Saffron fish pie

It seems odd, when I've hardly written any entries at all, to start revising past recipes already. But that's the way I cook - I change old recipes because I fancy something different this time, or because I've yet to get to perfection.

And there is something quite fitting about returning to fish pie over a year after I first blogged about it, and especially on the first Friday of Lent. I no longer go to church but a childhood in the Church of England never leaves you and a fish pie on Good Friday was the only concession my parents ever made to fasting, although the pies were always so rich and filling and full of butter and milk that it was about as far from a fast as possible.

My little brother (I say little. Six food and 27 years old) also cooks a mean fish pie, also loosely based on my mother's but tweaked. He'd had the idea of not poaching fish in milk and using the milk to make the bechemel sauce, but cooking it from raw or frozen in the pie. As this would save time and hassle, I wanted to give it a go. I also decided to try a supermarket frozen fish pie mix - Waitrose's was 400g, contained cod, smoked haddock and salmon, and only used sustainably sourced fish. The reduced quantity was fine, especially as I put a large helping of peas in the pie to save cooking them separately!

And it worked! I added a large pinch of saffron to the bechemel before pouring it over the frozen fish and adding the mash on top, and I'm glad I did - the tastes were more subtle without the fish-poaching liquid, and the saffron helped to keep it special, and gave it a fabulous colour.

The pie. Notice escaped dribble of saffron sauce.

And a helping of pie, slightly collapsed

To make your own version, go to my previous fish pie recipe but skip step 1, use a pint of fresh milk in step 4 and chuck in pinch of saffron with the parsley in step 5, and cook for about 45 minutes to make sure the fish is cooked.

A Saturday night supper: Pork Ardennaise

The other Saturday night, we needed a treat. We wanted to cook something a bit special - nicer than what we'd have on a weeknight, something that took a bit of time and a bit of effort, but ideally not too much money (which ruled out steak, the go-to for treat Saturday night dinners at the Gin Palace).

After kicking round ideas for a while I suddenly remembered something my mother used to cook - pork ardennaise. I texted her and asked her to send me the recipe, and waited, confident the reply would come soon - after all, parents have nothing better to do than cater to their grown up children's every need, right?

Four hours later, phone still silent, I ended up making up my own recipe. It worked out well - the wine, mustard and cream combining to make a sauce I couldn't get enough of that had the Husband practically licking his plate. But it wasn't as good as my mother's.

She still hasn't sent me the recipe, because she wants to "have a think about it" first and work out all the little changes she makes every time but has never written down. I sympathise, as one of the many reasons I started blogging recipes in the first place was so I had a record of all the recipes that are just in my head.

So for now, I can't give you her recipe. Have mine instead!

Pork Ardennaise (serves two)

Two pork chops, or one fillet of pork, cut into medallions.

Four tablespoons of cream

Two teaspoons dijon mustard

Half a pack of lardons

One onion, diced

(Very) large glass white wine

About half an hour before cooking, soak the onions and lardons in the wine.

Fry the chops in olive oil for six minutes a side, drain the onions and lardons and reserve the wine, then add them to the pan and fry for two to three minutes. 

Add the wine and cream and fry for 10-12 minutes. 

Take out the chops and put them on a warm serving plate, reduce the sauce slightly and add the mustard. 

Taste and adjust the seasoning as needed. 

Pour the sauce over the chops and serve - I served it with spring greens, and some parmentier potatoes left over from a Dine in For £10 deal. 

Soup of the week: butter bean, thyme and chilli oil

Well, seeing as I cook a big batch of soup pretty much every week to see us through workday lunches, and seeing as a large proportion of my posts seem to be about said soup making, I might as well call it a regular feature.

Here are the ground rules. I tend to cook a big batch of soup on a Sunday - eight portions, to see us through Monday-Thursday at work. Friday is treat day. They get shoved into tupperware on Sunday, sometimes the ones for the end of the week are frozen, sometimes we decide the fridge is cold, Edinburgh is cold, and we've both got decent immune systems, and they just stay in the fridge. Our freezer is basically just an ice box at the top of the fridge, and looks very full with a bag of peas, some stock and some ice cubes, so risks have to be taken. The lack of freezer space also explains the soup monotony - I'd love to be able to freeze ahead and mix it up, but it's just not possible right now.

The enormous quantities required mean I spend a lot of the time doubling recipes, so it's safe to guess that my recipes can be halved. quartered and so on!

