To Mercat, to Mercat...

In the late afternoon we visited the Mercat le Boqueria. I may have actually jumped up and down with excitement, but I can't be sure, because I think I might have passed out a little bit.

fruit stand La Boqueria

mmm... chocolate... La Boqueria

cherries (for one)

flowers outside Mercat de la Concepcio



oh, the jamonity! (sorry)



Jamon at La Boqueria

What I ate today: Tapas at home

Dad and me in the Mercat... it was like Homer in Chocolateland. We chose a smaller market near the apartment for our supplies, the Mercat del Ninot. Good decision. It was very quiet, no seedy, pick-pockety types, and plenty of wonderful produce to choose from.


White anchovies and Roma tomatoes with salt and balsamic

Salt cod fritters

Tinned razor clams

Marinated olives



Peaches & jamon 

What I ate today: Bar Velodromo, Barcelona

Apparently Bar Velodromo is iconic. Excellent news, when you are a jet-lagged visitor, staying in an apartment only 5 blocks away. Note - we also ate their delicious version of Patatas Bravas (with chilli relish and mayo - yum), but ate it all before we could take a picture.

Little duck burger

Anchovies

Calamaris

Salt cod croquettas

Pa amb Tomaquet (toasted bread rubbed with tomato)

A selection of Catalonian cured meats (and a nice Rose)

Strasbourgh

After a long hiatus, I felt compelled to share these pictures.
I could never live in Strasbourgh. I would, quite frankly, become both too fat and too poor. There are far too many wonderful shops and epicerie to be healthy.
 

Gorgeous cakes

Cheese (Käse, Fromage... let's call the whole thing off)

How to choose?

Plätzchen at the Christmas market.



Great British Menu

(or, Reason For Time Out Part 1)

English (Saturday 26th June, 2010)

Potted Prawns delicious. April 2010
12. Roast Beef and Yorkshire Puddings Sean Connolly

There is actually an excuse for me not having updated this blog for so long, or indeed having continued on my Food Safari Challenge since April last year (actually, it was June, but we'll come to that later).
My hopes of hosting a banquet about once a month were always going to be overly ambitious once the school year began, and my resolve for balance shrivelled and dried up as quickly as my red pen as soon as I began marking the piles of year 12 English essays. So, when the winter holidays came along I decided that my next challenge was long overdue, and invited some friends over to lie back and think of England with a Food Safari British feast.

As per usual, I needed a couple of additional dishes outside of The Book, and given that the whiting rollmops with Beetroot Compote didn't seem super-appealing, I sought out an alternative entree. The potted prawns in the Easter edition of delicious. were perfect; light and buttery with a little bit of a kick (recipe to follow in Part 2).

I chose not to muck around too much with the roast beef recipe, as I haven't cooked a scotch fillet whole before (couldn't stretch to the Wagyu rump alternative suggested in the recipe), but it did take longer to cook than I had expected. The recipe suggests 1 1/2 hours in a 180° oven, but we needed about an extra 15 minutes until the beef was perfectly cooked.

Whilst it was resting (half an hour) I cranked the oven to 220° prepared the yorkie mixture, using melted beef dripping (remarkably easy to find; it was in the supermarket dairy case, right next to the lard. Who knew?). We were supposed to heat this to smoking point in a muffin tray before pouring in the thin batter until each pan was three quarters full. With the assistance of my knowledgeable English friend, we managed to get the batter to just the right consistency. I check the dripping, which was heating in the oven, and noticed that it seemed to be taking quite a long time to heat until smoking point (I know, you can sense this coming to a head). I opened the oven, and realised that it was no longer hot, but was in fact cooling down. The fan seemed to be working, to thermostat hadn't been knocked or tampered with by any small children, but that oven just was not hot.

Oh, the drama. My roast beef was by now, well-rested. The roast potatoes were nice and crunchy, the carrots and parsnips were waiting patiently to be devoured. I had prepared the gravy to pour atop those puffy little boats of goodness, which I just knew would be the making of the meal. I knew that there was now no hope for my citrus delicious pudding for dessert, but I was not prepared to give up on the yorkies.

I turned to the ideas men. By this time, they had all consumed a reasonable quantity of red wine, and were imbued with a sense of confidence that an alternative could be found. "What about the Weber?" suggested one, hopefully.

"No," (I was glum). "It will take too long to heat up. Everything else will be cold."
"How about the barbecue?" asked another. He eyed the resting beef.
"What, with the lid down?"
"Yeah... I reckon we can get it hot enough."

