Recipe: Burnt Lemon Cream with Blackberries

Derived from a recipe by Bruno Loubet, this comes with an unassailable guarantee of quality! The original, I think, used blackcurrants (and in fact, outside blackberry season, you can substitute raspberries to equally good effect) - and this was also a rare occasion when Loubet wasn't thinking properly, and his version went to the unnecessary and laborious lengths of making italian meringue to mix in towards the end of the recipe, when in fact all you need is some beaten egg white. On one level, I suppose it's reassuring to know that he didn't always get it right.

Beautifully light, this still manages to be rich and delicious, and is perfect after any rather substantial main course.

For two:

Ingredients: 150g Blackberries; 3 tablespoons of Sugar; 100 ml Milk; 2 Eggs, separated; 2 tablespoons of Cornflour; juice and grated zest of 1 Lemon; half a tablespoon of powdered Gelatine; Icing Sugar.

Method:

1. Put the Blackberries and half of the Sugar in a small saucepan, and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until they have entirely collapsed into a jam (about seven or eight minutes). Set aside to cool.

2. Whisk the Egg yolks with the remaining Sugar, then stir in the Cornflour. Heat the Milk to simmering point in a double boiler or simmertopf, and then stir this into the egg-sugar-flour mixture. Add the Lemon juice, stir well, then return the mixture to the double boiler or zimmertopf and cook, stirring, for five minutes or so until the mixture has visibly thickened.

3. Transfer the mixture to a bowl, then heat approx 50 ml of water in the zimmertopf and add to this the powdered Gelatine. Stir over a gentle heat until the Gelatine has entirely dissolved, then add, stirring thoroughly, to the Lemon custard. Leave to cool for a few minutes.

4. Beat the Egg whites until stiff, then fold into the Lemon custard, along with the grated Lemon zest.

5. Heat the oven to 180 degrees C.

6. In two greased (or Trennwaxed) egg dishes, divide half of the lemon mixture, and then add a layer of stewed Blackberry (half of the Blackberry mixture for each dish) and then cover the Blackberry layer with the remaining lemon mixture. Lightly dust the top of each dish with Icing Sugar.

7. Put the dishes into the pre-heated oven for about eight minutes - just enough to heat them through - and finally, brown the tops either briefly under a hot grill or else by using a small blowtorch.

Feast or famine.

It's that time of year. Everybody who grows their own food will recognise the syndrome - it's either salted fields and a complete crop failure, or else more stuff than you know what to do with, and you spend the entire time generously handing wagonloads of the stuff out to your nearest and dearest (and indeed many who are much less near and dear...and possibly even some people you hardly know at all...on the basis that you've bottled and preserved and frozen and cooked as much as you can deal with for yourself, and the freezer and the pantry are full to bursting, and yet still you have your own little EU mountain of the stuff, and are beginning to despair of ever seeing the back of it!)

Being a happy recipient of all this largesse, I'm far from complaining, though. Just within the past ten days, I've had thrust upon me:

- From Professor Chiellini next door, after I'd been round to disentangle my climbing roses from his lemon trees, a bushel or so of Kumquats (which he describes as 'Chinese Mandarins', although to me that sounds like a tautology) which got used up variously in a kumquat and lemon bavarois, and as the topping for a series of Tartes Andaluciennes, where they deliciously replaced the more usual slices of orange.

- from Belforte, an authentically gnarled cucumber (to form part of a dish of Smoked Salmon tiède)

- from my parents, tomatoes, aubergines (aubergine tart; and cooked with anchovies and garlic to accompany a roast), apples (apple, strawberry and vanilla tarts; apple & blackberry pies; and the kumquat version of Tartes Andaluciennes) and, of course, blackberries (for aforementioned blackberry & apple pies, but also to be used as a layer in lemon-flavoured Salzburger nockerl.)

- from the farmers wife from whom we collected the mini-four-footed last week, several bushels of runner beans (cooked with tomato and cumin; or à la crème, with chopped parsley; or just as they came)

And right now, it's all been used up, and for the first time in ages I've actually had to go and re-stock the crisper drawer from a shop!

