glut

The Guardian always seems quite nicely in tune with my life. So far we have done plenty of stewing, a crumble and an Eve's pudding. Drying and bottling yet to come. Here are the pancakes we had this morning with stewed apples. And how about that, a new table cloth.

Hunted and gathered

Browsing freecycle for furniture or a new bicycle but found an alert: "Apples, apples, apples". I wrote back and the next afternoon we walked over with backpacks to fill. Unfortunately the owner wasn't there to thank, only his surprised neighbours and their supposedly angry sheepdogs ("DOWN DOGS" when we approached the gate seemed contradictory to a couple of apparently docile, maybe nosey animals)

Not sure what types these were - probably three different eating varieties. Just as good to cook with though (had a crumble for our dessert). This, coming after the trout caught by T which we ate, on Nigel Slater's recommendation with rosemary and bacon, meant our supper was pretty much entirely hand picked. And virtually free! Student life.

Downsides: Still haven't found a bike or a wooden table.

Now will probably spend excessive amount buying nice cheese to eat with apples for lunch.

New days

First breakfast in my new place (when I say mine I mean that which I share with 7 others) and I wanted to recreate something from home. Sad, I know. I had bought some damsons and so I stewed them to make something like the compote my mum had made from the excess of plums we'd had at home. I should have just added a bit of sugar but I threw a cinnamon stick in there too which made the breakfast experience a bit too Christmassy for a mid-September morning. Oh well. Our home-made strawberry jam from holiday in France made up for it on toast.

New season's colours

A new greengrocer and some fashion inspiration.

Butchery: Part II

Eagerly awaited the arrival of J's 'pig lady' - running late and lost in her van. Her delay meant the butchery had to be a bit swifter and so this time I was just an onlooker. So..sad not to be wielding the knife once again I got my camera out and (probably distractingly) started snapping.

The head of this happy pig got turned into Brawn - otherwise known as "Head Cheese"(!), which looked beautiful, with a bright orange carrot running through the centre. It was also delicious with a few cornichons. I suppose historically these have been made as a good way of using up the head of an animal. Originally a peasant food in the Middle Ages, it's amazing how this kind of thing can now be served in up-market establishments. Every European country seems to have its own variation of head cheese. I'll try to find it wherever I next go.I love how British foodies are reverting to classics and, especially with meat, continuing that waste-not mentality which makes it okay to serve bone marrow.....some of which, by the way, my mum and I cheekily enjoyed (a present after Butcher lesson number 1) on toast with salt and pepper. Life is great.

Tradition with cream

I have slightly depressed myself contemplating that perhaps blogging about Bakewell tart might not be the best use of a Thursday night. I have no pictures of the recreation of this English traditional pudding because it disappeared too quickly. I should learn from this that if I am to successfully document my experiences with food a ready camera at table is necessary.

I was surprised at how little pastry my recipe (thank you Tamasin Day-Lewis's standard shortcrust) called for but it was the thinness which accounted for near perfection. What an amazingly simple but definately all-time great dessert. And how super to think of the original pudding being created accidentally by a pub cook in 1820. In my opinion the more recent tart adaptation to the former 'pudding' seems like an improvement. But I shall have to go to Bakewell to sample its secret recipe.

(N.B. a couple more reasons to go to Bakewell: 1) it's in the peak district. 2) Jane Austen supposedly stayed (actually in the Bakewell tart birthplace inn) there when writing some of Pride and Prejudice. Even if that's not true they still went to Derbyshire in the book.

Although I will occasionally go to Mr Kipling for Fondant french fancies, I'll be choosing my own Bakewell over a glace cherry-topped miniature from now on.

Pleasure pur-loined

The first fruit of my first butchery lesson. Admittedly, this meal was somewhat disappointing probably in part due to my high expectation and the build-up which started from the moment I got my hands on the boning-knife.

By any standards, it was a nice roast. However, perhaps because the meat was so young and perhaps because of the kidneys in the stuffing(?) a farmyard-y smell and taste hung around our plates. Yes, very authentic and certainly fresh but not really what you want to linger over an evening meal. Sadly the beans were probably the best part, (look how nice and thick they are!) bought from a recently discovered market, perfectly cooked and tossed in oil and balsamic. I hope this loin disaster is not an omen signalling any negative butchering prospects nearby.

Lessons in Butchery: part I

Finally the time came to realise one summer-long fantasy of being shown how to butcher meat. This has nothing to do with any kind of bloody carcass attraction, nor am I intending to form a new career path - it's just something I've been wanting to do. To be able to cook and eat good meat is something great - why not start from the very beginning?

Unfortunately I wasn't able to get to know it personally but I do know that the cow leg pictured above used to belong to a happy beast roaming the Hereford fields. When I say beast, this is no exaggeration. Isn't it strange that we are so used to herding and tucking into creatures of which one leg I could barely lift? The sheer body of it was surprising.

We actually started with lamb - a whole one, so I could see how the body works. Once you know that, you can transpose it to pig or cow, simply adjusting for size. The head, feet, and stomach are removed at the abbatoir and the heart cut open to inspect for disease. Apparently, although heart-diseased animals cannot be eaten, there are other illnesses which might be discovered that have no drastic affect on the meat. These include asthma and emphysema. I thought it rather endearing to imagine sheep wheezing around the countryside like old smokers.

I am not going to now attempt a blow-by-blow account of how our lamb was cut apart, because after one lesson I am surely not the authoritative voice and plus the Guardian has beaten me to it. Anyway, it is not the instructions which stayed with me but perhaps they don't need to - as JW my butchering mentor put it, these animals seem like they were made to have this done to them. This becomes evident as so much of the practice is what is known as 'seam' butchery - exactly what it sounds like. The bodies are sewn together by fat and tendons which keeps them springy or sturdy when alive but on the table, unbelievably allows for them to be easily prised apart. There is very little sawing or hacking involved which makes the process natural and incredibly satisfying.

A lamb is small so somewhat more realistic than anything else to imagine butchering in a home kitchen -- a student kitchen, though? I wonder if there would be enough room in the freezer.

I'm afraid the cow won't get much of a mention - its raw thigh is already the headpiece of this post. By that point I was probably sweating. A hight point however was on musing about my steak tartare obsession being able to slice off a small piece and savour the redness. I really wish I had a mincer at home. Perhaps now if I hadn't made it clear I was fairly obsessive about food I might be mistaken for some kind of serial killer taking out human angst on meat and therefore it might be time to leave...with the knowledge that I have a stuffed and personally-wrapped lamb loin to do something with and a cheeky piece of bone to scoop the marrow out of.