Cottage are Peregrine in those warm, sheltered spots, Rochester and Redwing in slightly less sunny positions. These last two flower later, which gives them a chance of avoiding late frosts. If you have limited space, try Bonanza, a dwarf variety that will grow to about 1.3m in a large pot, never needs pruning and is remarkably productive for such a small tree. All will do well in a greenhouse, of course ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì but they do get big.

When you get your hands on truly ripe peaches, there’s nothing better than devouring them as they are, savouring every luscious mouthful. Try them at breakfast ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì could there be a more life-affirming way to start the day? Or as a simple and spectacular end to a rich meal. But I can’t help myself. When I’ve consumed more peaches au naturel than one might think possible, I can’t resist dabbling with them in recipes, too. It’s no crime to cook a peach ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì and, frankly, it’s a kindness to any peach that has not been allowed to ripen fully. Nothing elaborate, though ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì a simple grilling with raspberry sauce, a salad, a slump, all designed to let their essential peachiness shine.

Caramelised peaches with raspberry sauce

This is my take on Peach Melba, the dish created by Escoffier in 1893 in honour of Dame Nellie Melba. Serves four.

4 peaches
2 tbsp clear honey
2 tbsp unsalted butter
1 vanilla pod, split
For the sauce
350g raspberries
1 tbsp fresh lemon or lime juice
About 2 tbsp icing sugar
To serve
Vanilla ice-cream (optional)

Preheat the oven to 220C/425F/gas mark 7. Halve the peaches, remove the stones, then place the fruit in an ovenproof dish, cut side up. Brush with the honey and place a scrap of butter in each one. With a small, sharp knife, scrape the seeds from the vanilla pod and smear them over the peaches. Snip the vanilla into eight pieces and put a piece in each peach half. Bake for 15-20 minutes until tender and slightly caramelised.

While the peaches are cooking, make the raspberry sauce. Pur?É?í?Ç¬©e half the raspberries in a blender with a splash of water. Press through a sieve to remove the seeds, then stir in the lemon or lime juice and icing sugar to taste.

When you’re ready to serve, arrange two hot peach halves on each plate, spoon over the raspberry sauce and scatter with the remaining raspberries. If you like, you can also add a scoop of vanilla ice-cream.

Peach, prosciutto and rocket salad

This is an easy, tasty summer salad that combines the sweetness of peaches with salty prosciutto and soft dollops of ricotta. Serves four.

4 ripe peaches, halved, stoned and cut into wedges
8 mint leaves, shredded
1 tbsp red-wine vinegar or apple balsamic vinegar
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp Dijon mustard
3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
A big handful of rocket
12 thin slices prosciutto
200g ricotta

Combine the peaches and mint in a large bowl. Whisk together the vinegar, salt and mustard, then whisk in the oil. Pour three-quarters of the dressing over the peaches and toss gently to combine.

Divide the rocket between serving plates, drape over the prosciutto, dot with dollops of ricotta, then scatter over the peaches. Trickle over a little dressing and grind on some black pepper. Serve immediately.

Peach slump

This easy American pud is the essence of simple summer eating. Add a handful of blackberries if you like, too. Serves four to six.
8 peaches
3-4 tbsp light muscovado sugar, depending on peach ripeness
?É‚Äö?Ç¬? vanilla pod, split
180g plain flour
2 tsp baking powder
4 tbsp caster sugar
Pinch of salt
Pinch of cinnamon (optional)
80g unsalted butter, cut into chunks, plus a little more for greasing
100ml whole milk
75g whole milk yoghurt or 75ml buttermilk
1 egg

Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Peel the peaches by scoring a small X at the base of each one, then lowering into a pan of boiling water. Simmer for up to a minute, until the skins are loosened. Transfer to a bowl of iced water, then peel as you would tomatoes. Halve them, remove the stones and cut each half into thirds lengthways.

Lightly butter an ovenproof dish. In a bowl, toss together the peaches, sugar and vanilla. Tip them into the dish and dot with a little butter.

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, caster sugar, salt and cinnamon if using. Rub the butter into the flour mixture until it has the consistency of coarse crumbs. Whisk together the milk, yoghurt or buttermilk and egg, and stir into the flour, being careful not to over-mix. Drop spoonfuls of the mixture on to the peaches. Try to cover them evenly, but don’t worry about a few gaps. Bake for about 25 minutes, until the top is golden and the juices are bubbling. Cool on a wire rack for about five minutes before serving.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Read about wild peaches and a whole lot more in the latest in the River Cottage Handbook series, Edible Hedgerow, by foraging expert John Wright. To order your signed copy, go to rivercottage.net.

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Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s plum recipes

August 6th, 2010

guardian.co.uk/hughfearnleywhittingstall

Jammy, juicy and luscious beyond belief, there’s no end to the mouthwatering potential of this year’s bumper crop

The following correction was printed in the Guardian’s Corrections and clarifications column, Saturday 21 August 2010

Peaches and plums are often used metaphorically to connote happiness and good fortune, a recipe said, giving a cricketing example: “That was an absolute peach of a ball, got him plum LBW.” The fruity pun didn’t work in this case, because the word needed is plumb

I’m waiting. Around this time in August I begin to stalk the orchard, keeping a close check on fattening fruits, hoping I discover them in their perfect state of ripeness before the wasps do. And the ones I’m most impatient for, practically tapping my watch in a what-sort-of-time-do-you-call-this fashion, are the plums.

This year, there’s an exciting new addition to the stone fruit collection, too ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì in the greenhouse ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì downy, blushing peaches and their smooth-skinned cousins, nectarines. Raw and cooked, peaches and plums are two of the most joyfully luscious fruits. It’s hardly surprising that both are used metaphorically to connote all-round happiness and good fortune. Particularly in cricket, I’ve noticed, as in “that was an absolute peach of a ball, got him plum LBW”. Obviously, it’s the bowler’s joy being alluded to, not the batsman’s?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶

Anyway, this week I’m plumping for plumptious plums?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶ and next week’s column will be totally peachy.

