Dos Palillos

Did you know that you can eat raw chicken? Perhaps I should be more specific - Did you know that you can eat raw chicken, AND not get food poisoning? And not only that, it actually tastes quite nice? As a youth growing up in 90's suburban Britain, my parents had me believe that certain foods have to be 'properly' cooked. 'Properly' cooked meaning anything from burning to disintegration. Take sprouts for example, thankfully only inflicted on us once a year at Christmas. My dad, proudly boasting about how much he loved them (which does raise the interesting question of why he didn't lobby to see them on the table more often) would sit in front of the TV on Christmas Eve, peeling an enormous bag of sprouts and putting crosses in their small, stubborn little bottoms. The following day, they would be boiled for at least 20 - 30 minutes, lest (God forbid!) they arrived at the table 'like bullets'. Nothing worse apparently.

My Dad would happily pile them on his plate, and wink at me down the table, 'come on Wiseman, they'll put hair on your chest!'. It's not the best line to get small girls to eat foods they don't like, and I don't mind admitting that it didn't work on me. Bitter, mushy, grey...need I go on? Everyone around our Christmas table has to have at least one, even if they, like me, can't stand them. My Mum will usually have about five, my brother likes them, but my Aunt and I only adhere to the one sprout policy out of respect for family tradition. Being left with half a kilo of overcooked sprouts does leave the following day's bubble and squeak decidedly sprout heavy, which is probably why I have never liked that either. In later years, as my Brother and I have wrestled the reigns from my mother (less of a wrestle, more of a seamless handover as she wandered triumphant into the living room clutching a G&T) and taken full responsibility for the planning and execution of the most important meal of our year, we have tried a range of ways to make the sprouts more exciting (aka palatable).

We've tried them shredded and stir fried, roasted, steamed, and pan fried with chestnuts and bacon. To me, despite everything, they still taste like sprouts. My Dad has been less than impressed, but it demonstrated to me early on in my time in the kitchen that many notions and ideas about cooking times and food safety are just that. As I read somewhere once, you can eat virtually anything raw, how much you decide to cook it is just a matter of taste. And what freedom knowing this provides. Other than sprouts, I grew up thinking that beef should never be anything more than a bit pink. Sausages should ideally have a charred exterior, fully grey interior. Pork should be thoroughly brown and dry, prawns should be cooked through to bouncing ball squeaky perfection, and chicken should be cooked for at least ten minutes longer than the timings provided by Delia Smith. Just in case.

Thankfully a formative trip to France taught me that blue steak is not only safe but utterly delicious. The taste and texture a world away from overcooked Sunday roasting joints, hacked to pieces by my Dad's electric meat carver (just, why?) After I left home and started eating out more often, I tried things I never had before - oysters, sweetbreads, sashimi, foie gras, beef tartare, bone marrow...and for the most part I loved everything (duck tongues left me utterly cold, and I've never enjoyed frogs legs that much). As I got older, some things that I thought had to be cooked, I had raw. Like prawns. And I have started leaving pork pink, fear free. Some things however, remained on my 'don't do under any circumstances' list. Top of that list, is raw chicken.

I know I am guilty of getting over excited about food and restaurants, and when I read back over things I get a bit embarrassed about how often I use words like 'the best in the world', 'you have to try this', 'favourite thing ever' etc. but what can I say, I'm enthusiastic (and I like eating a lot of things). However I unashamedly say, with my hand on my heart, that the meal that I ate in Dos Palillos in Barcelona, just under four weeks ago, was the best meal I have ever had. No capital letters, no drama, it just was. The restaurant is in probably the coolest city in Europe. The décor is quite kitsch, but still very cool and kind of punky. Dos Palillos roughly translates at two wooden sticks or toothpicks, and is a reference to the wooden sticks used across Barcelona and Spain for eating tapas, and chopsticks. This is a restaurant that serves Japanese food, in tapas size portions. The chef-owner is Albert Raurich, head chef at El Bulli for a number of years before its closure, and from the first contact that I had when booking a table, to the smiles and goodbyes we had from the chefs who served us as we left, everything was spot on.