Not for much longer, though, as by this time next year I expect to have my own little EU mountains of produce from the orchard and kitchen garden at Santa Caterina, where we already have lemon, orange, fig, pear, apple, apricot, cherry, plum and almond trees ( and the rather culinarily useless, IMHO, persimmons and 'nespolas'), as well as several grape arbours and plans to import peaches, mandarins, walnuts and hazelnut trees once we're properly installed. Anybody wandering around in that part of Pisa around harvest time next year would be well advised to carry with them several empty carrier bags, as I can see positive cornucopias of surplus-to-requirement produce looking for a good home!

Tonight's Dinner:

Asparagus & Gruyère Tarts.

Cod in Parma Ham; Lentils with Orange.

Black Figs roast with Walnuts & Honey, served with Crème Chantilly.

Recipe: Amaretto Soufflé

This is a recipe I'm astonished to discover I haven't posted already, so highly does it rank in my list of top-ten desserts. It comes from one of those anonymous recipe books ('Your 100 All-time Favourite Dishes' or 'The Family Circle Recipe Collection' or something similar) which don't promise much from the outside but in practice often contain some absolute gems. This is definitely one such.

Don't be tempted to substitute ground almonds for the slivered variety - I've tried it (on the basis that they all go into the blender jar anyway, and so why not go straight for ground almonds and cut out the blender step entirely) and it doesn't work; even after being blended, the slivered almonds have a splendidly chewy texture which is completely missing from the ground almond version. The combination of texture, along with the heady flavour-combination of vanilla and amaretto make this an absolute winner!

For two individual soufflés.

Ingredients: 40g slivered almonds; 1 tablespoon sugar (or Splenda - works equally as well in this recipe); 150 ml milk; 15g butter; half a tablespoon of plain flour; 2 eggs; 6 amaretto biscuits; 2 tablespoons of Amaretto liqueur; half a teaspoon of good quality vanilla essence.

Method:

1. Heat the oven to 220 degrees C.

2. Put the almonds in a small saucepan, along with half the sugar and half the milk. Bring to the boil, and then simmer gently for two minutes, before leaving to cool.

3. In a double boiler or simmertopf melt the butter, then gently whisk in the flour and remaining milk. Heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens (about five minutes), then stir in the two egg yolks.

4. Combine this mixture with the almond-milk-sugar mixture, add the vanilla essence and half of the liqueur and liquidize the whole lot for a minute.

5. Divide the amaretto biscuits between two individual ramekins which have been greased (or sprayed with Trennwax), and soak the biscuits in the remaining liqueur.

6. Beat the egg whites with the remaining sugar (or Splenda), and fold the soufflé base into the beaten egg white. Spoon this mixture into the prepared ramekins, place them in a bain marie and bake for ten minutes in the pre-heated oven.

Serve immediately.

He's here!

The mini four-footed has moved in. Last Thursday. He is, of course, beautiful...and highly intelligent, and desperately precocious...and all those things that proud parents modestly acknowledge in their newly-arrived progeny, whilst quietly harbouring ambitions of a Double First and a rowing Blue. On a more realistic level, it is true to say that he arrived already knowing his own name, and understanding the word 'No' - both being highly practical accomplishments - as well as showing signs of being almost house-trained. (Not bad for under twelve weeks....and, come to think of it, probably already better than most rowing Blues could manage!)

The newly-promoted senior four-footed was initially beside himself with excitement at the new arrival, but became more ambivalent when he saw the puppy being given food and toys - on both of which he feels he has a 100% monopoly. He'll be fine, though. At the moment, he's looking long-suffering, as he's the main source of canine entertainment round here, and is enduring a near constant onslaught of rugby tackles, and having his rump bitten or his ears attacked...all of which he takes in relatively good part, if you can ignore the hunted expression that descends from time to time. Fortunately, for everybody, the energy level isn't constant, and it's a demonstrable fact that puppies are blissfully asleep for a lot of the time.

We have two weeks in London, and then we all, four-footeds included, set out on the Great Trek southwards, and will de-camp to Italy for the autumn.

Tonight's dinner:

Asparagus with Hollandaise.

