I don’t have any smarties, olives or crisps in the house right now, because if I did I would immediately proceed to scoff the lot. But I am absolutely desperate to entertain so that I can buy some of each and display them fetchingly them in these gorgeous foodie print bowls.
My mum, a very traditional British-style cook, has always served apple sauce with pork, and it’s certainly very common to enjoy that touch of sweetness with the meat. I don’t, however, have the faintest idea how to make apple sauce, as when I lived at home I was far more often listening to the tender vocalisations of Axel Rose and Sebastian Bach in my bedroom than learning how to cook from my long-suffering mum, more’s the pity. However, when faced with a tasty hunk of meat to jazz up without Tito’s magical Peruvian spices (he’s working late tonight) I fortuitously came across this super salsa recipe on Heidi’s rather inspiring site 101 Cookbooks, which in turn is from a Fran Gage book. It’s zingy, healthy and satisfying and combined deliciously with the gem squash, sweet potato and spinach I had prepared.
Fresh Apple Salsa
2 tart apples, locally grown if possible
4 tablespoons lime juice
1 fresh jalapeno chile
1 fresh Anaheim chile
1/2 medium onion, finely chopped
Handful of cilantro, roughly chopped
1/2 cup (2 ounces) walnuts, coarsely chopped and lightly toasted
2 tablespoons peeled and finely slivered fresh ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
Cut the apples from the cores, leaving the skins intact, and cut the fruit into 1/4-inch cubes.Toss the apple pieces with the lime juice and set aside.Cut the chilies in half lengthwise and remove the seeds and white ribs. Slice them thinly. Add to the apples. Add the onion, cilantro, walnuts, ginger and salt and mix thoroughly.
Serves 4 to 6.
Some may say that no-one cares what you had for lunch today but I beg to differ. This is a food blog and I really do care what you had for lunch, and I absolutely need to tell you what I had for mine. Well, whenever I make roast veg I am careful to make lots so that there are leftovers for the next day. After all – what’s the point in turning on the oven to roast half an aubergine if you can roast a whole one? If there’s one rule about roasting, I’d say that it’s that it always takes much longer than you could possibly expect – so make the most of the oven being on! Last night we had The Food Doctor’s winning combination of: roast red onion, baby tomatoes, aubergine, and courgette, with a few cloves of garlic thrown in for good measure. It’s nice to add some paprika, dried mixed herbs and a drizzle of olive oil, and when turning half-way through add some lemon juice too.
Having these leftovers for lunch called for a little more protein. I fried up some haloumi cheese and toasted a wholewheat pitta… and then wondered what I could do to add a little extra pizzazz, and general lubrication, to the undoubtedly tasty, but rather dry affair. Sweet chilli sauce came unexpectedly to the rescue, so much so that I felt compelled to tell you about what a great partnership was born. Honestly, try it.
Popping into my local Planet Organic this morning I was super chuffed to read a sign in the window stating that they are not going to distribute free plastic bags anymore, and will only give out a biodegradable option at 4p, or sell thicker cotton bags to customers. Why doesn’t every shop follow suit? People will remember to bring their own bags if they are charged 4p for each one when they forget. I simply cannot understand why people think it’s their right to get plastic bags at all.
It seems to be the same all over the world with plastic bags, even in poorer countries where people consume so much less, bags are still a menace. They still use plastic bags like they are going out of style, just flimsier ones. This plastic bag addiction is plain to see in Chiclayo’s desert region. Anything that can be consumed is eaten by stray dogs, everything that can be recycled is picked out by desperately poor dump scavengers, but the once-used plastic bags are entirely useless and free to blow across the desert and become entangled in scrub, flapping in the wind indefinitely. It ain’t pretty.
One of the many reasons I decided not to become a teacher? Honestly? The fact that most teachers I met didn’t seem to have time to eat lunch. Untasted cups of tea sat quietly steaming away during break as teachers hurriedly checked important ‘A’ level essays; sandwiches were sadly and unselfishly pushed aside to run lunchtime activities or supervise detentions; chips were noshed in famished desperation at the pub after school to make up for those missed meals.