I had booked us seats in the restaurant, for which you can only book certain times. We had to arrive at 7.30 pm precisely, as emphasised by the numerous very polite email and telephone reminders I received. On arrival, I was so excited I was verging on a panic attack. It hadn't helped that we had struggled to find it, and were still running up and down Las Ramblas dodging the living statues with me shouting 'we're going to be late!' at 7.25 pm, but anyway, my nerves calmed shortly after we arrived (and had our first drink), and we enjoyed 16 + courses of some of the most precise, adventurous, perfectly executed food I have ever been fortunate enough to be served. I have certainly never eaten somewhere where you are so close to the food being prepared. You sit around the U shaped bar around the kitchen with the other diners, and watch the chefs put the food together, quite literally, under your nose. These same chefs then serve the food to you, and explain what it is, and answer any questions you may have. Incidentally, they were mostly extremely good looking. Just in case you don't know and were wondering - most chefs definitely aren't. Throughout the whole evening, there was an air of studied calm about them. The whole performance was orchestrated by a chef who reminded me a bit of Jack Sparrow, who sat at one end of the bar, monitoring which dishes had gone to which diners and who was to have what next. There were no raised voices, no angry words, just concentration, swift and delicate movements and smiles and quiet polite requests. It is fair to say that it was a million miles away from any kitchen I have ever worked in.

There is a choice of three menus, the more expensive containing more dishes, and one of which you were told about 70% of what you would have, but agreed to take any new dishes that they wanted to serve you. This is what we did. They obviously checked whether we had any allergies or dislikes (we don't - I didn't think mentioning that neither of us like sprouts would be necessary) and then they brought us the wine list. Which, rather wonderfully, was unbelievably reasonable. I drank wine and sake by the glass (ranging from 7 - 14 Euros), and Diesel ploughed his way through a bottle of rose cava, which was an extremely decent 20 Euros. For a restaurant with 1 Michelin star, I think this is unbelievably good value.

Before we arrived, I had debated with myself as to whether I wanted to take photos of the food. Nothing marks you out as a food bore and general irritant more than if you sit there snapping away at your food as it arrives. I wanted to just enjoy myself, but when the food started arriving, I couldn't not take any photos. I knew I could have a go at describing to the people in my life what I had eaten, but I also knew that some of what we ate needed to be seen to be believed. I avoided photographing everything, and looking back I can't remember exactly what order we ate in, but by the end we were both blown away. Below are a few of the highlights and my best attempt at describing them.

Mackerel sashimi with tororo kombu

This is the best fish to eat raw in the world in my opinion, and this was absolutely perfect. Totally simple, expertly prepared, fresh, delicious. The kombu was full of umami flavour, and a very unusual texture. It just sort of dissolved in the mouth. I should mention that prior to this we had monk fish liver, which is meant to the foie gras of the sea, and extremely unusual. I'll be honest, the flavour was nice but not overly exciting, and the texture of it left me a bit cold. Onwards and upwards...

Fresh crispy chicken roll

Dear God. A very fine rice paper wrapped around shredded fresh vegetables (cucumber, spring onion, mooli, herbs) and crispy chicken skin. But crispy like pork crackling crispy. Why are pubs up and down the land not selling crispy chicken skin? WHY? We were instructed to eat this by hand, and it came with a slightly sweet salty thin dipping sauce. It was absolutely delicious. Crispy, crunchy, salty, fresh...please can someone with better organisational skills and more free time than me open a street food stall making these? you would make a fortune, and you'd make a lot of people very happy.

Sunomono, with fresh seaweed and mollusc

The picture I have taken doesn't really do this justice, but is was so beautiful, even more so watching the chef arranging all of the ingredients with chopsticks. This was a cold dish, and totally fresh. The cockles were the sweetest I had ever eaten, the seaweed added a great contrast and most importantly, this was the first time in my life I ate percebes (goose barnacles). They have now beaten scallops and oysters to take number one spot as my favourite shellfish. Sweet, meaty, utterly different in texture to shellfish I have eaten previously. A totally unforgettable food moment.

Hot and raw fresh red prawns

I had watched with some interest a chef count out these prawns when we arrived. They were impaled toe to head on long metal skewers, and I almost started a victory dance when four of them arrived in front of us. The heads had been balanced over the hot charcoal pit, until charred and the insides boiling hot, while the tail remained perfectly raw and slightly cold. The trick was to eat the tail first and then suck the heads. You probably already know that this is my favourite bit, and my God, it was good. The only seasoning they had received was a healthy whack of salt on the heads prior to cooking. Just, fucking, awesome.