BBQ puddings Take One.

And so we did. We got the dripping smoking hot, we poured in the batter and it instantly spat, bubbled and cooked on the outside. Clearly, this fat was too hot. The puddings would be burnt to a crisp on the outside before the batter was even cooked through in the middle.

Desperate with hope and a desire to not be beaten by my own appliances, I fetched the remaining dripping and we tried again. This time we got the dripping hot, but not too hot. We poured in the batter, and put the tray back in the barbecue with the lid down (I say we, because the Cooking of The Yorkies had by this time become a physical challenge for all those present).

Our only error really, was to think that we had time to go upstairs to gather all of the other elements of the meal.

The first I heard of the Great Barbecue Fire Number Two was my husband calling out from the deck, "The puddings are on fire!"

We all raced downstairs as he pulled the tray from the hotplate. The barbecue was indeed on fire, but more importantly, most of the Yorkshire puddings were not to be salvaged. The muffin tray had to be thrown in the bin, as the non-stick lining had melted. The following day it had dried into some kind of highly toxic, black powder, coating the bottom of each pan. The barbecue, luckily, was fine.

This is what dinner (eventually) looked like:

To be continued....

Harvest Lunch @ Five Oaks

 A couple of months ago, we decided that we would very much like to attend the inaugural Smaller Wineries of the Yarra Valley Harvest lunch at Five Oaks winery in Seville. The menu was e-mailed to me and looked irresistible. Three courses (as soon as duck is mentioned anywhere on a menu I find it impossible to concentrate) plus canapes, and a lovely selection of Yarra Valley wines. Best of all, it was scheduled for the 28th March, the first weekend of the school holidays and one, convenient week after my birthday.

Unable to secure a five-seater taxi (Silvertop: we can take you there, but can't guarantee a pick up), my husband took matters into his own hands and booked a limo.

"People will think we're wankers," I fretted.

"No, they will think we are very responsible alcoholics."

It was white with an electric blue interior. Although the cringe factor was high, it was a wise decision, as it turned out, because rather than a choice of three wines per course, we were acutally provided with three full glasses of wine per course. Hmm. Hilarity, as you can imagine, ensued. The atmosphere was jovial, the food comforting and delicious and the wines plentiful. According to Five Oaks wine-maker Wally, the notorious (and now cancelled) Grape Grazing festival had become less like a harvest festival and more like a buck's party. In response, the small wine-makers guild came up with this series of lunches, designed to take the Yarra Valley events back to the old-school. A true celebration of the grape.

Twice-baked crab souffle with salad dressed with red wine and raspberry vinegar reduction.

Duck confit served on garlic mashed potatoes, with seasonal vegetables and pickled cherries.

Hot ganache chocolate pudding with ice cream.

Too many glasses.

By this time, the people at the table next to us were singing.

Mexican Fiesta

10. Guacamole Lupita Feint
11. Pico do Gallo (Tomato Salsa) Lupita Feint
Quesadilla
Mole Chicken
Cointreau and Chocolate Mousse delicious.

I am slightly irritated by the fact that I spent lots of time preparing and cooking a large number of dishes for this Mexican Fiesta, yet only two of them actually came from the book. Must improve on this in the future.

The planned Mexican feast came with a number of hurdles. First, I was organising a surprise dinner party for a friend, so a) couldn't moan about how much work I was doing and b) I had to hold it on a Friday night, so as to coincide with afore-mentioned birthday. I don't normally 'do' Fridays. They pose problems in terms of preparation, and having to be organised diminishes the exquisite relief that the end of the working week brings. It also means that I can't have the bottle open before I have even put my bag down. Instead, I have to get my shit together... get changed, find recipes, start dicing... frankly, it's all a bit much. Fridays should be reserved for slovenly behaviour. A quick pasta, a few wines, some trashy TV and potato chips on the couch.

Having resigned myself to this sacrifice early, I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to cook and how long it would all take to prepare. This did not mean that I was able to come home early and begin preparing it. What it meant was that we didn't eat until 9pm. Luckily we had plenty of nibbly, tappasy stuff to tide us over. The two Food Safari dishes were lovely, and made me fell a little guilty that they were the only 'challenge' items on the menu. I was a bit concerned by the absence of garlic in the guacamole, but managed to adhere to the recipe and we were duly rewarded. The tomato salsa was definitely improved by the inclusion of the last of the tomatoes from our garden (those not ravaged by the evil hail storm). I served it with a quesadilla, the recipe for which I actually saw on - ahem - Sunrise a few years ago. It's basically just grated cheese, fresh coriander and finely chopped jalepeno squished between two flour tortillas.

