I had a tingling for curry tonight. Not a tomato based one. A coconut milk one. So Google came to my rescue and I found a recipe that I had all the ingredients for. This, for me, is an accomplishment. I set to work, gathering up spices and vegetables, boiling the kettle and defrosting the prawns, then hauled out my big frying pan. The result of my efforts is just pure heaven. There is a hum at the back of the flavour, and a creaminess that one craves after a bad day. Don't worry, I'll share the recipe!
Kerala Prawn & Coconut Curry
250g king prawns
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 small onion or shallot, grated
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 tsp chilli powder
1 cinnamon stick
4-6 cardamom pods, lightly crushed to open
1-2 garlic cloves, crushed
2cm fresh ginger, finely grated
1 tsp dried coriander leaf (you can use fresh if you like - 2tbsp)
1 can coconut milk
1. Heat a heavy based pan to a medium heat with 2 tbsp sunflower oil. Fry shallot for 1-2 minutes until cooked but not coloured. Add turmeric, chilli powder, cinnamon and cardamom pods and fry for another minute until fragrant. Stir in garlic and ginger, and fry for a minute more.
2. Stir in coconut milk, add the coriander, bring to a boil then reduce and simmer for a few minutes until thickened.
3. Meanwhile, marinate prawns in the lemon juice.
4. Add the prawns to the sauce and simmer until cooked through.
Serve with rice and chapattis or naan bread.
Saturday 17 May 2014
Friday 16 May 2014
Food For The Soul
Hello, my little minions. I wanted to talk about food and the effect it has on mental state. Certain foods are associated with certain events, emotions and feelings. Some are happy, some not so much. Food which makes you happy is probably more likely to trigger the release of endorphins in the blood. I'm no scientist, but I think that's part of it. The other side, is the association.
You come home from work. You've had a really bad day where everything went wrong, you're grumpy and you're hungry. What do you reach for? A massive salad? Or a meal with the highest number of calories you can get into you at one time? Chocolate, crisps, maybe a glass of wine. Or a bottle. Whatever. Food makes us happy. Well, it makes me happy.!
I really enjoy a big hearty bowl of homemade chilli and rice if I'm having a bad day. Even making it, creating a thick, rich and spicy sauce warms the cockles off my heart. If I'm in a good mood, a refreshing salad of crisps lettuce, chard and rocket, some beautiful smoked salmon and baby potatoes goes down a treat. A simple dressing of British rapeseed oil and balsamic vinegar, shaken with some salt and pepper, just tops it off!
Today, I had planned to make myself a beautiful lunch, take my supper with me and have plenty snacks. But the kitchen is a mess, the dog keeps farting and I am now working 4 hours earlier than I expected! So it may be a 'very quickly thrown together meal' day for me. As they say... There's no rest for the wicked!
You come home from work. You've had a really bad day where everything went wrong, you're grumpy and you're hungry. What do you reach for? A massive salad? Or a meal with the highest number of calories you can get into you at one time? Chocolate, crisps, maybe a glass of wine. Or a bottle. Whatever. Food makes us happy. Well, it makes me happy.!
I really enjoy a big hearty bowl of homemade chilli and rice if I'm having a bad day. Even making it, creating a thick, rich and spicy sauce warms the cockles off my heart. If I'm in a good mood, a refreshing salad of crisps lettuce, chard and rocket, some beautiful smoked salmon and baby potatoes goes down a treat. A simple dressing of British rapeseed oil and balsamic vinegar, shaken with some salt and pepper, just tops it off!
Today, I had planned to make myself a beautiful lunch, take my supper with me and have plenty snacks. But the kitchen is a mess, the dog keeps farting and I am now working 4 hours earlier than I expected! So it may be a 'very quickly thrown together meal' day for me. As they say... There's no rest for the wicked!
Sunday 11 May 2014
Why do we eat?
The answer to this question may seem a little obvious. Yes, food is fuel. But we also turn to food for other reasons. Some. Use food as a means of celebration - cakes, surprise dinners out, Christmas. Others use food as a crutch to help them through darker times. Comfort eating is well known and now, almost accepted as a reason for weight gain. Food helps us come together, or it can separate us, depending on your view of the world.
In my world, food is an experience. I enjoy classic flavours, experimenting with high quality ingredients and trying new things. I believe every meal should be significant.
Breakfast is a celebration that you've woken from another night of sleep, or a tool to help you feel slightly more alive than you should after a night out.