Free range chicken sashimi

Raw prawns hey? Not a problem pal. I've worked in a few kitchens don't you know. I love oysters and sweetbreads. Prawn heads? Not a problem. I'm foodie, hear me roar!...and then they served us this. After the prawns, I had a quiet chuckle to myself and thought, this meal is mental, really crazy. Some things like prawns, it is still a bit weird eating them raw, but you can always rely on never being faced with the final frontier. The ultimate taboo. And no I'm not talking cannibalism, I'm talking raw chicken. When this was put in front of us, I think my chin literally hit the table. They've got this wrong, surely. I checked the menu again, and there is was, chicken sashimi. After I'd gathered myself, I tried the first small bite, and it was actually very nice. Smoked slightly on the edges, but still raw. It was deeply chickeny, and had the texture of fudge. No doubt it was still very odd, and I can't say it was may favourite, or even that I would have it again, but what an experience. Incidentally, Diesel went mad for this, and he told me categorically that this was his absolute favourite. 

Oyster and bone marrow 'doteyaki'

warm raw oyster and bone marrow with a white miso sauce. Utterly delicious, the textures and temperatures were a bit challenging, but a great combination. So beautifully presented as well. Not much more to say about this.

Tempura fried cherry tomatoes with wasabi

So simple, but so effective. Like little tomato doughnuts. The batter was perfectly crisp and thin and delicate, and the peeled tomatoes within were hotter than the sun and sweet and salty. I could have eaten about 20.

Nippon burger

Soft sweet dough (similar to those Chinese buns you get filled with BBQ pork), with sharp crunchy pickled cucumber, shredded greens, and a ball of finely chopped wagu beef cooked very rare. Heavenly.

Chargrilled bone marrow

With something sweet brushed onto it, and bonito shaved on top after cooking. This was my favourite dish of the evening. The texture was jellylike and it was so rich and delicious, I almost didn't know what to with myself. When it arrived, some wood shavings had been placed underneath the bone, which was so hot it started smoking them, so while you were eating, you were surrounded by aromatic wood smoke. Genius.

Iberian pork jowl Cantonese style

At least 50% fat, this was the most buttery, melting pork I have ever eaten. The sweet crispy edges added perfect contrast.

This is one of the sweet courses, and I've no idea what it was or what it was called. The outside was a kind of jelly like texture, and the inside was a soft intense strawberry jelly. It was very refreshing, if a bit odd. They felt to me (although Diesel tells me I'm wrong about this) a bit like flaccid penises, which I won't lie, was a bit off putting. Still, it was a new experience, and the tastes were actually very nice.

There were more courses, a lot more. Any one of them taken on its own, or as part of another meal would stand out as a shining example of perfect ingredients skilfully prepared. having 18 in a row though is a bit like dropping Maria Sharapova into a Victoria's Secret catwalk show. I could tell you about the tuna belly, which was the best tuna I have ever eaten. Or the steamed shrimp and Iberican pork dumplings, or the beef fillet...but just trust me when I say that it was virtually impossible to pick a stand out dish because they were all stand out. If I have one aim for next year, it is to save enough money to go back to Barcelona for a long weekend as soon as I can, and get a table here again before it becomes truly impossible.

Keeping It Simple

 

 

 

This post will be different from most, in that there will be no references to drinking, or post drinking culinary exploits. For the last few weeks I have been behaving like an actual grown up and laying off the drink (apart from the odd glass here and there - nobody's perfect). I'm not sure how much longer this will last, but while it does, let me share a few of my findings:

1. Not consuming more than one drink on a Friday night enables you to achieve feats normally unthinkable on a Saturday.

2. Quite a lot of people are up and about and doing stuff early on Saturday morning.

3. A weekend not spent either drinking or recovering does bring an enormous sense of smuggery, especially when you live with someone who is not following the same regime.

 

 





I'm pleased to say I've been making the most of it. Yesterday (Saturday) morning, after jumping out of bed at 8am (8am!) and having a quick shower and putting my face on, I headed down to my local fishmongers to pick up a crab I had ordered the day before. This in itself was a revelation, because I normally don't make it to the fishmongers before 3pm on a Saturday, by which time there isn't a lot left. At 9am it's a different story. The counter was full of gleaming, glistening, spanking fresh fish, all straight off the boats sitting in the harbour just next to the shop. Unfortunately I had no need of any of it, but that's not the point. I picked up my crab, which was still warm from having just been cooked (caught only hours before) and skipped home with it, shouting loudly 'Morning!' to bemused American tourists, all fresh off the cruise boats.