I, as a training teacher, often did escape to the staffroom which had the luxury of a sink, fridge and microwave. I felt quite guilty for wanting to savour my midday meal uninterrupted by frequent knocks at the English office door and the startling slams of lockers being tipped over in the corridor. As an observant fellow staff-room user correctly pointed out – the making of my lunch was a special ritual involving little tupperwares of the correct amount of seeds and seasonings, tiny bottles of homemade dressings and sauces, and boxes cleverly sectioned to keep various ingredients separate and fresh. Another teacher pointed out, awestruck, that I had the best-looking salad ever. She was possibly right.
Simple pleasures are what I live for. And the joy of lunch is non-negotiable.
I truly realised that I was a Londoner the other day, as I flicked idly through a copy of Time Out magazine. In ‘The Big Smoke’ section at the front of the magazine they always have a photo of some aspect of London life sent in by a member of the public, and in issue No.1930 this was of a homeless man sitting outside a Starbucks. The photo is entitled ‘Inside and Outside’ and effectively uses the glass shop-front to illustrate the divide between the smartly suited man inside enjoying an over-priced extra-tall latté, and the ragged man outside falling asleep over an empty paper cup. It occurred to me as I looked at it that I knew exactly which Starbucks it was, and also exactly which homeless man (granted, he’s got tattoos on his face so he is fairly recognisable, but still…). This hit me with an odd sense of belonging here – after spending two and a half years feeling like a newbie, I ought to embrace my status as a Londoner, dammit. The other thing that occurred to me is how so much of the population of a modern city do rely on coffee shops to get them off the streets, into a quieter place where they can think, relax, meet friends, or get some work done. Coffee shops in cities are so ubiquitous we now take having one on every corner totally for granted – we expect it. I adore the treat of good cup of coffee, but I rarely go out simply to get one of those: I can certainly make a better cup at home for a fraction of the price, with coffee I know to be fair trade, etc. What I go to a coffee shop for, personally, is the sensation of being part of the city life, yet released from the hectic streets and in a position to watch life in all forms as it passes, to be inspired by it - but not directly involved in it. The price of my coffee is the price I pay for a little corner of London to contemplate in.
I’ve always been obsessed with things that look like food, but aren’t. When I was little I remember the family had quite a collection: my father used a bookmark that looked very much like a rasher of streaky bacon; my mother had a notebook that looked like a cracker with Swiss cheese and a key-ring that appeared to be a slice of tomato; I had pens that looked like a half a peeled banana and a crinkle-cut chip. In that light, I feel compelled to share a super souvenir I received from a Japanese student of mine. I absolutely love it! Mikan Lip Gloss is extremely cute and useful, and can be bought at Kawaii from Japan.
How I wish that I had photocopied, or otherwise gathered evidence of, the sign with the above motto that I saw plastered up around a Japanese elementary school. Underneath the motto was a cartoon of two children eating their school dinners. One of them was visibly baulking at a food item included in the dinner, or kyushoku; the offending piece of food hovering mid-way from tray to mouth; a sour look playing on the child’s face. The other child was happily eating up all of their own food, and reminding the picky child that to like or dislike is not allowed! With friends like that…
My point is that this demonstrates something very important about the Japanese psyche, which clashes with our Western outlook entirely. In the West, people now define themselves by their likes and dislikes. ‘Allergies’ and intolerances abound – proven and unproven. In Japan, these are virtually non-existent. All students and teachers eat exactly the same kyushoku – which is dished out in classrooms by the children who take it in turns to don the protective white pinafores and face-masks to ladle the food onto their classmates’ plastic trays, and distribute the milk. There are no lunch staff - the teachers eat with their classes. The kids are hungry by lunch-time, properly so, as they are not allowed to bring any money of snacks to school – so they are very ready for lunch when it finally comes around.
I visited fifteen elementary schools and seven middle schools over a period of three years, and only once did I see a teacher eating something other than the school dinner. I never saw a student decline to eat it, as of course that was not allowed. I enjoyed the school lunch myself, most of all when it was something traditionally Japanese. It often was: things like hijiki seaweed salad, fried salmon, miso soup, kare-risu (rice with curry), nikujaga meat with potatoes, etc. It was lovely. I could see why the children were healthy, with shining eyes, bushy tails… and why there is a very low incidence of obesity.