Roast Beef (one of the benefits of being in the UK) and runner beans (from the many kilos of which we were given by the mini four-footed's breeder when we went to collect him)

. Passion fruit Tarts

Recipe: Pork Loin Roast with Emmental & Prosciutto Crudo

Loosely translated from Julia Child's classic Porc Sylvie this version takes the recipe south of the Alps, with a slightly edgier flavour to the stuffing, and a sauce which without question will knock your socks off! As with all roasts of this kind, the meat is equally delicious served either hot, or cold the following day, or else carefully re-heated several days later in a 100 degree C oven, wrapped in foil.

For six.

Ingredients: boned and rolled loin of pork, about 5" in length; 75g finely sliced Emmental; 75g sliced Prosciutto Crudo (parma ham); 4 slices of fatty bacon (optional); 2 medium Carrots, finely diced; 2 medium Onions, finely diced; 30g Butter; 2 tablespoons Olive Oil; 1 cup Marsala; seasoning.

Method:

1.Heat the oven to 220 degrees C.

2. With three longitudinal cuts, open the pork loin as though unrolling a swiss roll, so that it forms a flattish rectangle of meat. Season the rectangle, then cover with slices of Emmental, and then slices of Prosciutto Crudo. Roll up the rectangle to re-form its original shape, and tie with string. (If your butcher has left no layer of fat around the loin, then before you string it, cover the loin with the optional slices of fatty bacon)

3. Melt the Butter over medium heat, along with the Oil, in a pan which can subsequently act as a roasting dish in the oven.

4. Colour the pork loin all over (takes about fifteen minutes) in the Oil/Butter mixture, then remove from the pan. Sauté the diced Onion and Carrot for about twenty minutes in the same pan, until wilted and golden, but not coloured. Return the loin to the pan, on top of the vegetables and place the pan in the pre-heated oven.

5. Roast until the meat is done - it should take about forty minutes.

6. Once the meat is done, remove it from the pan to rest for ten minutes or so in a warm oven.

7. Meanwhile, place the pan which contains the now blackened vegetables over medium-high heat and add to it the Marsala. Cook, stirring continuously, until the liquid has reduced to a consistency which starts to look syrupy (as with all sauces of this kind, you need only a spoonful of sauce per serving, so don't be hesitant in reducing with enthusiasm!).

8. Press the contents of the pan through a fine sieve, and add one spoonful of sauce to two slices of cooked loin for each serving. The combined flavours of cooking juices, marsala, and melted cheese are sensational!

If this had been April 1st...

...then it might have made some sense. But it wasn't - and the recent piece of deathless prose which appeared under Heston Blumenthal's byline in The Times online left me fairly speechless, and reaching for a calming glass of something. Hard to believe, but the following (paraphrased, in the interests of sanity) is his method for making what is essentially a rich beef tea:

Step one is to make a standard beef stock, sautéing industrial - but peculiarly precise - quantities of meat and vegetables (21.25 kilos of meat, along with 7.5 kilos each of peeled carrots and onions and - although, surely some mistake here ? Ed. - 7.5 kilos of star anise!), which is all then deglazed using 7.5 bottles of red wine. Not 7.62 bottles, or 8.3 bottles, but a definite 7.5...(At this stage I began to wonder if we were in James Hamilton-Patterson territory, and like 'Cooking with Fernet Branca' the whole thing was just one enormous spoof; but it would appear not).

In step two, this 5.625 litres of liquid is reduced by 2/3 to become 1.875 litres, thus removing 3.75 litres of water - but immediately you then add 28 litres of water...which leaves me wondering why you'd bother with the initial reduction, and not just add 24.25 litres of water instead?

In step three, you make a mushroom stock, using 400 ml of Madeira as the deglazing agent, which you then reduce to 50 ml...to which you then add....um....3 litres of water - so why did he not just skip the earlier reduction, and merely add 2.65 litres of water? And in any event, soon after this he reduces the liquid again to 30% of its earlier volume, thus removing 2.17 litres of the water he's just added. Hmmm.