I could have just ordered crab meat and saved myself the hour it took when I got it home to smash it up, pick, scrape out and painstakingly check for bits of shell, but where would be the fun in that? Also, it is much more cost effective to do it yourself, much more satisfying to eat, and actually quite fun when you get into it. Above all, preparing crab like this at home has given me one thing I did not have previously - an appreciation for the brown meat.

 



Like some crustacean based coming of age, I have graduated from my preference for the sweet white meat, and found true love in the earthier, richer, crabbier, more delicious dark meat. For me, realising that the brown meat is so much nicer than the white is akin to the realisation that the best bit of a prawn is what is contained in the head. It's a graduation, from the safe and childlike to the grown up. From Cosmopolitans to Old Fashioneds. From Dairy Milk to 70% coco solids with chilli. From kissing, to hands-in-pants. There was a time when I wouldn't have touched the stuff. Apart from anything else, it doesn't look very appetising. Even when  it has been properly mixed up, it is essentially a grainy, brown wet paste. 'This isn't for me', I used to think. That is until I stopped buying the meat in bags and started bringing home the tough little fuckers to do battle with in my own home.

 

 

 

You see, there is so much brown meat to be found in a crab (I am talking about brown crabs here, I've yet to have a go on a spider or king crab), and after spending just over £10 and an hour of your life decimating it, to just throw away a good portion of the fruits of your labour seems nuts. So, after deciding to man up, not too long ago, I tried it. Not added to something else, or disguised by other ingredients, or lost in a crab cake, but just on its own, on a slice of freshly baked brown bread and butter, with a bit of white meat on top, mayonnaise and a squeeze of lemon.  And you know what, it was delicious. So much so that I now look forward to the brown meat more than the white. But I have to admit that I have still not moved on from the original brown bread, butter, mayo, lemon combo. Why would I?

 

 

I've thought about it, don't get me wrong, and I own shelves and shelves of books containing hundreds of recipes for crab. A brief search on the internet will bring you hundreds of thousands, but I can't help but return to the question - What's the point? I don't know if it is age, whether I am subliminally taking on board the message being spread by many celebrity chefs at the moment that 'simple is good' or 'take three ingredients', or just that after the recent fixation with 'molecular gastronomy', chemicals in the kitchen, foams, spherification, mists, gels and Heston, we're all just craving something different again. But whatever it is, I'm certainly finding the most exciting things I'm eating at the moment, both in my kitchen and outside of it, are simple and inexpensive. A few weeks ago for lunch, I ate a few bits of toasted ciabatta rubbed with garlic, some chopped ripe tomatoes that had been sitting for ten minutes in olive oil, white wine vinegar and salt and pepper, some fresh basil leaves, and some amazing mozzarella.

 

 

 

The mozzarella so creamy inside that it barely held itself together. A bit of fresh black pepper on top and that was it. A few years ago I would have turned my nose up at that (cheese and tomato on toast? Piss off), but right now it just feels right. Whether you're a bit strapped for cash or not, what's the point in eating expensive items all the time? Don't get me wrong, I won't ever stop eating and enjoying fillet steak, foie Gras, oysters, lobster and champagne, it's just that I don't think there's the need to do it as often. Thrifty cooks from around the world unite: Keep it simple. It's the future (I've seen it).

The Land Of The Free (and the home of the chicken wing)

Last November (2012) I went to California for one week. Principally for a beautiful wedding, secondly to eat. During that week, we (my lovely friends Jodie and Nick...a couple...it was an interesting time) watched the sunset on Venice beach (all holding hands), drove up the coast from Santa Monica to to San Fransisco, met a lovely lesbian called Kathy, nearly died of fear in 'The Tenderloin' (look it up), saw more old Chinese women hanging out of bins than I'd care to mention, gazed upon the (somewhat disappointingly small) Hollywood sign 'in the flesh', got ID'd more times in 24 hours than in the last 10 years put together, saw some things in a sex shop on The Castro that will remain burned into our souls forever, fell in love with American Beer, and ate 50+ of the hottest chicken wings EVER. I ate a lot of hot chicken wings. A very lot. Every day. At every meal. In fact, wherever we went, if there were chicken wings on offer, we ordered some. And God they were good. Some better than others, but all very, very good.

