Curry sauce for Ruth

Here's a dead simple recipe for a generic curry sauce that I use at home all the time. It's dedicated to my dear friend Ruth who complained that her curries always "go wrong". Hope you like it. And don't forget, if you've got a killer curry tip, do let me know! x

• 1 onion, diced
• 1 thumb-sized piece of ginger, peeled and finely chopped
• 1 red chilli finely chopped
• 6 cloves of garlic, mashed into a purée
• A handful of curry leaves (Asian supermarkets usually stock fresh curry leaves)
• 1 tbsp black mustard seeds
• 1 tsp turmeric
• 1 tsp cumin seeds, crushed
• 1tsp garam masala
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 1 tsp tomato purée
• 1 tbsp red wine vinegar
• 1 400g tin of chopped tomatoes
• 1 400g tin of coconut milk

Heat some oil (or ghee) in a pan, add the mustard seeds and fry until they begin to pop.

Throw in the onion, ginger, garlic, chilli and curry leaves and fry slowly on a low heat until the onion is soft light brown in colour.

Add the spices — you could always substitute the spices I’m using with a ready-mixed curry powder of your choice — and continue to fry on a low heat for at least 30 minutes, the longer the. This is where a lot of people go wrong, you really need to ‘cook out’ the spices so that the natural oils are released. You’ll get a much deeper flavour, make sure you don’t allow the mixture to burn though!

Eventually you’ll be left with a paste. Add the tomato purée and cook and stir for a further five minutes. When the mixture ‘catches’ on the bottom of the pan, add the vinegar and with a wooden spoon, scrape or ‘deglaze’ the pan.

Add the can of tomatoes and continue to cook out until the mixture returns to a sloppy paste. Add the coconut milk, stir in,bring to the boil and reduce slightly.

Make sure the sauce is seasoned well and add more vinegar or lemon juice to add more zing if necessary, even a bit of sugar won’t go a miss. This is your base curry sauce to which you can add vegetables or meat of your choice. I like to fry off some aubergine and add a can of chickpeas but feel free to experiment.

Bocca di Lupo

Bocca di Lupo (mouth of the wolf) has been making the headlines of late for its winning combination of traditional rustic dishes and innovative creations and so I went along with to see what all the fuss was about.

Tucked away in the heart of Soho, Bocca di Lupo is a restaurant that certainly has the buzz of a restaurant riding high. At the third time of asking I managed to get a table but even having booked a good month in advance I still had to make do with a seven o’clock reservation.

When we arrived — dead on the stroke of seven, the intimate and stylish yet unpretentious dining room already had an air of excitement about it. The long bar at the front of the restaurant (seemingly now a pre-requisite for any modern restaurant) was already fully occupied by punters enjoying pre-meal cocktails and the dining area was full of bustle and chatter.

British chef Jacob Kennedy, formerly of Moro, has struck a balance with an impressive menu that is as authentically Italian as it is cutting-edge and contemporary. The menu is divided into seven sections (Raw & cured; Fried; Pasta & risotto; soups and stews; grilled & pan-fried; roasts and sides) and all the dishes are listed by region. One has the option to either choose a section of ‘small’ plates to share — tapas style, or go down the more conventional starter/main route.

To kick us off my wife and I ordered starter sizes of rabbit and pearl barley orzotto (very much a risotto made not from risotto rice but orzo pasta) from the Piedmont region and busiate with pesto Trapanese from Sicily.

The orzotto was a simple yet perfectly executed dish — rich, creamy and satisfyingly springy to the bite made all the more dreamy by the deliciously rich slow cooked rabbit.

Maybe it was just the order in which we ate the two starters — rather like Jedward following Elvis if you can imagine such a thing — but the busiate was merely tubes of pasta that hadn’t been combined with the pesto. Maybe that’s how they do it Sicily but I would’ve liked the pasta coated in the sauce. It just seemed to lack punch and was sadly somewhat bland and underwhelming in comparison to the orzotto.

So a mixed start but we by no means deterred, a very tiny set-back that would not spoil the evening.

Next we decided to up the porcine anti and went for the roast suckling pig and chicory; the agnolotti — a pasta filled with pork and prosciutto in a cream and nutmeg sauce; rustic pork and foie gras sausage with farro & porcini. I know, in hindsight, it seems a bit ridiculous to have ordered so many pork-based dishes. We didn’t mean to it just kind of happened.

We also chose three vegetable side dishes to keep the scurvy at bay. I have to admit that I chose the Puntarelle (as it turns out a variety of chicory) with anchovy and lemon and the agretti — monksbeard (looks like grass, tastes like spinach) with butter and lemon purely because I had no idea what they were. They were both perfectly pleasant but hardly showstoppers. The blood orange, red onion and oregano salad on the other hand was beautiful. Such zingy, fresh flavours. Very moreish.