Even if you have a smallish garden, some kind of plum will merit its keep in a sunny corner, or even trained against a wall. It will bless you with gorgeous blossom in spring ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì particularly a splendid spring like the one we enjoyed this year. And then there’s the fruit, from golden mirabelles and translucent gages, through to deepest velvety-purple damsons, they’re enormously beautiful. I think I might plant a plum tree even if you couldn’t eat them.

Our love affair with these jammiest and juiciest of fruits is long-standing. There were plum orchards in medieval monasteries, and Chaucer described a garden cultivating “ploumes and bulaces” as long ago as 1369, though it wasn’t really until the 19th century that we went plum crazy. The Victoria plum was cultivated from a seedling found in a Sussex garden in 1844 and remains the most popular variety grown in Britain. Though some are sniffy about it, I think it’s still one of the best cooking plums. Raw from the tree they can be a bit tart, which is fine if you want to pile them into a pie or simmer them into compote. If you want to eat them raw, leave them to ripen in a warm room for a day or so before you tuck in.

But if raw is what you most hanker for, then plant the sweet, round gages: Cambridge, Early Transparent, Reine Claude and the extra-large Oullin are all rightly popular. Larger plums that will sweeten nicely in a sunny summer are Marjorie’s Seedling and Warwickshire Drooper. I’ve also planted two local varieties, a gage called Bryanstone and a North Devon variety of plum called Landkey. I’m hoping to sample the first few fruits within a week or two?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶

When it comes to cooking them, one of the easiest ways is to poach them into a compote sweetened with a little sugar and/or honey and a split vanilla pod, perhaps a little star anise, too, if you fancy. Or roast them to intensify the flavour, as in today’s sorbet recipe. Spoon over thick Greek yoghurt or ice-cream, or serve with subtle, creamy puds such as panna cotta. Add a little dollop to the bottom of cr?É?í?Ç¬®me br?É?í?Ç¬ªl?É?í?Ç¬©e, too, to make a fruity change.

Plums are related to apricots, peaches and cherries, and many of the dishes you can make with their cousins work brilliantly with plums. Try them quartered and stoned and crammed into tarts filled with frangipane, snuggle them into a tarte tatin, or envelope them in a cloud of clafoutis. And, to keep the plummy party going well into next year, bottle them in jams and chutneys.

Of course, we love plums in sweet things, but their acidity works well in savoury dishes, too. Traditionally, either in their fresh or dried, pruney state, they’ve been made into stuffings for goose, pork or other fatty meats. But they are great in lighter dishes, adding a bit of sweet tanginess to salsas (see today’s recipe) and juicy vitality to salads. Try sliced gages or plums with prosciutto and some blue cheese, or arranged on a plate with roasted beetroots lightly dressed with vinaigrette and some soft goat’s cheese crumbled over the top.

Roast plum sorbet

This is one of my favourite sorbets. Roasting the plums first intensifies both flavour and colour in a delightful way. Serve in its unadorned glory, with little shortbread biscuits or, for a spectacularly indulgent treat, warm chocolate brownies. Serves six to eight.

2kg plums, halved and stoned2 vanilla pods
100g caster sugar, or more depending on the sweetness of the plums

Make the sorbet at least 12 hours before you want to serve it. Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Put the plums in a roasting tin. Slit the vanilla pods open lengthways, chop them into a few pieces and add to the tin, along with the sugar and 250ml water. Roast for about 30 minutes until the plums are really soft and slightly blistered around the edges. Rub the plums and juices from the tin through a sieve into a bowl. Add more sugar to taste. Leave to cool.

Churn the pur?É?í?Ç¬©e in an ice-cream machine until very thick, then transfer to the freezer to set solid. Alternatively, put the pur?É?í?Ç¬©e in a shallow container and place in the freezer. Take it out every hour or so and beat it to distribute the ice crystals throughout the mixture and make a soft, sorbet texture. Three interventions should do the trick; two will do if you’re pushed.

Plum salsa

Choose plums that are slightly underripe for this easy salsa ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì the firmer flesh and edge of tartness goes beautifully with the other ingredients. Serve with roast or barbecued duck, chicken or pork, or with spicy sausages. Serves four to six as an accompaniment.

3-4 plums, halved, stone removed and diced
?É‚Äö?Ç¬? small red onion, finely minced
Small handful mint leaves, finely chopped
Small handful coriander leaves, finely chopped
1 small red chilli, halved, deseeded, membrane removed and finely diced
Juice of a lime
Finely pared zest of half a lime
Freshly ground black pepper

Mix the ingredients in a bowl and leave for 15 minutes for the flavours to develop.

Plum chutney

This is Pam Corbin’s (or “Pam the Jam” as we call her around these parts) recipe for plum chutney, and the perfect way to preserve some of the summer glut into the winter. It’s delicious with cold meats. Makes 10-11 340g jars.

1kg plums, quartered and stoned
1.5kg apples or pears or a mixture, peeled, cored and diced
500g shallots
250g stoned prunes, roughly chopped
500g soft light brown sugar
600ml cider vinegar or white-wine vinegar
2 tsp dried chilli flakes (optional)
Salt
For the spice bag
50g fresh root ginger, bruised
2 tsp mustard seeds
2 tsp black peppercorns

Make your spice bag by tying up the spices in a 20cm square of muslin. Put this into a preserving pan with all the other ingredients and bring slowly to the boil, stirring occasionally. This will take a while, but don’t hurry it.

Let the mixture simmer, uncovered, for 2?É‚Äö?Ç¬?-3 hours. Keep an eye on it and stir regularly to ensure it doesn’t burn. It’s ready when it’s thick and glossy, rich in colour and well reduced, but still with chunks of fruit discernible. It is thick enough if, when you draw a wooden spoon through, the chutney parts to reveal the pan’s base for a few seconds.

Pot the chutney while warm in warm, sterilised jars. Pack down with the back of a spoon to remove any air pockets. Seal with vinegar-proof lids. Store in a cool, dark place and leave for a couple of months to mature before using. Use within two years.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Read about wild plums and a whole lot more in the latest in the River Cottage Handbook series, Edible Hedgerow, by foraging expert John Wright. To order your signed copy, go to rivercottage.net.