I am slightly dubious about the 'chicken wing' description bandied about on the menus, because if these wings come from actual chickens, they must be the biggest chickens known to humanity. All of them were at least double the size of any chicken wing I have ever seen in the UK. I understand that in 'The States' everything is bigger. The cars, the roads, the portions, the people...but my God, these wings were something else. I can only imagine the horror of the steroids and the factory farming, but we were only there for a week. And as they say, when in Rome. By way of some kind of penance, when I got home I bought a vegan cookbook and tried coconut milk yogurt for the first time ever. Have you ever tried coconut milk yogurt? If you haven't, don't. I've tried it for you. It's fucking horrible.

(FYI, this is me eating the hottest ones we found. It was a special moment, and one that I'm glad we captured. Thank you Jodie. Note how red my lips are and the concentrated frown. I can still feel the burn)

If I try and put my finger on why the chicken wings were all so amazing, I think it was a combination of factors. Firstly, as I've just gone on about at length, they were all massive, which really helps. Secondly, they were all, I am quite certain, deep fried after being coated in some sort of heavily seasoned flour, making the outside fantastically crispy. Thirdly, they were all finished in a variation of hot sauce and butter, and then brought straight out to you with a bowl of blue cheese sauce and some celery. For me, the last two items are unnecessary. You can keep your offensive garnish and creamy sauce thanks Uncle Sam, just give me the good stuff. I imagine I'm on my own here as the whole blue sauce thing is a bit of an institution, but it's just not for me.

I cannot imagine a better accompaniment to a few cold beers. Yes, you get covered in sauce and your hands get sticky and it's not pleasant to watch or be watched while getting stuck in, but who cares? Oooooh Matron! (I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Every now and then my Inner Kenneth Williams flares up and I just can't help myself).

Anyway, I spent most of the journey up to San Fransisco when I should have been admiring the breath taking scenery from the back of the car, day dreaming about how I was going to open a pub in Finsbury Park in North London on my return to Blighty that only serves a vast selection of independent top quality beers, and chicken wings. That's it. You want cocktails? Fuck off down Upper Street. Do we do crisps? I think you'll find Tesco have shelves of them. Tomato Juice? WHO ORDERS TOMATO JUICE IN A PUB? EVER? GET OUT MORON. I'm not sure how far that sort of attitude would get me during a time where pubs in the UK are closing at a rate of about 2,000 a day (or something), but I recon I could make it work.

Other than the chicken wings, we ate some spectacular food, and I took photos of pretty much everything. I behaved at every opportunity like the worst possible sort of tourist cum food blogger imaginable (I don't actually apply that title to myself). Snapping away whenever it took my fancy, at both my food, and my dining companions. As you can see from just a couple of shots, they were well happy about it:

 

I think that this particular face came about at the end of a week of eating high calorie, carbohydrate and fat rich food, by which point we were all just screaming internally for a salad. Incidentally, this was the place where I ate the best macaroni cheese ever. Ever. Fair play it was enough to feed about four people, and by then I should have known that my body was on the ropes, screaming for something green and steamed, but it was our last night, and I HAD to have macaroni cheese before we flew back to the UK. I'd gone on about it all week, and this was my last opportunity (who has macaroni cheese for breakfast?)

I won't include everything in tedious detail, so I've picked a few of my favourites. Like the prawn omelette. And the deep fried Twinky - the wrongest thing ever created for human consumption. You think Findus Crispy Pancakes aren't right? You've got no idea.

Sandwiches

This was THE BEST fish sandwich I have ever eaten. Swordfish it was, and probably the only piece of fish I ate all week.

 'The Big Steve'. Meat, cheese, salad, mayo, chutney, rye bread, sandwich heaven.

Chicken Wings

 

(mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm)

Breakfast in Alcatraz 

(doesn't look that bad to me)

 

Deep Fried Twinky 

(Seriously)

Best Omelette In The World 

(Grilled tiger prawns, fresh goat cheese, oven roasted tomatoes, spinach. In Downtown Hollywood, in the trendiest restaurant we were lucky enough to stumble across. So trendy they had a crazy bath in the middle of the floor, suspended above which were many bottles of honey. Very cool.)

 

Amazing Sushi

(Santa Monica, night 2. Notable not only for the quality of the fish, nor the amount that we spent, but for the beauty of our waiter. I would have got a picture of him, but I was too embarrassed to take one after he overheard me saying something inappropriate regarding what I actually wanted for dessert.

Hot Sauce

(Found on every table of every bar. Why can't it be like this in Britain?)