We aren't veggie, buy my soups are almost always suitable for veggies - if I've used meat stock because it's what I have in, substitute with veg. And the dairy can pretty much always be skipped to make them vegan friendly too.

When the weather gets warm, or we get fed up of soup, soup making is suspended and replaced with salads, cous cous etc made rather more piece meal throughout the week. However, I live in Edinburgh. The summer is short. Soup's a feature of life here!

So here's this week's soup - Butter Bean, thyme and Chilli Oil

The recipe originally comes from here but I upped the quantities, used tinned rather than dried beans and fiddled round with the proportions, so I'll tell you what I did. It wasn't difficult.

Ingredients all laid out

Ingredients
Four tins butter beans
Two litres veg stock (cubes or powder are fine)
Two onions, diced
Three large carrots, chopped
Four large sticks of celery, chopped
Two fat cloves of garlic, chopped
Two bay leaves
A few sprigs of thyme leaves
Chilli oil
1-2 tbsps low fat Creme Fraiche - optional (and not an option if you're cooking the vegan version)
Olive oil
Pinch cayenne pepper
Salt and pepper

1. Soften the onions and garlic in the olive oil for a minute or two. Add the carrots and celery and soften while you drain and rinse the butter beans throughly.
2. Add veg stock and butter beans, bay leaves and a couple of sprigs of thyme, cover and boil for 20 minutes or until everything is soft.
3. Taste and adjust seasoning. At this point I thought it was a bit "meh" so whacked in more salt, a pinch of cayenne pepper and some creme fraiche I had in the fridge that needed using up, which seemed to help.
4. Fish out thyme sprigs and bay leaves. Puree using a stick blender.
5. Dish up. The original recipe suggests swirling chilli oil prettily on top. I attempted this but it was pretty much mixed in to the rest of the soup by the time I got it to work. However, I could taste it and it did lift it from a plain bean and veg soup. I divided the rest of the thyme leaves between the pots, they made a big difference too.



The finished product. I'd already dished up half
before I remembered to take a picture.

It looks bland without the chilli oil and thyme, but with them it became great - soothing, certainly, but with a bit of a kick from the chilli oil and cayenne, and a freshness from the thyme.

Baking: Blondies

In a pretty inspired move for someone who doesn't know me all that well, the Husband's uncle gave me Nigella's Kitchen for Christmas. I actually whooped when I opened it, a few weeks into January (snow had disrupted the normal pattern of family present deliveries). I was delighted and touched he'd got me anything at all, let alone something I wanted so much. But although I've spent several evenings happily flicking through it, I hadn't cooked anything from it until Sunday.

I wanted to make a pile of treats for the Husband to pick at during the week. He lost his job in January, and he's so busy at home, applying for jobs and doing freelance work, as well as working shifts outside his profession to bring in regular money, that he's not brilliant at remembering to eat, let alone take breaks. But having cake in the house seems to help this. He finally finished the wodge of Christmas cake we brought back from my in-laws a couple of weeks ago and I wanted something to replace it -something that wouldn't come to any harm left in a cake tin for a few days, in the hope that it would inspire him to take a few minutes off every now and then, and something substantial enough to fill a little hole. And if I happen to have the odd one... oh well.

So when I saw the recipe for Blondies I couldn't resist. It was typical Nigella - simply written and easy to follow. I couldn't get chocolate chips in my local supermarket so had a fun few minutes chopping up bars of cooking chocolate. I didn't chop them up very finely, which meant that some of the finished blondies had HUGE chunks of chocolate in them. This was a Good Thing, so I'll do it again.

Mmmmmm

And here's the final result:

Obviously, I wanted to leave them all for The Husband. But I knew my reader(s) would need to know how they tasted. So selflessly, I had one for you - I couldn't not, especially as one crumbled as I was cutting them up.

And they're good. Lovely and sweet, chocolatey, but the oats make them substantial and means they taste ever so slightly healthy. And when they're still warm?... Excuse me, I just need to go and eat another one.

As for the Husband's final verdict? Well, yesterday, after he'd eaten his first, rapidly followed by his second, I got a text message largely made up of "mmm" and kisses. A success then.

Lunch and a little light shopping

On Saturday afternoon the Husband decided, entirely spontaneously*, that it was time take me out for lunch.

We went to Le Mouton Noir in Bruntsfield. This is the point where I have to admit I'm a bad blogger, because I'll confess I paid a lot more attention to the Husband than the lunch, so the following will have to be sparse on details and photos.