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Keywords Dessert recipes, Features, Food & drink, Fruit recipes, Life and style, recipes, The Guardian

Cooking with children recipes | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall | Food

July 30th, 2010

It’s amazing what even quite young children can achieve in the kitchen, and the summer holidays are the perfect time to let them find their culinary feet

As a kid, the long summer holiday represented seemingly endless possibilities for aimlessly messing about. What bliss. Often, the fractionally more purposeful messing about took place in the kitchen. Mum was remarkably relaxed in giving me access to her armoury of pans, bowls and knives ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì though usually all I required was the rotary whisk, to knock up yet another soft mountain of Angel Delight.

I did get a little beyond that. In fact, I became quite the junior pastry chef. Under Mum’s guidance, I learned to knock out very respectable black forest gateaux, profiteroles, lemon mousse ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì classic 1970s sweets to follow her avocado mousse with prawns and beef wellington. We were a dinner party double act ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì except I never saw my creations being consumed, because I was in bed by then.

Cooking is still our rainy-day activity of choice in the summer hols, only now I’m the one dishing out ingredients, finding the right size bowl and wondering if I’ll have to do all the washing up. When Mum’s here, of course, she’ll take over supervision, so I can sneak off and do a bit of real nothing. And I’m reminded that I used to cook with her mum, my granny, too. Eggs, flour, sugar, butter, etc?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶ Is there any better glue for holding together the fabric of family down the generations?

My kids are not so resolutely sweet-toothed as I was at their age, so with the right kind of cajoling and suggestions, I have an outside chance of getting a remarkably well-balanced meal cooked for me. Chloe, 14, likes making huge vats of beans ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì from scratch, soaking dried beans, boiling them, and making a lovely sauce from onions, tomatoes and a bit of spice. They last for days. Oscar, 11, likes knives (understatement), and his skills and enthusiasm can be happily channelled into veg prep. Freddie, seven, does nothing by the book and is averse to taking instructions, but has taken to the blender (supervised) and is surprisingly adept at transforming fruit from our garden into pur?É?í?Ç¬©es that can be drunk as smoothies, served with ice-cream or pancakes, or frozen into lollies.

It’s impressive what even quite young children can achieve ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì small hands do very well at rolling today’s falafel or picking herbs from their stems. For kids who like to follow instructions, all this week’s recipes deliver, while for the more independent-minded, they’re starting points for experiments. The falafel, for instance, make terrific mini veggie burgers. Mix in cooked beans or peas, and spice it up with curry powder, too. And toss cooked or tinned beans, or cubed avocado, in with the salad, or chop its ingredients smaller to create a lively salsa.

All these dishes together, customised or not, make a lovely summer holiday family meal. And even if not all the kids are entirely enamoured of all the savoury items (are they ever?), the sundaes will surely leave no one disappointed.

Three quick dips

Serve one or more of these instead of hummus with the falafel, and or with a pile of fresh raw veg crudit?É?í?Ç¬©s: ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Pur?É?í?Ç¬©e or mash cooked cannellini beans with a little minced garlic, a slug of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkling of cumin. Add some finely chopped parsley, if you like.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Drain cooked spinach and squeeze out the excess moisture. Chop finely or pulse in a blender, and mix with cream cheese, grated parmesan, black pepper and a grate of nutmeg.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Mix thick yoghurt with a tiny amount of crushed garlic, a little salt and pepper, and plenty of chopped herbs ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì chives, plus either dill, coriander or mint work well.

Falafel

Delicious warm, but also great cold. Serve in flatbreads or pitta with salad for a main course or with a yoghurt dip for a snack. Makes about 14.

200g dried chickpeas
1 small onion, chopped or grated
2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 small bunch parsley, stalks removed, leaves finely chopped
1 small bunch coriander, stalks removed, leaves finely chopped
1 tsp ground cumin
?É‚Äö?Ç¬º tsp chilli flakes (optional)
Salt
2-3 tbsp plain flourGroundnut oil (if frying them)
To serve
Pitta or flatbreads
Lettuce, shredded
Spring onion, finely chopped
Red peppers, finely sliced
Hummus or tahini (or one of my quick dips above)

Put the chickpeas in a large bowl, add cold water to cover by at least 6cm and soak overnight. Next day, drain, tip into a food processor and pulse the uncooked chickpeas, onion and garlic until roughly combined. Add the herbs, cumin, chilli (if using) and some salt, and pulse to a coarse paste. Sprinkle the flour over the mix and pulse until it comes together roughly into a ball. Put into a bowl, cover and refrigerate for a couple of hours.

Roll the mix into balls about the size of walnuts (slightly damp hands will make this job a bit easier). To bake the falafel, heat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6. Line a baking sheet with lightly oiled baking parchment, put the balls on the tray so they’re not touching and bake for 20-25 minutes, rattling the tin halfway through. To fry them, pour 8cm of oil into a deep, heavy-bottomed pan (it shouldn’t come more than a third of the way up the pan) and heat to 180C (that’s the temperature at which a cube of white bread turns golden in less than a minute). Fry in batches until golden, about four minutes, remove with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.

Roll up in flatbread or stuff pitta with some falafel and salad, and serve trickled with tahini thinned with hot water, spoonfuls of hummus or any of the dips above.

Tomato and sweetcorn salad

This easy, quick salad is colourful and tasty. If you like, tumble some rocket through it, to add a little fiery bite. Serves four as a side dish.

2 sweetcorn
3 large, ripe tomatoes, cut into 1cm cubes
1 shallot, chopped
1 handful coriander or basil leaves
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tsp red-wine vinegar (or the juice of ?É‚Äö?Ç¬? lime)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

There are three ways of preparing the corn. If you grow your own and it’s very fresh, add it raw. Slightly older corn is best lightly simmered or barbecued ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì to simmer it, remove the husks and silk, plunge the corn into boiling water and simmer until tender, about five to 10 minutes, depending on how freshly picked it is; drain, refresh under cold water, then stand upright on a board and run a knife down the sides to remove the kernels. To barbecue it, peel back the husk, pull off the silk, wrap the husk back around the cob and tie at the top with cotton string. Soak in cold water for 15 minutes, then grill over the coals, turning frequently, for 12 minutes. Leave to cool, then cut off the kernels as for boiled corn.