And Finally, THANK YOU

(To Jodie and Nick, who put up with me all week preventing any sort of romance happening. I couldn't have asked for two better travelling companions. Love you both)

My Finest Hour

Sometimes, just occasionally, the combination of a few drinks and food preparation enable you to work magic. Often things just end up burnt, or undercooked, or as has happened on more than one occasion, abandoned completely after a collective decision to abandon ship. Just recently, I have been pushing the boundaries a bit. My kitchen boundaries that is. It is all too easy to get stuck in a rut where food is concerned. I read an article recently by Jay Rayner who extolled the virtues of cooking the same small number of dishes on repeat, in order that you know them inside out, can do them almost without thinking, and that they bring a sense of comfort and tradition etc.

I do agree. My quest for bolognaise perfection trundles on, I barely go a week these days without eating steak and chips at least once, and if there was a prize for avocado and prawn salad, I'd definitely come top three. However, in the kitchen as in life, sometimes it's good to be brave, flick through the cookbooks and decide to make something you never have before. Last weekend we did just that. We went off to Waitrose on Saturday afternoon looking for inspiration, and managed to get our hands on a Guernsey lobster and 8 HUGE and super fresh Guernsey scallops. I also picked up some vanilla pods, a bag of caster sugar, 6 eggs and a couple of pints of full fat milk.

Once we saw the shellfish I knew I had to make spaghetti. Garlic, tomatoes, lobster, scallops, parsley and spaghetti make perfect pan partners. The most satisfaction I got from this dish, other than the eating of course, was cleaning the Lobster (i.e. getting all of the meat out of it). It has been quite a long time since I did this last, and the last time I did, I had a crate of 60 to do. After a few hours my hands were so red and sore and raw and cold and cut, that I wouldn't have been sorry never to have seen one of the little red fuckers ever again. But, as they say, time is a great healer, and as I was in my own kitchen and didn't have an angry chef breathing down my neck, I was able to tackle this chap in my own time and at my own pace. The trick is all in the 'thwack', using  the back of a large knife at appropriate points (for the claws), and just having a large, sharp, heavy kitchen knife to split the back. In no time at all, I had shelled my lobster and had a pretty plate. Sometimes, I pretend in my head that I am presenter of my own TV. Can you tell? Here's one I prepared earlier...

Lobster, scallop, tomato and chilli spaghetti.

(feeds two, easily)

1 lobster, cooked and cleaned, cut into bite size pieces

8 scallops. Trimmed, roes and muscle separated.

1 carton creamed tomatoes, or 6 super ripe fresh tomatoes finely chopped.

2 cloves garlic, grated (if you don't have a Microplane grater GET ONE)

1 red onion, finely chopped.

1 fresh red chilli, finely chopped.

Handful flat leaf parsley, finely chopped.

Olive oil

Salt and pepper

150g(ish) spaghetti. Touch your thumb and forefinger together, and you want a bit less that can fit in the hole. Grow up.

Fill a large saucepan with plenty of water and a good handful of cheap salt. It would be nice to only use Maldon for everything, but I don't think it's worth it for cooking pasta. In a large deep sided saucepan (you will need to finish cooking the pasta in this so make sure it is big enough), heat some oil and gently fry the red onion, chilli and garlic until soft. Add the tomatoes and let it bubble away.

Heat a frying pan until smoking hot, slice the scallops in half (so you have two disks), pat dry, dab with a bit of oil, add to the pan, season, leave for 1 1/2 minutes and then turn and leave for 1 1/2 minutes, then remove onto a plate and put to one side. When all the scallop muscles have been seared (you want them to be nicely caramelised, but not cooked all the way through), add the scallop roes to the pan and cook for three minutes, shaking the pan every now and then. Remove and put to one side. Add the spaghetti to the now boiling water and half cook. Lift the spaghetti out of the water and into the tomato pan, and add a couple of ladle's of water. 

Turn the heat up under the tomato pan and continue cooking the pasta until it is as you like it (hopefully al dente). Ensure it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan, and if it starts to look a bit dry add more pasta water. When the pasta is cooked just right and the sauce is the right consistency (not too thick or too wet, you know what you like, again, GROW UP), add the lobster and the scallops and the parsley to the pasta, take off the heat, give it a stir, stand for a minute, and serve with a bit of parsley to scattered over the top so it looks pretty. Keep well away from Parmesan cheese, and eat by candle light with a nice light red and someone you're in love with (it tastes much better that way).