The suckling pig, although cooked to perfection was essentially a lump of pig on a plate. Don’t get me wrong, it was delicious but I felt there could have been more thought given to the presentation.

When it comes down to taste and flavour the rustic sausage ticked all the boxes but again when the dish was placed in front of us we were left thinking: is that it? When I’m lured in with the promise of such top-end ingredients like fois gras and porcini I expect to be blown away with what’s presented. Alas, what we were faced with was a rather sad looking sausage perched on something that looked very similar to the orzotto from the previous course.

The agnolotti, however, we both agreed was a triumph. Faultlessly made and cooked fresh pasta parcels filled with a can’t-go-wrong combination of flavours in a classic nutmeg sauce. Absolutely wonderful and everything you want Italian food to be.

Pretty full by now we contemplated dessert. My wife was beaten and so chickened out with a latte, I got my second wind and plumped for the bombe calde — freshly fried donuts with chocolate cream (try saying that without putting on a Homer Simpson voice).

When my dessert arrived I was confused because on the menu it definitely said donuts plural and on my plate was just one. However on looking again at the price column of the menu all was made clear — £5.00, each.

So, I quite enjoyed my chocolate filled donut but it was just that — a donut. Maybe I was wrong to expect anything more but once again I felt a little bit short-changed.

Although it’s positive thing to see a restaurant in the current financial climate that’s so busy and successful, it still grates with me when I’m reminded — no sooner than I’ve sat down — I have to vacate my table after two hours. Of course this isn’t a new ploy and Bocca di Lupo isn’t by any means the only restaurant that does this but I feel that if you’re paying at least £100 for two with wine you shouldn’t be rushed to finish your meal just so that they can get more bums on seats. There’s being business-minded and there’s being greedy.

I wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression. I would still recommend Bocca di Lupo, in fact I really want to go back because there are loads of exciting things I still want to try — next time I might try and choose a more diverse selection of plates and not ones that are themed on one animal.

boccadilupo.com

Ribollita

If like me you think this freezing weather is becoming a bit of a bore then maybe what you need is some deliciously warming soup to keep out the chills. Last night I decided what was needed was a dose of Tuscan comfort food in the shape of ribollita.

Ribollita — which literally translates as re-boiled— is a hearty thick soup traditionally made from leftover tomatoes, vegetables, beans and bread. It was a regular on the menu during the winter months when I was at Acorn House, this is pretty much how we made it.

• 1 large onion
• 4 sticks of celery
• 1 leek
• 2 carrots
• 2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
• 1 Sprig of thyme, leaves picked and finely chopped
• A handful of sage leaves finely chopped
• 1 tbsp tomato purée
• 1 ciabatta loaf, crusts removed and torn up
• 1 head of cavolo nero, shredded
• 2 400g tins of borlotti beans
• 2 400g tins of chopped tomatoes
• 1 litre of vegetable stock
• Good quality extra virgin olive oilPre-heat oven to 180c.

Chop the onion, celery, leek and carrots into fine dice and fry in a few glugs of light olive oil with the garlic and herbs. Continue to cook the veg on a lowish heat for about half an hour until it’s nicely browned and lightly caramelised.

Place the ciabatta on a baking tray, drizzle with olive oil, season and toast in the oven for about 10 minutes. Put to one side.

Add the tomato puree to the pan and cook out for a further five minutes and add the first tin of chopped tomatoes. Stir well and cook over a medium heat for a further 15 minutes then add the second tin of tomatoes and the veg stock and reduce by half.

Continue to simmer until the soup is of a thickish consistency and then ad the cavolo nero and cook it in the soup until tender. Add the borlotti beans, bread and season well and add some good red wine vinegar to taste.

Serve with crusty bread and a generous drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. I like to grate parmesan over the top as well but I’m not sure how authentic this is.

Feel free to tweak this recipe by using different veg or maybe spicing it up a bit with some chilli. I think the secret is to fry the veg long and slow at the beginning to get a real depth of flavour.

Polpo

I had lunch this week with a couple of mates at the much talked about Polpo restaurant in Soho’s Beak Street. It’s an exciting new Italian tapas-style barcaro that is fast becoming the coolest place to eat in the West End.

On arrival we were told we’d have to wait 20 minutes or so for a table (you can’t book so I was kind of expecting this) but this wasn’t a massive problem, we were happy to have a couple of beers at the bar. Having said this it was somewhat irksome to stand supping Moretti next to an empty table laid for four. Anyway, it was worth the wait and when we took our seats the menu didn’t disappoint.

Made up of simple yet innovative small plates packed with flavour, Polpo’s menu was everything I’d hoped it would be. I instinctively took control of the situation and insisted we order everything from the meat section (eight dishes). My companions’ eyes widened and looked at me like I’d just suggested we continue the meal topless.