In a bowl, mix the corn kernels with the tomatoes, shallot and herbs. Trickle over the oil and vinegar, toss gently, taste and season.

Berry sundaes with chocolate sauce

An indulgent treat. It’s fun, if messy, to assemble a bowl of berries, whipped cream and nuts, pots of ice-cream and a jug of sauce, and let everyone put together their own pud. Serves six.

200g strawberries, hulled
200g raspberries
3 tbsp caster sugar
For the sauce
200g dark chocolate, broken in pieces
150ml double cream
2 tbsp Golden Syrup
To serve
Vanilla, strawberry or chocolate ice-cream
100ml double cream, lightly whipped
1 small handful toasted almonds or pecans, chopped (optional)

Halve large strawberries lengthways and leave small ones whole. Mix in a bowl with the raspberries and sugar, and macerate for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the sauce. Put the chocolate, cream and syrup in a heatproof bowl, place over a pan of barely simmering water (the water shouldn’t touch the base of the bowl) and stir gently from time to time, until everything is melted into a smooth, rich sauce. Keep warm over the pan until you’re ready to use it.

Layer berries, ice-cream and cream in sundae glasses, and finish with a trickle of sauce. Add a sprinkling of nuts, if you like.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Visiting the south-west over the summer holidays? Join us for A Taste Of River Cottage, where children under 12 get in free; rivercottage.net for details.

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Keywords Baking recipes, British recipes, Chocolate recipes, Dessert recipes, Features, Food & drink, Fruit recipes, Herb and spice recipes, Life and style, Main course recipes, Middle Eastern recipes, recipes, Salad recipes, Side dish recipes, Snack recipes, Spicy recipes, The Guardian, Vegetable recipes, Vegetarian recipes

Barbecue recipes | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall | Food

July 16th, 2010

Don’t save barbecues for parties and special occasions ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì they’re far more suited to when you’ve got friends or family over for lunch

As I write, three solid weeks of outstanding barbecue weather have just been broken by a night-long downpour. Has that put me off writing about barbecues? Not at all. I’m sure there’s a load more sunshine on the way. And you know what, even if there isn’t, it really doesn’t matter. Here’s the thing about barbecuing ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì a liberating secret I’d like to share, and one that keen barbecuers should never forget ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì it doesn’t have to be a scorching, sunny day to cook outside over smouldering charcoal or wood. It just has to be not pouring with rain. The rest of the summer may be rubbish, but we’re not actually expecting a biblical 40 days and nights of ceaseless rain? Are we?

It surprises me that we often save barbecues for special occasions or parties when, frankly, it can be quite stressful catering for such numbers over fire. Really, the barbecue is just another agreeable weapon in the thinking cook’s arsenal, more appropriate for a family lunch or friends over for supper than for feeding the whole village/street/cricket team.

Here are a few pointers for making it all go swimmingly (but not in the Noah’s flood sense). Most important of all, you need to light the fire well in advance so the coals are glowing red and covered in a layer of white ash. This will take at least 30 minutes with charcoal, longer with gathered wood. By far the best charcoal, incidentally, is that made from sustainably coppiced British woodland. It’s easy to light, and burns fast and even. And if the heat starts to fade, a quick top-up will have it back in business within 10 minutes.

You need to get the bars really hot to stop food from sticking to them. Better lightly to oil the food and lay it on searing hot bars than attempt to oil the bars themselves. And don’t be tempted to move things about too quickly or too often. You need the food to build up a burned edge at the point of contact with the bars, so it won’t break up or tear when you flip them.

Then you can really give your imagination free rein, cooking everything from whole birds and large pieces of meat (see today’s spatchcocked chicken) to sweet and delicate fruit. I’ve experimented with whole fish wrapped in layers of wet newspaper; oysters and mussels in their shells, which open up miraculously as they cook; and practically the entire contents of the vegetable garden ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì grilled lettuce hearts and spring onions with olive oil and shaved goat’s cheese are a great favourite. But you don’t have to be obsessively experimental. I hear weird tales of people attempting brownies and all sorts of cakey stuff on barbecues, but that seems a bit bonkers to me. They’re never going to be as good as ones made in the oven, are they?

You want your ingredients to be enhanced by barbecuing, not merely to survive it. For me, when it comes to pudding, fruit wins every time, whether in the form of kebabs or halved stone fruit, slices of pineapple or, that barbecue stalwart, the banana. Just add a few scoops of ice-cream for summery perfection. But not until you’ve taken the fruit off the barbecue, obviously?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶

Five barbecue inspirations

My favourite griller thrillers?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶

Tomatoes Cut in half lengthways, brush with olive oil and grill, cut side down, for about three minutes.

Garlic Trickle whole garlic bulbs with olive or rapeseed oil, wrap in foil and grill until tender, about 20 minutes. Cool slightly, then squeeze cooked cloves on to steak or toasted bread, or use them to make a?É?í?Ç¬Øoli.

Sardines Rub gutted sardines with a little olive oil and season with chopped garlic, thyme, salt and pepper. Ideally, put them into a barbecue fish basket to make it easier to turn them, and cook for two to three minutes a side.

Fruit kebabs Thread cubes of apple, pear, banana, mango, pineapple, halved figs or plums on to skewers. Brush with honey thinned with a little apple or orange juice and grill over a low, fading barbecue, turning very frequently, until lightly caramelised, about five minutes.

Peaches or nectarines Halve, then brush the cut sides with a little melted butter, sprinkle lightly with brown sugar and grill, cut side down, for three to four minutes. Serve with ricotta, ice-cream or mascarpone and a sprinkling of toasted flaked almonds or chopped hazelnuts.

Roasted artichokes and lemons

These grilled lemons go wonder-fully well with artichokes, but they’re great with barbecued fish, chicken and lamb as well. Serves six as a starter.