Then you mix together the two stocks and freeze them to make rectangular slabs, which you then sieve very slowly through a fine strainer, which allows you to separate most of the remaining water from the concentrated juices ...which you then re-freeze and then centrifuge (we all have a centrifuge in our batterie de cuisine, right?) in order to get rid of the frozen water...and then , just to be on the safe side, you put the stuff into your centrifugal evaporator (I think that's that thing at the back of the cupboard, just behind the chip pan and to the left of the cheese fondue set) and leave it there for about four hours, to make sure there's absolutely no water left at all, leaving you with half a litre of thick beef syrup.

Phew!

But, there's more. At some subsequent time, the syrup is mixed with madeira and gelatine, and allowed to set into a jellied lump....which, according to Blumenthal, for presentation purposes, is brought to table and served in a teacup, along with....um.....a teapot of boiling water, which you use to reinvigorate your jellied lump of beef syrup, and turn it into a cup of beef tea. (So, you can cross out all those centrifugal evaporators from your Christmas lists, since it seems that everything from the point where you made your frozen rectangular slabs of combined stocks onwards was a complete waste of time.)

Now, an uncharitable interpretation of all of this might be that HB feels the need to distance his cooking methods from those of us lesser mortals by all these ....yawn....impressive and complicated machinations, in order that he can keep the prices and the queues at The Fat Duck firmly in place. A (marginally)less cynical view might be that this is just a bored child playing with his food...

We relayed the whole process to the lady cook of one of the local restaurants here, and her response was somewhat pithier. Having listened , hands on hips and frowning with concentration as she digested the process, her comment, thrown over her shoulder as she made her way back to her busy kitchen, was merely : "Che Cretino!"

If you want to read the original Blumenthal article, then it can be found here.

Tonight's Dinner:

Tuna Tartare.

Rabbit and Garlic, with braised Fennel.

Fresh Peach ice cream.

It's Ferragosto...

Or, strictly speaking, yesterday - being August 15th - was Ferragosto...except that the event appears to have become more of a concept than an actual date, and the midsummer holiday that it betokens will now stretch way into the middle of next week, having wound down into into ever greater levels of somnulent inactivity over the last half of last week. Everybody has left for the beach, town is empty, and in the shattering midday heat, the street outside has a silence you could cut with a knife.

When we first arrived in Pisa, and discovered that Italy too has a holiday on August 15th, we assumed it was the same holiday as in Greece, where it's celebrated as the assumption of the Virgin and is one of the major dates in the church calendar. When we lived there, it was well understood not to travel on the ferry to Athens in mid August, as we lived on the same ferry route as Tinos, and you could be certain that all boats during that period would be packed to the gunwhales with hysterical and over-excited hordes of the (literally) halt and lame, all on their way to ask for a miracle from the wonder-working icon of the Madonna housed in Tinos Cathedral. Or, even worse, the same hordes, but tired, tearful and disappointed, making the return journey afterwards.

In Italy, however, although the church tries vainly to claim Ferragosto as a celebration for the virgin, nobody takes much notice, and what it has resolutely become is a festival in honour of ice-cream and beaches and not getting up until noon, and of doing absolutely, gloriously nothing as the summer holiday extends into one stultifyingly hot day after another...
In fact, even the name itself seems to pre-date christianity, and refers directly back to a festival of Diana that the romans celebrated at around the same time - even as I write that, I wonder if the name was re-introduced as another of Mussolini's strategies for reminding the Italians of their great classical heritage, but to be honest I'm feeling too lazy right now to go and check...

For us, though, Ferragosto is about lazing around at home, and revelling in the silence of the surrounding town. The two chores of the moment which I'm taking steadily - an hour a day at most, every day, in order to render them tolerable over time - are stripping the Caci tree of its unripe fruit (thousands and thousands of the things, all of which will ripen and drop messily at the end of September if left to their own devices) and dead-heading the lavender and laboriously collecting the flower heads in order to have scented bowlfuls of them around the house through into the winter months. At the moment, the smell from the decapitated flowers is heady and intoxicating, and hits with a menthol intensity immediately on entering the kitchen.

It's a hard life!

Tonight's dinner:

Salade aux noisettes (Lambs lettuce and butterball lettuce leaves, dressed in walnut oil & lemon, mixed with crushed hazelnuts and diced emmental)

Boned chicken, roast with basil and shallots and butter under the skin; roast celeriac.

Limoncello Panna Cotta.