Now as a chef/food writer I could say that this bold gesture was purely in the name of research — and in part it was but I have to admit that it was mainly fuelled by good old-fashioned greed. I shot them a look back that said: don’t worry lads, I know what I’m doing.

Dishes like pork belly, radicchio and hazelnuts as well as the slow-roast duck with green peppercorns, black olives and tomatoes had me salivating in a way that in hindsight was slightly unattractive. But as I read on — calf’s liver with onions and sage as well as grilled sliced flank steak & flat mushrooms — I became increasingly unable to control my excitement.

My mates did agree to order all of the meat section (plus the mackerel tartare with cucumber and horseradish, roast potatoes & rosemary and the wild mushroom piadina) if I promised to calm down. I said I’d try.

The food arrived quite quickly. First up was a classic salad of bresaola, rocket and parmesan which was delicious but frankly quite difficult to cock up.

The dishes continued to arrive at a satisfying rate. The pork belly dish was well cooked — in my opinion slightly under-seasoned but that’s a minor gripe and the grilled flank steak did exactly what it says on the tin.

A perfectly simple cured ham & split pea risotto changed the pace nicely and the wild mushroom piadina (a type of Italian flat bread) was extremely moreish.

However the star of the show for me was the mackerel tartare. Ultra-fresh mackerel flesh finely diced and combined with cucumber, capers and shallots (I could guess at other ingredients and indeed might well try to recreate this dish in a future blog — watch this space) was complemented by a horseradish crème fraiche. Brilliantly clean flavours and not at all over-poweringly fishy as you might expect.

We were far too full for dessert — I told them we’d ordered too much.

The meal, including drinks came to £76 for three of us, and with main dishes priced between £4.40 and £11.80, we all agreed was more than reasonable and concluded that Polpo is sure to be a hit and become a mainstay in Soho. It’s a cool place to go with friends for a catch-up and a blowout that won’t break the bank or a great place to pop in for a cheeky bite to eat before the pub or the theatre.

Get along there!

http://www.polpo.co.uk

Welcome

Hello, and welcome to my blog — thanks for dropping in.

I'll be doing my best to bring you interesting and informative ideas, recipes and tips as well as keeping you up to date on all things foodie.

To kick you off, here's my fail-safe way to cook the perfect pork belly. This cut of meat has become quite trendy of late and has found its way on to many a fine restaurant's menu — not surprisingly because it is a cheap cut that, if given a bit of love and the right treatment, is a real crowd-pleaser....


Twice cooked pork belly with Madeira jus

• 1kg pork belly. (get a good British rare breed, Gloucester Old Spot is my favourite)
• 1 leek
• 1 large onion
• 2 carrots
• 3 sticks of celery
• 100ml cheap balsamic vinegar
• 2 tbs fennel seeds crushed
• 2 tbs Maldon sea salt
• 500ml good quality cider (not White Lightning!)
• 1 litre good brown chicken/beef stock
• 100ml Madeira

Pre-heat oven to 150c

Roughly chop the veg and place in a deep roasting tray and pour over the cider and the balsamic vinegar.

If the ribs are still attached to the belly carefully remove them with a sharp knife (or get your butcher to do it for you) but keep them and put them to one side.

Crush the fennel seeds in a pestle and mortar with the sea salt.

With a stanley knife score the skin in a criss-cross fashion, about a centimetre apart. Place the ribs on top of the veg and the belly on top of that.

Boil a kettle and pour over the belly so the scores open. Continue pouring the boiling water over until it's a centimetre below the skin. The boiling water will open up the scores you've made. Take the fennel seeds and salt and rub well into the skin.

Cover carefully with foil leaving no gaps and cook in the oven for 5 hours, topping up with water if necessary.

Remove the foil and cook for a further hour or until the skin is hard enough to 'knock'.

Remove from the oven, leave to cool and then lift off the belly and discard the veg and bones
Put the belly in a fresh roasting tray and place another on top placing substantial weight on the belly (I use loads of books) and press the pork — ideally overnight. This forces out the excess fat that can be the off-putting thing about pork belly. When belly is pressed, portion with a bread knife into 8cms squares and refrigerate.

Make the Madeira jus buy reducing the stock and the Madeira by half and seasoning well. Adjust the flavour with honey if necessary. Keep warm.

When ready to cook place portions of pork belly in a roasting tray with an inch of good meat stock (to keep the meat moist) and cook in the oven for about 15 minutes on 180

To finish place pork under the grill until the skin 'popcorns' you'll see what I mean — perfect crackling! Keep an eye on it though, don't let it burn!

Serve on buttery mash or dauphinoise potatoes and veg of your choice. Pour over jus