Lunch is the meal you should be looking forward to after doing a few hours work. Or, it's best enjoyed with a friend over a bottle of wine. It should be filling and yet light enough so you don't fall asleep at your desk! My favourite is a salad with fresh leaves, cooked and cooled baby potatoes or pasta, some meat like chicken or maybe a flaked salmon fillet, and dressed in rapeseed oil and balsamic vinegar, along with some salt and pepper.
Dinner. Now, there's a weird one. Some suppers I have to eat on my own, and some I get to share with the other half. It all depends on the shifts we are both working. If I'm on my own, I may well have a baked potato, tuna mayo and cheese and comfort food, or if I know I'll have company, I'll make a traditional fish like Toad in the Hole, or beef and bean chilli.
We have so many reasons for eating in Britain, and also Scotland. But, I believe the idea of bringing a dish to an event had died out. I'd love to have a light where all my close family and friends got together and, instead of one person cooking, everyone brought their favourite dish with them to make a huge and varied buffet. Maybe, I'm stuck in the past. Maybe, I'm living in a dream world. But I'd love to see this happen more often. Make food the proper centre of every celebration.
Friday 9 May 2014
It's the little things.
When I'm down, I think about food. It may sound sad, but that's where I find true happiness. In particular, I think about when I was little and the food my mum used to make. The aroma that would fill the kitchen when she made her famous Toad-In-The-Hole or made a hearty pot of broth, with a hunk of brisket boiled in it. I remember watching her baking on the odd occasion when it was wet outside and there was nothing for me to do around the farm. She would bake girdle scones (on an electric girdle) that I'd eat when they were hot, slathered in butter and jam. Her bannocks were light, fluffy and the perfect balance of sweet and sour when splashed liberally with lemon juice and sprinkled with sugar.
I also remember her taking the care to strain my broth for me, take the onions out of the mince and make me jam sandwiches for lunch. As a youngster, I was a fussy eater. I loved the taste of her broth - just not the pulses included. I also hated onions. It wasn't the flavour, but the texture. So it's apparent that textures have been an issue for me during my entire life. Now, I can't touch a cement wall with my bare hands, nor can I eat an iced bun... even the thought of my teeth going through the grainy icing and hitting the crispy bun underneath sends shivers down my spine and makes me feel a little queasy. But, I'm chuffed to report that my weird eating habits are no longer so weird.
However, I can eat broth, pulses, beans (but I still have to take the loose husks out), and mince without feeling the urge to run away from the table, screaming. Admittedly, I have to have any sauces or gravies on the side of my meals, I must always have a mouthful of meat left over to eat last, and I can't drink alcohol while I'm eating. I'm a strange one.
But thinking about these little things, reminiscing on times gone by, and remembering the times that will never be repeated, I start to feel happier in myself. These are the times that will always remain with me, flavours that will stick in my mind and bring me instantly back to those days.
Some of my favourite combinations of food are fish fingers and white sauce, steak and drambuie cream sauce, macaroni cheese and bacon, scallops and black pudding, salmon and soft poached duck egg, and sausages and mash. Some classics, some strange.
What are yours?
I also remember her taking the care to strain my broth for me, take the onions out of the mince and make me jam sandwiches for lunch. As a youngster, I was a fussy eater. I loved the taste of her broth - just not the pulses included. I also hated onions. It wasn't the flavour, but the texture. So it's apparent that textures have been an issue for me during my entire life. Now, I can't touch a cement wall with my bare hands, nor can I eat an iced bun... even the thought of my teeth going through the grainy icing and hitting the crispy bun underneath sends shivers down my spine and makes me feel a little queasy. But, I'm chuffed to report that my weird eating habits are no longer so weird.
However, I can eat broth, pulses, beans (but I still have to take the loose husks out), and mince without feeling the urge to run away from the table, screaming. Admittedly, I have to have any sauces or gravies on the side of my meals, I must always have a mouthful of meat left over to eat last, and I can't drink alcohol while I'm eating. I'm a strange one.
But thinking about these little things, reminiscing on times gone by, and remembering the times that will never be repeated, I start to feel happier in myself. These are the times that will always remain with me, flavours that will stick in my mind and bring me instantly back to those days.
Some of my favourite combinations of food are fish fingers and white sauce, steak and drambuie cream sauce, macaroni cheese and bacon, scallops and black pudding, salmon and soft poached duck egg, and sausages and mash. Some classics, some strange.
What are yours?