6 small to medium-sized artichokes
4 tbsp olive oil
2 large lemons, quartered lengthways
Flaky sea salt

Simmer or steam the artichokes whole until just tender, about 15-25 minutes ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì you can tell they’re done by tugging at one of the lower leaves: it should pull away easily. (Incidentally, if you grow your own, they’ll take less time to cook, so reduce the cooking time to around seven or eight minutes.) Lift the artichokes from the pan and leave for a few minutes to steam and lose some of their moisture, then cut in half lengthways and use a teaspoon to scrape out the hairy choke. Brush the cut sides with olive oil. Brush olive oil over the lemon quarters, place on the grill and cook until just charred on one side, about three minutes, then turn and cook on the other side for two to three minutes. Now grill the artichokes cut side down, until the leaves just begin to char ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì about three minutes. Serve with a trickle of olive oil, a sprinkling of sea salt and the grilled lemons to squeeze over the top.

Yoghurty spatchcocked chicken

Even though you have to be careful about controlling the temperature, cooking a whole chicken on the grill is less trouble than fiddling with lots of drumsticks. This really needs to be done on a relatively low barbecue, to avoid burnt-on-the-outside-but-raw-in-the-middle syndrome. If you are not sure how to spatchcock a bird, ask the butcher to do it for you. Serves six.

1 spatchcocked free-range chicken
Salt
For the marinade
8 tbsp whole milk yoghurt
2 garlic cloves, crushed
Juice of ?É‚Äö?Ç¬? lemon
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
?É‚Äö?Ç¬? tsp chilli flakes
?É‚Äö?Ç¬? tsp freshly ground black pepper

Mix together all the ingredients for the marinade. Put the chicken in a non-reactive bowl and pour on the marinade. Turn the chicken over with your hands, making sure the marinade gets into every nook and cranny, cover, refrigerate and leave to marinate for at least two hours. Make sure it is at room temperature before grilling. Sprinkle with salt.

Place the bird breast side up towards the edge of the grill where it’s slightly cooler, and cook for 20-25 minutes, then turn over and cook for a further 15-20 minutes, spraying from time to time with a little water if it’s browning too fast. Deploy the lid, if your barbecue has one, or simply use an upturned roasting tin, to reflect the heat back down and semi-roast your barbecuing chicken.

The bird is done when the juices run clear when pierced between the thigh and breast bone (or when it reads 80C on a meat thermometer). Remove from the heat and leave to rest for 10-15 minutes before carving.

Roasted courgette and spring onion tabboule

Courgettes and spring onions are delicious barbecued, but you can also make this salad with other grilled vegetables such as peppers, red onions or aubergines. If you like, toss in some toasted sunflower or pumpkin seeds for crunch and some chopped, dried apricots for sweetness. Serves four to six.

5 courgettes, cut lengthways into 1cm slices
10 spring onions, trimmed
2-3 tbsp olive oil
250g bulgur wheat or couscous
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 handful fresh mint, tough stalks removed and chopped
1 handful fresh parsley, tough stalks removed and chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Brush the courgettes and onions with oil and grill, turning from time to time, for about five minutes, until lightly charred and tender.

Cook the bulgur wheat or couscous according to the packet instructions, toss with the zest of half the lemon, a good squeeze of lemon juice, a trickle of oil and the herbs, season and serve with the grilled vegetables.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Want to join us for one of our Build And Bake courses? Weekend readers get 10% off the usual price. For details, call Alex on 01297 630302 and mention the Guardian, or go to rivercottage.net.

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Keywords Barbecue recipes, British recipes, Chicken recipes, Dessert recipes, Features, Fish recipes, Food & drink, Fruit recipes, Herb and spice recipes, Life and style, Main course recipes, Meat recipes, recipes, Rice and grains, Salad recipes, Starter recipes, The Guardian, Vegetable recipes, Vegetarian recipes

Vinegar recipes | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall | Food

July 9th, 2010

Vinegar: it’s one of the most useful ingredients in the whole store cupboard

Wherever there has been wine, there has been vinegar, its sharp-tongued twin. I don’t mean this disparagingly. I wouldn’t be without its puckery, palate-bracing charms. From the mildest rice wine vinegar to potent, syrupy, complex balsamic, vinegars perk up my cooking every day.

Vinegar is one of history’s happiest culinary accidents. Who would have thought that sour wine (literally, “vin aigre”) would play such an important role in all the world’s great cuisines, from Tokyo to Burgundy? And, indeed, here in the West Country, where cider vinegar is my reach-for default for dressings and sauces.

The first batch of vinegar was no doubt a great surprise to its owner, a disappointment ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì amusing now, when you think that the finest Italian balsamics command a price to rival the world’s greatest wines. But when air seeped into that first cask, along with a few yeasty spores, allowing the vinegar mother to thrive and grow like some all-consuming alien, it must have been something of a blow. What a credit to whomever then took this throat-rasping liquor and said to themselves, “There must be something useful I can do with this. Now where’s the olive oil?”

There are records of vinegar going back thousands of years. Hippocrates mentions its medicinal properties in the fifth century BC. The Greeks used it to preserve food ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì very important in the days before refrigeration. Caesar’s armies fortified themselves with it. Pliny the Elder wrote that Cleopatra dissolved her pearls in it to impress Mark Antony that she could throw the most expensive banquet in history. Wags, take note?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶

I have quite the collection at home, from white-wine vinegars with tarragon (perfect for a b?É?í?Ç¬©arnaise sauce), to brown rice vinegar and homemade red-wine vinegar, made from our (scant) leftovers, which is slowly gathering age and complexity in its special jar. But my beloved cider vinegar comes out more often than the rest put together. I use it not only for most of my dressings, but for most of my pickling, too, where its genuine fruitiness lends far more character than white distilled vinegar or even malt vinegar (save that for the chips).

Recently, I’ve been using quite a bit of apple balsamic vinegar, too ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì the Suffolk company Aspall, still family-run, makes a stunner ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì adding it to recipes or simply mixing it with olive oil to dip bread into, or trickling it over ripe, sliced tomatoes with a sprinkling of salt.

From time to time, I very purposefully reach for rice vinegar, made ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì as its name suggests ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì through the fermentation of sugars derived from rice. Used in Japanese and Chinese cooking, it has a light, sweet flavour with a nice hint of sake about it. It’s great for dressing ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì or the very light pickling of ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì delicate vegetables, such as cucumbers, courgettes, peas and beans, or for using in marinades and sauces for fish or shellfish.