After the success of the spaghetti, I had it in my head that I was kitchen invincible, and decided to (for the first time) make one of my favourite puddings: Iles Flottantes (floating islands). I think that this is the perfect pudding for a number of reasons. 1. It is stupidly simple in that it has very few ingredients. 2. It is devilishly complicated because there are so many things to go wrong, so when you get it right it makes you feel like a hero. 3. It is unbelievably light and at the same time rich and decadent, and finally 4. It is a French classic, and whenever I master one of these, it makes me very happy. The pastry God's smiled down on me, as my meringue was perfect (I only used egg white and sugar, no lemon juice), I cooked the crème anglaise to just the right point so it was double cream thickness and totally smooth, and I managed to make caramel. Perfectly. So much so that I was able to make some sugar run offs to decorate. So proud of myself was I, that we opened the bottle of Tokaji I put in the fridge a few hours earlier 'just in case'. I think Diesel enjoyed it as much as me, although I can't be sure as I was having so much fun myself I wasn't paying much attention to anything else.

Iles Flottantes (taken from Michel Roux 'Eggs')

Meringue

1 Litre whole milk.

190g Caster sugar

6 Medium egg whites

Creme Anglaise

500ml Whole milk

125g Caster sugar

1 Vanilla pod, split lengthways

6 egg yolks

Caramel

200g Caster sugar

Heat the milk and 50g of the sugar in a wide shallow pan until it comes to boiling point. Once it has reached this, turn the temperature down and maintain it at just below simmering point.

Beat the egg whites to a thick foam and shower in the sugar (heat the sugar a bit first if you can, it helps for some reason) and beat until you have firm peaks. I can't tell you how much easier this is if you have a Kitchen Aid or similar. If you don't, an electric whisk will give you the same results but take more time, and if you're going back to basics and whisking by hand, all I'll say is that I hope you've been eating your spinach.

A proven way to test whether it is ready or not is to turn the bowl upside down. If it doesn't fall out, it's ready. Using a large metal spoon, lift out a large spoonful of the meringue and shape into a dome on the spoon with a pallet knife. Dip the spoon in the hot milk, and the meringue should slide off (if it doesn't, just give it a bit of help with the pallet knife). Rinse the spoon immediately, and repeat with the rest of the meringue. If you run out of room in the pan just poach them in a few batches. Poach for two minutes and then turn and poach for a further two minutes. Once finished lift out of the pan with a skimmer onto a tea towel to drain, and then onto a lightly oiled plate, cover with cling film and put in the fridge.

To make the crème anglaise, put the milk in a saucepan with 2/3 of the sugar, add the vanilla pod and bring to the boil over a medium heat (make sure you mix it at first until the sugar is dissolved or you run the risk of the sugar sticking to the bottom of the pan). In a separate bowl whisk the egg yolks with the remaining sugar until much lighter in colour and at a light ribbon consistency (about as thick as extra thick double cream). Slowly pour the milk on to the egg yolks, whisking continuously. Clean and dry the pan you've just used, and return the mixture to it. Over a very gentle heat, stir with a wooden spoon. As soon as the custard starts to thicken take off the heat. A few seconds can be the difference between custard and scrambled eggs. Remove the vanilla pod. If you're unsure just keep moving the pan on and off the heat. Remember it will thicken on cooling. Put in the fridge.

Once the crème anglaise has cooled, spoon into bowls. In each bowl add a meringue. For the caramel, heat in a heavy based pan the 200g sugar until a light golden colour. Keep a bowl filled with iced water next to the stove so you can dip the pan into it to prevent the caramel overcooking once it is the right colour. When you are happy, drizzle over the meringues, and then over some greaseproof paper to create some sugar run offs to decorate. Once cooled, stick in the meringue and serve. Heaven.

Easter, It's Not Just For Christians.

When was the last time you ate trifle? Seriously now, have a think. While you're at it, when was the last time you had jelly and ice cream? or an ice cream Sunday? For me, these classics were relegated to my childhood, along with listening to music in my room for hours on end and smoking out of my bedroom window. For a long time I'd convinced myself that I hated trifle, mainly because of the jelly. 'Don't trust food that moves of its own accord' was my mantra, along with 'don't eat anything luminous'. However, just as it is only in the last 5 years I have been acquainted with the joys of piccalilli, more recently I have been dipping my toe into the custard, as it were, and falling in deeply in love.