Wednesday 7 May 2014
No Rest Is For The Wicked
While working for a butchery company, one learns a little about meat, including the processes it undergoes before it reaches the consumer. All good meat needs a little time, both to mature properly during hanging or ageing, or resting once cooked to allow the fibres to relax - leaving you with the perfectly cooked and juicy hunk of meat you have been dreaming off all day prior to cooking.
Let me delve a little deeper into producing the best quality food. It all starts with the right cut of meat. A well marbled sirloin, with just the perfect strip of fat along the top of the steak. A rack of lamb, lean and deep punk in colour and surrounded by fat, ready to render off and protect the cut from drying out. A roasted pork fillet, blushing pink in the middle , firm yet tender inside. You get the idea.
To match that perfect cut, you must choose the best method of cooking. Steaks of all meats usually require searing in a blistering hot pan and cooking to your liking. Some will require a little seat then a few minutes in the oven. Others cuts require long and slow cooking, with a dash of red wine, some herbs, root veg. Cooking really depends on your preferences and the cut you have. Google is a great place for advice, or do feel free to ask me!
Once your meat is cooked to perfection, it is crucial to rest properly. Dependent on size, resting can take anything from 3 minutes to 30! Never ever rush the resting stage. Use the time wisely to prepare a simple sauce, finish your accompaniments or set the table, crack open the wine and help yourself to a glass. You deserve it!
The lesson here is simple: don't rush your food. Cooking and eating are experiences to be savoured every day. Preparing and enjoying food are one of lives mysteries. It is both necessary and rewarding. After setting out the plates and the masses are fed, silence ensues. And silence, dear reader, is golden.
Let me delve a little deeper into producing the best quality food. It all starts with the right cut of meat. A well marbled sirloin, with just the perfect strip of fat along the top of the steak. A rack of lamb, lean and deep punk in colour and surrounded by fat, ready to render off and protect the cut from drying out. A roasted pork fillet, blushing pink in the middle , firm yet tender inside. You get the idea.
To match that perfect cut, you must choose the best method of cooking. Steaks of all meats usually require searing in a blistering hot pan and cooking to your liking. Some will require a little seat then a few minutes in the oven. Others cuts require long and slow cooking, with a dash of red wine, some herbs, root veg. Cooking really depends on your preferences and the cut you have. Google is a great place for advice, or do feel free to ask me!
Once your meat is cooked to perfection, it is crucial to rest properly. Dependent on size, resting can take anything from 3 minutes to 30! Never ever rush the resting stage. Use the time wisely to prepare a simple sauce, finish your accompaniments or set the table, crack open the wine and help yourself to a glass. You deserve it!
The lesson here is simple: don't rush your food. Cooking and eating are experiences to be savoured every day. Preparing and enjoying food are one of lives mysteries. It is both necessary and rewarding. After setting out the plates and the masses are fed, silence ensues. And silence, dear reader, is golden.
Tuesday 6 May 2014
The Man Himself.
Since my father has been a major influence on the food I eat, I feel it is almost necessary to write a little about him.
My dad is a legend. He has worked with the biggest supporters of Scottish Farming, and still does. He works alongside the NFU (National Farmers Union) as an Agricultural Insurance Assessor. I sometimes accompany him to these jobs, and work as his scribe, taking notes where he sees fit. He was chairman of the Young Farmers in the Garioch area for many a year, and he is still friends with many of the folk he knew through it. There is barely a farmer in the North East of Scotland that my dad doesn't know.
My father still works on the farm I grew up on and will do until his last breath, as is typical with his generation of workaholics. I admire his dedication to his work, and what he can produce from the land. As a beef and lamb farmer, he spends his Summer (and Spring, Autumn and Winter!) days roaming the fields, aiding animals to deliver the best offspring they can and in turn, creating the best profit for himself. Don't believe the hype, though. Most farmers are not as wealthy as you think. But, they are richer than most of us in ways we can only dream of.
I always used to say my dad could grow anything. And it's true. For the past few years, the weather has always hit at the worst possible time in Aberdeenshire, meaning entire crops of barley, oats and wheat are ruined or are too high in moisture to be used for the high-priced jobs like malting (producing whisky!). However, my dad seems to have uncanny ability - or superpower - to know when to strike the crops at their best. He knows to wait just that little longer and ends up producing fantastic quality grain when everyone else has to send theirs for feed or seed. It's the same with growing vegetables. He used to be well known for his swedes - or as we all call them here, neeps. His neeps were huge, sweet and just beautiful simmered with a sprinkling of sugar, mashed with a drop of cream and served with brisket or haggis. His tatties were famed for always being just right. He continues to grow tatties and neeps for himself and his livestock, but age and time are holding him back a little.