Many vinegars have a great affinity with sweet things, too. Add a spoonful of white-wine or cider vinegar to meringues as you whip them. Some swear a spoonful added to the dough makes pastry especially flaky, so try it next time you make a tart. And vinegar is astonishingly good with fruit. Who didn’t, during the 1990s, trickle a little balsamic over strawberries to create one of the laziest, tastiest puds ever? Try it again, with strawberries, blueberries, cherries, even ripe peaches. It really is delicious.

So let’s hear it for one of the kitchen’s hardest working ingredients. So often, when I think a dish is missing a little something, it turns out to be a vinegar-shaped hole. If forced to choose, by some evil demon, would I pick wine over vinegar? I’m not sure I would. As long as I could have cider, that is?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶

Sticky apple balsamic spare ribs

These sticky ribs are near-addictively good, and incredibly easy to make. Serves four to six.

1.5kg free-range pork ribs (2 racks)
For the marinade
4 tbsp redcurrant, plum, crab apple or other fruit jelly
3 tbsp apple balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp light muscovado sugar
3 garlic cloves, crushed to a paste
1 tbsp finely grated fresh ginger
?É‚Äö?Ç¬?-1 medium-hot red chilli, finely chopped, or ?É‚Äö?Ç¬? tsp dried chilli flakes
2 tbsp soy sauce
Steamed rice and wilted greens, to serve

Whisk together all the marinade ingredients. Put the ribs in a large, ovenproof dish, pour the marinade over and, using your hands, turn the ribs around in it so they’re all well coated. Cover and leave to marinate in a cool place for at least an hour, several hours if possible, turning them from time to time.

Heat the oven to 170C/335F/gas mark 3. Turn the ribs in their marinade one final time, cover the dish with foil and bake for 45 minutes. Raise the temperature to 190C/375F/gas mark 5.

Remove the foil and turn the ribs again, basting them with the sauce. Return the uncovered dish to the oven and cook for 35-45 minutes longer, turning and basting the ribs two or three more times, until they are glossy and dark and coated in the caramelised sauce.

Lift the ribs on to a serving plate and spoon any remaining sauce over them. Leave until they are cool enough to pick up with your fingers, then tuck in. Serve with steamed rice and wilted greens.

Chilli dipping sauce

This easy sauce is delicious with deep-fried squid, tempura vegetables and Thai fish or crab cakes. It will keep, sealed in a jar, for a week, and is the perfect thing to perk up all manner of dressings and marinades. Before serving, when the sauce is cool, add some chopped coriander if you like, too.

3 tbsp redcurrant or crab apple jelly
1 tbsp cider vinegar
1 tsp soy sauce
1 red chilli, deseeded and very finely chopped
1 small garlic clove, very finely chopped
A few twists black pepper

Tip all of the ingredients into a small saucepan and stir over a very low heat until the fruit jelly has dissolved and you are left with a silky syrup.

Bring up to a simmer and allow to bubble gently for a few minutes ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì this will mellow the harshness of the garlic. Set aside to cool and serve at room temperature. If the sauce re-sets to a jelly when it’s cool, simply whisk in a splash of warm water.

Tarragon vinegar

Use this vinegar in mayonnaise to dress egg or chicken salads, or in a light vinaigrette to dress still-warm potatoes, French beans or leeks. Makes about 500ml.

500ml white-wine or cider vinegar
?É‚Äö?Ç¬? tsp pink peppercorns (optional)
?É‚Äö?Ç¬? tsp black peppercorns (optional)
6 large sprigs French tarragon

Pour the vinegar into a Kilner-type jar and add the peppercorns and tarragon. Seal and refrigerate for a couple of weeks. Strain, discard the herbs, and seal in sterilised bottles.

Strawberry vinegar

This works equally well with raspberries, blackcurrants or blackberries, too. It’s a recipe from the queen of all things bottled and jarred, Pam Corbin, who wrote River Cottage Handbook 2: Preserves (Bloomsbury, ?É‚Äö?Ç¬£12.99). Use in salad dressing, trickled over goat’s cheese or ice cream, or as a cordial to make refreshing summer drinks. Makes 1.5 litres.

1kg strawberries
600ml cider vinegar or white-wine vinegar
Granulated sugar

Put the fruit in a bowl and crush lightly with a wooden spoon. Add the vinegar, cover and leave to steep for four to five days, stirring occasionally. Pour the fruit and vinegar into a scalded jelly bag or piece of muslin suspended over a bowl, and leave to drain overnight. You can squeeze it a bit if you like.

Measure the liquid, pour into a saucepan and add 450g of sugar for every 600ml of fruit vinegar. Over a low heat, bring gently to a boil, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Boil for eight to 10 minutes, removing any scum as it rises. Take off the heat and set aside to cool. When cold, bottle and seal. Use within 12 months.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ Go to rivercottage.net for the latest news from River Cottage HQ.

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Jelly recipes | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall

May 28th, 2010

Jelly is back in vogue ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì and about time, too

I’m guessing I have only to say the word “jelly” to bring a smile to your face. Or, if you’re really slow in the mornings, perhaps I have to say “wibble wobble” as well.

Ah, jelly?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶ So much the childhood party favourite, layered with tinned fruit, served with evaporated milk or ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì let joy be unconfined ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì ice-cream. But it was once a very grand pud indeed. In the days of expensive gelatine, and before there was a fridge in every kitchen, its presence on the dining table was a mark of sophistication and success. Well, it seems jelly is going through something of a revival. It’s eager to reclaim its elegant, transparently lovely place in our hearts. London pair Bompas & Parr, self-proclaimed jellymongers, have carved, or moulded, a niche for themselves by making fabulous jellies for the fashionable crowd. And there’s nothing stopping you from giving them a go at home. They may not be in the forms of castles and cathedrals, they may not fluoresce, but they will, I promise, be quiveringly delicious.

Essentially, all you need to do is make a liquid, a syrup, an infusion, sweetened and perfumed with the flavours of the season. This could include primroses or even lilacs in spring, apple or pears in autumn, citrus in winter. But, for my money, summer is the time when jelly really comes into its own, with the abundance of berries just begging to be captured in clear, jewel-like magnificence.