When I was little, trifle was found in the fridge at Christmas time made by my Nan (I wasn't a massive fan for some reason. Of the trifle, not my Nan. By the way, that's not my Nan at the top, it's just a picture from 'The Internet', Copyright what?), and in later years found in individual, foil sealed plastic tubs with 'Sainsbury's Strawberry Trifle' written on the top. I don't remember ever touching these, and neither did my Mum, but my Dad who has a penchant for all things horrendous (Fray Bentos steak and kidney pies, fried egg on fried cheese on fried bread, griebenschmalz on toast...Google it) got through about 5 - 10 of these a week. I have to admit that at some point during my formative years I was partial to the Cadbury's chocolate trifles, but I don't put them in the same category, so I'll save that one for another day.

Anyway, Saturday just gone I was feeling a bit delicate, and had a very particular hunger. I wanted prawns and spaghetti, steak, chips, roasted mushrooms, avocado, and...trifle. I literally don't know what came over me. So, as you'd expect, I made one myself. Sort of. Whilst at the shop I spent some time sizing up the ready made trifles, and eventually came to the conclusion that although I wasn't feeling up to making my own custard, I definitely could do better than something knocked up in a factory.  I also decided that although I wanted something authentic, as we are in 2013, and despite the fact that we are in a double dip recession, I could do better than tinned fruit and ladies fingers.

My authenticity (when I say authentic, I mean the opposite of de-constructed, Nigella 'this is MY take on a classic' Lawson, nonsense) hinged on there being jelly in there somewhere. Not just fancy compote and real fruit, actual jelly. Hartley's Strawberry Jelly. Ripped into cubes into a Pyrex jug, painstakingly stirred (for ages) with hot water, indecently wobbly once set, jelly. My first major fuck up was trying to whip single cream - unsurprisingly it wouldn't. After 20 minutes in the KitchenAid at the highest setting, I had to admit defeat. My second major fuck up was when I realised that I didn't have a suitable bowl to make the trifle in. This should be cut glass, with straight sides, and deep. I made do with the Denby fruit bowl, but I did miss seeing the layers (it's the small things).

Despite these two fails, on eating it I was in jelly and custard heaven. I had forgotten the brilliant farty, sucking noise you get when serving trifle, and the way that the sponge soaks up the jelly to form a strange spongy, wobbly, moist union, so much greater than the sum of its parts. Because of the cream disaster (we just poured cream on top once it was in individual bowls) it did look a bit of a state, and if you have the time to make your own custard and wait for it to cool, all the better. But, for a pudding that took minimal effort it achieved maximum satisfaction. I'll put my 'recipe' if you can call it that, below for anyone who fancies getting reacquainted.

Top Tip - if you find yourself alone with it and you want to feel really decadent, eat it whilst in the bath, preferably with an enormous spoon. You might feel a bit self-conscious at first, but once you get past that, you won't stop smiling. And during these economically difficult and depressing times, it's a cheap thrill that costs nothing and harms nobody (just make sure you lock the bathroom door first).

Ingredients:

1 Tub top quality fresh vanilla custard (Waitrose or M&S do the best)

1 Packet of Hartley's Strawberry Jelly.

1 lemon drizzle loaf cake.

1 box of fresh  strawberries.

1 tub whipping cream.

Method:

Cut the loaf cake into chunky fingers (two finger width) and arrange at the bottom of your serving bowl. If you have it, splash over a bit of sherry, or Marsala, or if you're feeling dangerous, vodka (if you do use a spirit, use less than you would wine, obviously) Slice your strawberries in half (I like big bits of strawberry, and strawberry is a delicate fruit so doesn't really like being cut up small) and arrange them on top of the cake. Make your jelly according to packet instructions, and then pour all over your cake and strawberries. Refrigerate until the jelly has set (this varies, but allow at least a couple of hours). Once set, pour over the custard and put back in fridge while you whip the cream. Once, whipped, spoon over the top of the custard, run yourself a bath, find a big spoon, and remember to lock the door.

In other news, in the spirit of the season I decided to make some hot cross buns (yes with fresh yeast - I've also been rediscovering bread making, more of that later). Unfortunately, I forgot to put a cross of the top of them, so they are, according to Diesel 'Atheist Buns', and very tasty they were too.  Shame I can't get the bloody picture the right way up, but you get the idea.