There is only one thing in the entire world that my father cannot grow. Parsley. It's the bane of his life. Even me, the one who can (easily) kill a cactus, can grow parsley from one of those pots that Jamie Oliver has in Homebase. But the master himself struggled for 5 months to get one measly seedling, then promptly gave up. It's not often that I see my father beaten by something, but parsley did it.
Over the course of his farming life, he has been battered, bruised and broken at many points. He suffered a broken arm, a few broken ribs and and a lot of bruising after a cow broke free during a difficult calving. Only 8 months prior, he was squished by a bull against a brick wall during feeding time. He walked away, nearly, after being found in a crumpled heap on the ground. The diagnosis? A broken collar bone, two broken shoulders, countless broken ribs and a concussion. And yet he STILL persists on working close to these humungous animals without a care in the world.
When he broke his arm, I had turned 8 a matter of days beforehand, and I remember vividly that he had a lot of the old-style cattle passports to sign and send away. So me, being the dutiful daughter, helped him sign every single one, and to this day, I could pretty much imitate his signature. I dated every one for him and he struggled to sign them while I sat and giggled at the funny words he used.
Yes, my pop has had a fairly hard and traumatic life. He is also very accident prone which was proven over the past year, when he has dislocated the same finger twice, broken his nose, fallen out of a tractor, been kicked in the hand (by a cow, may I add!), and has ended up smashing his own drivers window open to unlock the car after Jo, his new collie, locked himself inside with the keys.
As a daughter, I will never fully understand my dad. But that's the way it should be.
A.
My dad is a legend. He has worked with the biggest supporters of Scottish Farming, and still does. He works alongside the NFU (National Farmers Union) as an Agricultural Insurance Assessor. I sometimes accompany him to these jobs, and work as his scribe, taking notes where he sees fit. He was chairman of the Young Farmers in the Garioch area for many a year, and he is still friends with many of the folk he knew through it. There is barely a farmer in the North East of Scotland that my dad doesn't know.
My father still works on the farm I grew up on and will do until his last breath, as is typical with his generation of workaholics. I admire his dedication to his work, and what he can produce from the land. As a beef and lamb farmer, he spends his Summer (and Spring, Autumn and Winter!) days roaming the fields, aiding animals to deliver the best offspring they can and in turn, creating the best profit for himself. Don't believe the hype, though. Most farmers are not as wealthy as you think. But, they are richer than most of us in ways we can only dream of.
I always used to say my dad could grow anything. And it's true. For the past few years, the weather has always hit at the worst possible time in Aberdeenshire, meaning entire crops of barley, oats and wheat are ruined or are too high in moisture to be used for the high-priced jobs like malting (producing whisky!). However, my dad seems to have uncanny ability - or superpower - to know when to strike the crops at their best. He knows to wait just that little longer and ends up producing fantastic quality grain when everyone else has to send theirs for feed or seed. It's the same with growing vegetables. He used to be well known for his swedes - or as we all call them here, neeps. His neeps were huge, sweet and just beautiful simmered with a sprinkling of sugar, mashed with a drop of cream and served with brisket or haggis. His tatties were famed for always being just right. He continues to grow tatties and neeps for himself and his livestock, but age and time are holding him back a little.
There is only one thing in the entire world that my father cannot grow. Parsley. It's the bane of his life. Even me, the one who can (easily) kill a cactus, can grow parsley from one of those pots that Jamie Oliver has in Homebase. But the master himself struggled for 5 months to get one measly seedling, then promptly gave up. It's not often that I see my father beaten by something, but parsley did it.
Over the course of his farming life, he has been battered, bruised and broken at many points. He suffered a broken arm, a few broken ribs and and a lot of bruising after a cow broke free during a difficult calving. Only 8 months prior, he was squished by a bull against a brick wall during feeding time. He walked away, nearly, after being found in a crumpled heap on the ground. The diagnosis? A broken collar bone, two broken shoulders, countless broken ribs and a concussion. And yet he STILL persists on working close to these humungous animals without a care in the world.
When he broke his arm, I had turned 8 a matter of days beforehand, and I remember vividly that he had a lot of the old-style cattle passports to sign and send away. So me, being the dutiful daughter, helped him sign every single one, and to this day, I could pretty much imitate his signature. I dated every one for him and he struggled to sign them while I sat and giggled at the funny words he used.