Back to the hurdles. Obstacle number two: Mexican stuff. Once again, I failed to procure the authentic ingredients I needed. This time, I didn't even pretend to try. One quick Google search revealed that the only Mexican warehouse in Melbourne is location in Tullamarine. If you're not from Melbourne, that's near the airport. A long way from the Dandenong Ranges. They may even have a different breed of possum out there (one which has developed a resistance to aviation fumes). So, rather than modify the recipes, I decided to find recipes that I could work with. Hence the tomatillo-free mole. Sorry Mexicans. You can rest assured that it was missing that special something, which may have been tomatillos, but I wouldn't know for sure, because as I've mentioned, I would have to drive for an hour and a half and spend about $15 in tolls to buy some, so I've never tried them.

City-link inspired digression. Sorry.

I used my trusty delicious. recipe index to find a suitable recipe for mole. I got a bit excited when I found it actually, as it seemed quite authentic (apart from tomato-tomatillo substitution).

Recipe: Chicken Mole
delicious. June 2004, page 64

2 onions
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1 large chicken, jointed
2 sprigs coriander (including roots), plus extra leaves to garnish
2 dried red chillies
410g can chopped tomatoes
4 tbspns toasted sesame seeds, plus extra to garnish
1 tspn smoked paprika (pimenton)
1 tspn ground cumin
1 tspn ground cloves
1/2 tspn allspice
2 pieces day-old bread, crusts discarded, chopped
2 tbspns olive oil
1 bay leaf
25g Mexican chocolate
Steamed rice, to serve

Roughly chop 1 onion and place in a casserole dish with the garlic, chicken pieces and coriander, the nadd enough water to cover chicken. Bring to the boil, then reduce heat to low and skim any scum from the surface. Cover and simmer for 30 minutes.
Remove the chicken and set aside. Strain the poaching liquid, discarding solids and reserving the liquid. Remove 1/2 cup (125 ml) of the cooking liquid and pour it over the dried chillies. Allow to soak for 30 minutes, then place the tomatoes, sesame seeds, paprika, cumin, cloves, allspice, bread, chillies and their soaking liquid in a blender and process until smooth.
Finely chop the remaining onion. Heat the olive oil in a sauce pan and cook onion for  1 - 2 minutes over low heat until softened, then add the the chocolate and chicken. Add enough of the reserved poaching liquid to just cover chicken and simmer, uncovered, for a further 25 minutes.
remove the chicken, cover loosely with foil to keep warm, then reduce the sauce until it is a thick enough consistency to coat. Season with salt and pepper.
Coat the chicken in the sauce and garnish with the extra sesame, coriander leaves and serve with the rice.



I began my preparations enthusiastically. It is all a bit labour intensive (anything with 'stages' tends to make me a little antsy), but not difficult. I was chatting away happily (the margaritas possibly contributing to my buoyancy) to my guests, and happened to comment to one, 'this seems like it will have a bit of a kick - I hope you like chilli'.

As I watched her face fall, I immediately realised my error. I should not have said anything. Non-chilli loving guests would then have eaten my offerings, with me, totally oblivious, and perhaps bitched about me later. Instead, I was now RESPONSIBLE for ensuring that the meal was not too hot. I privately cursed my friendly off-handedness and considered my options. The chillies were soaking in the poaching liquid which was dangerously read and full of seeds. I had no alternative main course. I was torn. Mexican is supposed to be hot. My guest of honour had requested Mexican. My need to avoid upsetting anyone was causing me to panic. At the last minute, I decided to replace the lava-esque chilli liquid with some fresh poaching liquid.

I was both relieved and dismayed to discover upon serving the dish that it was rather mild. To me, it was missing the kick I had anticipated (although, as I've already mentioned, that could have been the tomatillos). Having said that, all guests were able to eat, and luckily, by the time main course was served, most were sufficiently lubricated that it probably didn't matter (little voice in my head is screaming, "but it matters to ME!!!!"). I now have no choice but to make the dish again. And chilli it up, I will.

We finished with a cointreau chocolate mousse, which was probably a bit too dense for me. Does this make me a hypocrite? In saying this, I am I not just like someone who claims not to like chilli?