But here’s the problem. It seems many suffer from jelly anxiety. More specifically, setting anxiety. Don’t. Plunge in. There are many different setting agents around, from agar agar flakes, carrageen moss and powdered gelatine to leaf gelatine in various grades from bronze through to platinum. Pick one. Get to know it, learn how it reacts with various fruits and liquids ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì specifically, alcohol, which inhibits setting a bit. At River Cottage, we most often use silver-grade leaf gelatine and we have good results with it. It has bothered me for a while, though, that it has been so hard to track down an organic source of leaf gelatine, so I’m rather excited to discover that Doves Farm, the flour people, have developed a new, organic pork-based gelatine that’ll go on sale later in the year .

I know you might well be tempted to take a belt-and-braces approach and just chuck in a bit more gelatine to be on the safe side. Resist, resist. You want as little as you can get away with to guarantee that seductive, melt-on-the tongue, quivering etherealness, rather than the feeling of chewing on cheap sweets. To quote Constance Spry, your concoction should “shiver like a jelly, not just hold its shape”. So follow the manufacturer’s instructions as to how much of the product will set how much liquid, adding a little less, if you dare, and a little more only if the jelly contains alcohol. Now there’s an idea?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¶

Sparkling strawberry jelly

“Champagne” jellies can often be, well, a bit flat. By making sure that the jelly is only just still liquid and the fizz very, very cold when you pour it in, you ensure as many bubbles as possible are captured in your fruity pud. Serves six.

250g strawberries
150g caster sugar
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
Zest and juice of 1 orange
5 gelatine leaves (we use silver-grade)
500ml sparkling wine (English, preferably)

Hull the strawberries and pop them in a pan along with the caster sugar, citrus zest and juice, and 250ml water. Simmer for five minutes, until the strawberries are soft. Strain, either through a jelly bag or tied in two thicknesses of muslin and suspended over a large pan, to get a strawberry syrup ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì squeeze it a bit, if you like, to get out as much syrup as possible.

Soak the gelatine in cold water for five to 10 minutes to soften. While they’re softening, warm the syrup in a pan ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì do not let it boil; you want it just hot enough to dissolve the gelatine. Drain the gelatine leaves in a sieve for a minute, then stir into the hot, fruity liquid until they dissolve. Set aside to cool, then chill in the fridge until it’s quite thick and syrupy.

While you’re waiting for it to thicken, put a bottle of sparkling wine in the freezer (you want to freeze it for at least 30-40 minutes. Heresy, I know, but it works for our purposes). When both syrup and wine are very cold, pour 500ml of the sparkling wine slowly down the side of the bowl and into the jelly ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì the more slowly you pour, the less it will foam, which is what you want. Pour gently into a serving dish or dishes, cover and refrigerate until set, at least four hours.

Gooseberry and elderflower jelly

A pretty and delicate summer jelly. Serve with a splash of very cold double cream. Serves six to eight.

450g gooseberries
150g caster sugar
6-8 fresh elderflower heads (or 30ml elderflower cordial)
45ml white wine
5 gelatine leaves

Put the gooseberries into a non-reactive pan with the sugar and 750ml water. Warm over a medium-low heat, stirring, until the sugar dissolves, then simmer for five minutes or so, until the gooseberries are soft and starting to break down. Add the elderflowers and stir for a couple of minutes (if you’re using cordial, hold off with that until later). Remove from the heat and allow to infuse for 20 minutes. Strain through a jelly bag, or tie in a double layer of muslin and suspend over a large pan, squeezing slightly to extract the liquor. Add the wine (and the cordial, if using). Taste, add a little more sugar, if necessary, and stir to dissolve.

Soak the gelatine for five to 10 minutes in cold water. While it’s soaking, warm the gooseberry liquid until hot but not boiling. Drain the gelatine in a sieve for a minute, then stir into the gooseberry liquid until dissolved. Pour into a bowl or bowls, cool, cover and refrigerate for at least six hours.

Yoghurt and vanilla panna cotta

One of our most popular puds at River Cottage. Not a jelly, sure, but silky, set perfection nonetheless. Serve on its own, with a little shortbread biscuit and/or a few ripe berries. Serves eight.

200ml whole milk
550ml double cream
75g unrefined caster sugar
3 vanilla pods, split
4 leaves of gelatine
300g whole milk yoghurt

Stir the milk, cream, sugar and vanilla pods together in a pan over a medium-low heat until the sugar dissolves and tiny bubbles begin to appear around the edge. Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly.

Soak the gelatine in cold water for five to 10 minutes. Strain through a sieve. Add to the warm milk and cream mixture and stir until dissolved. Pass through a sieve into a bowl and leave to cool. Run a small, sharp knife down the inside of each vanilla pod and stir the sticky black seeds into the creamy mixture. (Wash and dry the pods, and use them to make vanilla sugar later.) Mix in the yoghurt until smooth. Pour the mixture into ramekins or dariole moulds, cover and chill for eight hours or overnight.

Just before serving, dip the moulds in hot water for a few seconds, then turn them out on to plates.

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ A special offer for Guardian readers: come and preserve with our expert Pam Corbin, using up those summer gluts, on Monday 6 July; ?É‚Äö?Ç¬£130. To book, call 01297 630302 or go to rivercottage.net

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Keywords Alcohol recipes, British recipes, Dessert recipes, Features, Food & drink, Fruit recipes, Herb and spice recipes, Life and style, recipes, The Guardian

Victoria sandwich recipes | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall | Food

May 14th, 2010

guardian.co.uk/hughfearnleywhittingstall

Forget all those fancy dan modern upstarts ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì where teatime treats are concerned, there is only one contender as the cake of champions

Hard though it may be for me to admit, we live in a world where even cakes, apparently, are ruled by the fickle, tyrannical hand of fashion. Whether you choose a cupcake or a macaroon, even a whoopie pie or a cake pop, says as much about you as the car you drive or the shoes you wear. Exhausting, isn’t it?