Yes, my pop has had a fairly hard and traumatic life. He is also very accident prone which was proven over the past year, when he has dislocated the same finger twice, broken his nose, fallen out of a tractor, been kicked in the hand (by a cow, may I add!), and has ended up smashing his own drivers window open to unlock the car after Jo, his new collie, locked himself inside with the keys.
As a daughter, I will never fully understand my dad. But that's the way it should be.
A.
Monday 5 May 2014
A Warm Welcome
Hi, I'm Anne, and I'm a foodaholic.
Well, not quite but nearly!
Welcome one and all, I'm glad you made it here. I hope you enjoy reading and responding to my posts as much as I enjoy writing them! Firstly, a wee introduction. My name is Anne and I originate from a farm in deepest Aberdeenshire, near the (not so small now) village of Insch. I moved out two and a half years ago to Inverurie, a mere 9 miles from my own doorstep but it is almost classed as civilisation, so it'll do for now. I still spend a lot of time on the farm, but enjoy sampling the produce more than anything. My dad is an expert grower-of-everything, but he hogged his growing genes so I am hopeless. I killed a cactus once. I'm not even joking!
This blog is (I hope) going to be my outlet for my love of food. Growing up amongst cattle, sheep and homegrown goodies, it's only natural that I enjoy good quality food. But, part of my love comes from my family's heritage in cooking. My mother was a chef, baker, and cook. She stayed at home most of my early life and kept the house, fed my father and me (we worked hard, you know!) and made sure we were always well provided for. I remember I was a very fussy eater, but not to be outdone, Mum would always make little adjustments to my meals so that I always got the goodness of her cooking, but not the bits I didn't like. Bless her, she did me proud!
After her death, I realised I'd spent far too much time chasing cattle and sheep around in fields and learning to drive tractors and too little time with my mum, which has left a gaping hole in my soul that only food - and good quality food, at that - can fill. My thirst for knowledge grows every day. I am almost addicted to cooking programmes (again), and I feel the need to experience food the way it should be, learn about classic combinations like lamb and mint, beef and horseradish, and develop my cooking skills to a level that she would be proud of.
My intention in my posts is to showcase the best of Aberdeenshire's produce - there's no shortage, is there? - and also provide basic, humble recipes that even the most inexperienced cook could read and think "Aye, even I could make that!". If you have any suggestions, comments (or complaints!), please leave them on the comments bit of any posts and I'll get to it as soon as I can. Also, any food samples are welcomed! As long as they don't contain garlic, marzipan or rhubarb, I'll be delighted to receive them and do a full article on it.
Thanks for reading,
Anne.
Well, not quite but nearly!
Welcome one and all, I'm glad you made it here. I hope you enjoy reading and responding to my posts as much as I enjoy writing them! Firstly, a wee introduction. My name is Anne and I originate from a farm in deepest Aberdeenshire, near the (not so small now) village of Insch. I moved out two and a half years ago to Inverurie, a mere 9 miles from my own doorstep but it is almost classed as civilisation, so it'll do for now. I still spend a lot of time on the farm, but enjoy sampling the produce more than anything. My dad is an expert grower-of-everything, but he hogged his growing genes so I am hopeless. I killed a cactus once. I'm not even joking!
This blog is (I hope) going to be my outlet for my love of food. Growing up amongst cattle, sheep and homegrown goodies, it's only natural that I enjoy good quality food. But, part of my love comes from my family's heritage in cooking. My mother was a chef, baker, and cook. She stayed at home most of my early life and kept the house, fed my father and me (we worked hard, you know!) and made sure we were always well provided for. I remember I was a very fussy eater, but not to be outdone, Mum would always make little adjustments to my meals so that I always got the goodness of her cooking, but not the bits I didn't like. Bless her, she did me proud!
After her death, I realised I'd spent far too much time chasing cattle and sheep around in fields and learning to drive tractors and too little time with my mum, which has left a gaping hole in my soul that only food - and good quality food, at that - can fill. My thirst for knowledge grows every day. I am almost addicted to cooking programmes (again), and I feel the need to experience food the way it should be, learn about classic combinations like lamb and mint, beef and horseradish, and develop my cooking skills to a level that she would be proud of.
My intention in my posts is to showcase the best of Aberdeenshire's produce - there's no shortage, is there? - and also provide basic, humble recipes that even the most inexperienced cook could read and think "Aye, even I could make that!". If you have any suggestions, comments (or complaints!), please leave them on the comments bit of any posts and I'll get to it as soon as I can. Also, any food samples are welcomed! As long as they don't contain garlic, marzipan or rhubarb, I'll be delighted to receive them and do a full article on it.
Thanks for reading,
Anne.
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