The students in Japan do genuinely love the school lunch. As I sat on a tiny chair next to a tiny girl in 1st grade one day for lunch, I asked her if she was enjoying the natto (a hideous fermented bean dish that deserves its own entry) that she was delicately devouring with her tiny chopsticks. “Hai” (yes) she declared, not missing a beat. “Really?” I further queried, “I don’t like natto myself. Is it delicious?” At this she cocked her head and pursed her lips and made a thinking noise. “Amari,” she admitted (not so) “demo, karada ni ii yo” (but, it’s good for you).
Unfortunately, kyushoku is not always karada ni ii. When the hard-pressed kitchen staff tried to produce a Western-style dinner, things often went awry. Sometimes we were served a large pile of white or pink artificial cream with pieces of canned pineapple, madarin and peach in, plus some white bread to make a sandwich with it! I tried to stop school lunches after being served one day: a bowl of creamy seafood stew, a large white bread roll deep-fried and rolled in sugar and cocoa, some boiled spinach with bonito fish flakes, jam, and milk with a sugary flavouring powder to stir in. I asked the Board of Education for which I worked if I could take my own lunch in the future, as the kyushoku frequently had too many empty calories for a grown woman and it was making me fat. No, they said. Eating school lunch with the children is part of your responsibility as a teacher.
If the kyushoku were indeed always totally healthy, I’d be tempted to infer that in the West we are actually doing our children a grave injustice by allowing them to feast on whatever fried, fatty, sugary foods they wish, and we should impose kyushoku universally right away. Indeed, more and more, we do try to limit their access to said health-damaging foods. Yet, Japanese-style school dinners could never be enforced here, they are against our love of the freedom of choice. However, I believe that all of society (government, schools, parents) is responsible for providing a choice of healthy lunch options for children, and to assist children in losing their attachment to continually consuming foods that they particularly like and always avoiding foods they think that they dislike, thus widening both their palate and their possible sources of nutrition.
Finally, Dan, here’s the recipe for lomo saltado – hope you enjoy experimenting! This dish is a real crowd pleaser, and very easy to throw together. It’s essentially just Peruvian fast food – but if you are a carnivore, it’s difficult not to like steak and chips; this is steak and chips with an added, tasty twist…
Lomo Saltado
Meat – beef, turkey or chicken, sliced thinly
Red onions, sliced thickly
Large, juicy tomatoes, skinned and sliced into large wedges
Paprika
Aji – chilli, in any form you like (powdered, fresh or paste)
Vinegar
Salt and pepper
Cumin (optional)
Chips – from the chip shop, obviously!
Chop the onions and cover them with vinegar, leaving them to soak until you need them. Skin the tomatoes by immersing them in boiling water for two minutes, then plunging them into cold water. You should be able to run a knife around them, just piercing the skin, and then pop them out of their skins. Note: this doesn’t work if they are rock-hard orange-coloured supermarket tomatoes! Chop the meat and tomatoes, and then begin to fry the meat at a high temperature, moving constantly (the meat, not you). When the meat is browned, add a shake of salt and pepper, chilli and paprika according to taste (you can always add more later!). If you are using meat with a mild flavour, such as turkey or chicken breast, add a sprinkle of cumin too, for extra flavour. Keeping on a high heat, add the tomatoes for a minute or two, until they are getting juicy, then pop in the onions and vinegar. Fry until the onions are beginning to soften, then add the chips and stir thoroughly. Check the seasoning, and serve. Enjoy with ketchup, mustard and mayo, if you feel so inclined.
We’ve lived about two minutes away from a Domino’s pizza for two years. It’s vastly popular, with an army of Brazilian moped delivery drivers stationed outside smoking and chatting - ready to whiz the hot pizza to its destination. Living near Fulham Broadway there is no shortage of competition in the area; there must be at least five other pizza places within walking distance, yet, Domino’s retains its popularity. Finally swayed by a combination of lack of time to cook before going out and the mighty persuasive advertising on The Simpsons, we caved. For the first time in London, we had take-away pizza. We chose two small (9.5”) pizzas, as the second was half price. Each pizza was cut into 6 small slices and had an average of five or six standard toppings. The cost? £17.04. That’s right, seventeen pounds and four pence! $35 for two smalls – do you reckon they charge that much in the States? I think not. The profit margin for this cheesy bread must be through the roof!
The pizza was pretty tasty. The toppings were not too objectionably sparse. The pizza was, ever so obligingly, cooked fresh for us. Delivery would have been free. But that exorbitant price guarantees we will never, ever eat Domino’s pizza again.