Well, today I’m standing firm against the vagaries of cake cultism, letting the baking bandwagon roll right on by, and celebrating the unsurpassed joys of the Victoria sandwich. Yes, the cake that launched a thousand afternoon teas and church fetes, and the subject of hotly contested baking competitions at many a country show.

You’ll notice in my recipe’s ingredients list that I’m a little light on numbers. This isn’t some dreadful error on my part, nor some go-as-you-please hippyishness. No, I’m following in the path of that quintessentially Victorian figure Mrs Beeton, who laid out the classic recipe for the Victoria sponge in her 1861 Book Of Household Management. In her recipe, the cake is made from equal quantities of eggs, butter, sugar and flour. You simply weigh the eggs in their shells and then measure out the same amount of butter, sugar and flour. So if the eggs just happen to weigh 250g, then you want a 250g block of butter and 250g of everything else. They won’t, of course, but you must do what the eggs tell you ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?¢‚Ç¨?ì that’s the fun of it.

If you have a reasonably accurate weighing contraption, it couldn’t be easier, or more delicious. There is a wonderful rightness about this, a simplicity reflected in the cake itself. Nothing fancy, nothing elaborate, and yet it’s one of the finest cakes ever to grace a plate.

Even better, you can use the same batter to make fairy or butterfly cakes, too. If you’d like to ring the changes a bit, add the zest of a lemon in place of the vanilla and use the lemon juice instead of milk to lighten the batter, then sandwich it together with a slick of lemon curd. You can use it as a base for coffee and walnut cake, or even my rather more exotic cardamom and orange cake.

While other cakes might come and go, usurped by more boastful, trendier confections, I can proudly say I’m glad to live in the kingdom of Victoria Regina.

Victoria sandwich

The classic. What teatime was made for. Remember, weigh the eggs first, then use the same amount of butter, sugar and flour. Makes a 20cm cake.

Unsalted butter, softened, plus a little more for greasing
4 eggs
Golden caster sugar
Self-raising flour, sieved with a pinch of salt
1 tsp vanilla extract
A little milk, if necessary
Raspberry jam
Whipping cream
Icing sugar or caster sugar, for dusting

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Lightly grease two 20cm sandwich cake tins with butter, and line the bases of each with baking parchment.

Weigh the eggs in their shells and weigh out the same amount of butter, sugar and flour. In a bowl, beat the butter until creamy, then beat in the sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition, adding a tablespoon of sifted flour if the mix looks as if it’s going to curdle. Beat in the vanilla extract, then gently but thoroughly fold in the flour. Now check the consistency of the batter. Scoop up a tablespoon of the mixture and hold it over the bowl. If it drops down fairly easily, it’s just right. If it sticks stubbornly in the spoon, fold a tablespoon or two of milk into the mixture.

Divide the batter equally between the two tins and gently smooth the tops with a knife. Bake for 25-30 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the centre comes out clean. Leave to cool in the tin for a couple of minutes, then turn out on to a wire rack to cool completely.

Turn one of the cakes upside down on a plate, so the flat surface is uppermost. Spread generously with raspberry jam. Spread a good layer of whipped cream on the flat surface of the second cake and sandwich the two together. If you like, dust the surface with icing sugar or caster sugar before serving.

Coffee and walnut cake

A darling of village fetes and church fairs everywhere, and with very good reason. Makes one 20cm cake.

Victoria sponge ingredients, as listed in the master recipe (above), apart from the milk
2 tbsp instant coffee dissolved in 1?É‚Äö?Ç¬? tbsp hot water, or 2 tbsp espresso
100g walnuts, lightly toasted and roughly chopped
For the icing
100g unsalted butter, softened
2 tsp instant coffee dissolved in 1 tbsp hot water, or 1?É‚Äö?Ç¬? tbsp espresso
300g golden icing sugar, sieved
12 walnut halves, lightly toasted

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Lightly grease two 20cm sandwich cake tins and line the base of each with baking parchment.

Prepare the batter as in the master recipe on the previous page, adding the coffee liquid along with the vanilla and gently folding in the walnuts after the flour. Spoon the batter equally into the prepared tins, smooth the tops and bake for 25-30 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Leave to cool completely, as in the master recipe.

While the cake is cooling, make the icing. Beat the butter until very smooth, then beat in the coffee and icing sugar until smooth. When the cake is cold, sandwich it together with half of the icing, spread the remaining icing on top and decorate with the walnut halves..

Orange cardamom loaf cake

The addition of the orange and cardamom syrup makes this loaf cake wonderfully moist. Makes one 1kg loaf cake.

8 cardamom pods
2 small oranges, zested, plus the juice of 1 of the oranges
Victoria sponge ingredients, as listed in the master recipe (above), apart from the vanilla and milk
For the syrup
Juice and zest of 2 small oranges
6 cardamom pods, bashed
2 tsp honey
3-4 tbsp orange curd

Remove the seeds from the cardamom pods and discard the husks. Chop the seeds, or pound them with a pestle and mortar, until roughly broken up. Put them in a small pan with the orange juice and warm until just simmering. Cool and strain through a fine sieve.

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Butter a 1kg loaf tin and line the bottom and sides with buttered baking parchment.

Prepare the sponge as in the Victoria sandwich recipe above, beating the orange zest into the batter along with the flour and lightening the mixture with the cardamom-infused orange juice. Spoon into the tin, smooth the top and bake for 35-40 minutes, until a toothpick or skewer inserted into the middle comes out clean.

While the cake is baking, make the syrup. Put the orange zest, juice, cardamom and honey into a pan, simmer for three to four minutes, then leave to cool in the pan. Strain out the cardamom pods.

When you take the cake out of the oven, immediately pierce the top all over with a skewer and pour over the syrup, letting it trickle all over the surface and down the sides. When the cake is completely cold, remove from the tin and remove the paper. Cut it in half horizontally, and sandwich it together with a good layer of orange curd. Dust with caster or icing sugar, and serve in fat slices. ?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢

?É¬¢?¢‚Äö¬¨?Ç¬¢ A special offer for Guardian readers: join Mark Diacono at River Cottage HQ for his Veg Patch course on Monday 21 June for ?É‚Äö?Ç¬£130; go to rivercottage.net to book.

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