That's not to say the food wasn't fantastic. They've launched a lunch menu offering two course for £10, which is amazing value for the quality and atmosphere. We both had the same -  salmon tartar, with beetroot, and pernod soaked carrots with a lime crème fraiche to start, and pan roasted chicken supreme in mushroom, cream and tarragon sauce with roasted garlic mash. All even better than it sounds. And then a duo of crème brule - one lavender, one vanilla. Delicious!

Afterwards we headed back up the hill and called in to Morningside Makers Market. Despite the fact that it happens just a stone's throw from our flat every month, and I've so often seen the bunting and signs and longed to call in, I've always been too busy when it's on. There was a lovely range of stalls - although about half the exhibitors were selling jewellery - and plenty I'd have taken home with me if I'd been feeling flush or Christmas was coming.

But the stall that caught me - and the very first one I saw after coming through the door - was The Yarn Yard - and all my good intentions of just going for a look went out the door. The whole stall was piled with skeins of yarn in such vibrant colours, I must have picked up and petted a dozen skeins before I made my decision. I was quite proud of myself for only buying one skein of yarn. But it's a beauty - with tiny sparkly bits that the camera hasn't picked up. The second I saw it I could think of half a dozen people who would love a lace shawl made out of it. But right now, I can't imagine parting with it.

*Nothing to do with my perfectly observed impression of a screaming banshee the other day before. Of course not.

Omens

When The Husband and I first moved in together, many moons ago (well, three and a half years ago), my Aunt bought us a stephanotis as a house warming present. It had the prettiest white flowers and, as she gave it to us, she said it symbolised marital happiness.

Which meant that over the past few months, as it has been conveying its extreme displeasure and generally giving up on life, I've been a bit nervy.

This report has also been giving me cause for concern. Widely reported over the past few days, it states that the happiest couples are young, married and childless - all good so far - and have been together for less than five years. The Husband and I have been together for four years and eight months. Suddenly I've started hearing the Countdown clock in the background!

So when the stephanotis finally turned up its toes and died the other day, I decided to take action. I've binned it (or sent The Husband out to bin it - what that says about marital happiness is a whole different post) and replaced it with something with, as far as I'm aware, no symbolism attached.

In M&S I fell in love with this pretty plant in its vintage-style jug. I know if would have been far smarter of me to buy a vintage jug and a plant separately, but this wasn't planned shopping, it was M&S impulse buying while popping in for milk (um. Poppadums, actually. Oops). It's labelled a Campanula, with nothing on what type of variety it is. I can't find anything on the internet because there are so many different types - known as harebells in England and bluebells in Scotland apparently - and all have different lifespans.

But in many ways the lack of information is a good thing. I'll enjoy it while it lasts, and because I have no idea how long that's supposed to be, I won't feel guilty when it turns up its toes and dies. And at least I can reuse the jug.

Which is not a metaphor for marriage.

"Champagne" cocktails

 

I am writing this post on Thursday night, and scheduling it for Friday lunchtime, a good time to think about cocktails. I've just cleaned the flat from top to bottom and sprayed enough Pledge in the air so The Husband can't fail to notice how clean everything is the second he walks in through the front door, and I'm waiting for my dinner (an unbloggable, but nice, leftover pasta bake) to heat up.

I'm at the level of tiredness where absolutely everything aches, and I am longing for a gin and tonic. But even more, I'm longing for a champagne cocktail. Cold, crisp, strong with a hint of sweetness at the end. Just one this evening would first render me happy, giggly, dancing and gregarious - and then send me straight to sleep.

Sure, champagne cocktails are fabulous when you're celebrating. But to be honest, they're even better when you're not. Just as champagne never tastes better than when drunk on a Saturday morning in bed for no reason, champagne cocktails are perfect for turning a slightly ordinary occasion into a perfect one. Made with angostura bitters, brandy, a sugar lump, and cheap-ish cava (I have champagne rarely enough that I wouldn't adulterate it with brandy), once you've got the store cupboard items in, they're actually quite a frugal way to add a bit of sparkle.

We had them last Saturday night. Our upstairs neighbours had sweetly given us a bottle of cava to say thank you for arranging some repairs. So we cracked it open, got out the champagne saucers that Blonde and her Best Mate got us as a wedding present, and made the following. Delicious. And, if you're reading this on Friday, may I suggest them as the perfect way to kick off your weekend?

Champagne Cocktails

(per glass)

Glass cava or other sparkling white wine

Splash Brandy

2-3 drops Angostura bitters

Sugar cube

Drip the bitters onto the sugar cube, place in glass, add a splash of brandy and top up with fizz.