Bhajis that look like Delicious Burger Pub!

Yes, though I have been continuing to assiduously snap pics of bhajis on my lunch break, perhaps we’ll give that a rest for a bit...

The other week I ate this:


Everything about this burger was delicious, from the bun to the chips. And look what it had inside it!


These were not mushrooms from a tin. No, they were lovingly sautéed for my delectation.

I’d spent the entire three-day weekend painting the same two rooms (ineptly) and was in no mood to cook. This was exactly what I wanted. Cosy pub, delicious food, good ale ... what more do you want? They even have rooms above the pub if you can’t face going home.

The Rose and Crown, Stoke Newington

Bloody Salad

Right. At the risk of sounding like the biggest tool in the toolbox, I am writing this blogpost on an iPhone. Which means: a) I'm so cool and b) This post is like tuning in to Knife 'n' Spork LIVE. Like we're actually living in the freaking future or something.

Anyway, here's the salad that we're troughing for lunch RIGHT NOW. I'm actually putting the phone down and eating a forkful between each sentence. That was a good one. The salad is pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty easy to make: blood oranges (like, soooo seasonal), watercress, feta, pistachios, croutons on top and a dressing made from the orange juice and olive oil. Last forkful. Good. Now I'm off to make love to a robot. All hail the future.

Diary of a morbidly obscene biscuit addict

4.

I have been going through a wildly experimental phase, pushing the boundaries of biscuit eating to the very limits of time and space. I have been on a supersonic journey and have returned with the following knowledge.

COOKIES ARE THE SAME AS BISCUITS IN THE CONTEXT OF KNIFE & SPORK

Ha! Controversy!

I tried to do a bit of research but stopped after one lazy Google search. Turns out it’s all down to the Americans making biscuits wrong right from the off. When they realised that their versions of biscuits weren’t actually all that nice they had to try again. But they couldn’t call them biscuits, they’d already screwed that up and so the cookie was born.

I am going to claim right, here right now, as a self appointed biscuit expert, that cookies are just big biscuits. Yeah Maryland, you’re not cookies, you’re just biscuits, or by my logic only small cookies, which are called biscuits. So says I. And I reckon I’m right. Right?

Enough of this high-brow biscuit existentialism! To the point!

I have recently got into the terrible habit of buying Sainsbury’s white chocolate & raspberry cookies. Casting my eye over biscuit shelves across the land I must conclude that these are possibly the most unhealthy biscuit items ever. Basically a wonderful combination of soft cookie dough, annihilated raspberries (to ensure no goodness remains) and great globs of white chocolate (the only kind of chocolate that doesn’t actually have any chocolate in it!).

Fig 1. These are they. Bloody gorgeous!

If you could describe any food stuff as being comfortable, it would be these cookies. They are so delightfully soft that I just want to get loads of them and make a cookie bed. I would sleep and nibble in equal quantities. I would be a slothful glutton and a fantastic genius to boot. I would start a church of cookie and biscuit disciples will worship at the altar of the little round baked consumables. I of course would never attend and maintain that wonderful air of mystery, and besides by that point I will need to be crane-lifted out of my cookie bed and you’ll see me on the next series of Britain’s Biggest Loser.

And on a side note, they come in packs of four. Which means you have to eat all four. Preferably one after the other in a violent and rather unpleasant scoffing action.

The Triumphant Return of Quality Meats

On the third of December 2010, I left a butcher's shop with tears in my eyes. This is not a normal occurrence. Having lived in the Bedminster area of Bristol for a number of years, I'd long been a fan of North Street's finest butchers, named for its owner, Bob Wherlock. Quality meats, excellent service, reasonable prices, this was the place to buy your bacon. And then something bad happened.

Bob was retiring. Frank was going too. Fortunately, Ken planned to stay on and help the new owners settle in. At least there would be new owners. The mantle was being passed on, a sad thing, but also a sign that everything was safe. Top notch pork pies could still be had. And bacon. And black pudding by slice. And then something terrible happened.

The deal had fallen through. The handover was due to happen on Saturday the fourth of December, but somehow, on the evening of Thursday the second, the deal had gone sour. One of the new guys was pulling out. The feast was over. I went in that Friday unawares, hoping to buy something for lunch, maybe meet the new guys. After a brief chat with Ken, I came out with as much meat as I could carry, and a damp cheek. And I wasn't the only one. By close of play the next day, the butchers had received dozens upon dozens of cards, gifts, and good wishes from literally hundreds of saddened shoppers. 

Christmas deposits were refunded, the shop was cleaned out, the shutters went down.

And then a great thing happened.

All of a sudden, in late January, a small sign went up. Re-opening soon! Then another appeared. re-opening Thursday 27th January! Oh happy day!! Oh dreadful job! I had to wait until today, Saturday, two whole days after it's rebirth before I could get down there and witness it for myself. And thank the lord it was all true. There I was, 8:30 Saturday morning, back in the queue, only to be served by Bob himself, helping out for a spell while the new guys find their feet. And it seems like they're gonna do just fine. Eager, friendly, funny, and with the same great products available, they're gonna fit right in.

In celebration of their return, I treated myself to a slightly comical amount of food. But as an example, have a peek at this picture perfect porterhouse steak, purchased this morning, eaten this lunchtime, together with the note explaining my strange early morning absence.

Sirloin steak, rare, onion rings, fat bread and butter,  fresh made Coleman's English mustard.
Shazzam.

Holiday Bounty: Cook Books

Over 2 glorious weeks off (the first holiday Scott & I have had since last year) lots of food was bought and eaten - gourmet curry dinner in the Lake District, tasty Fish and Chips eaten near a lake and the sea, fishy treats from Norfolk pub, The Anchor in Morston etc etc. Instead of chronicling this tummy pleasing adventure I thought I would share something else food related: recipe books.

Whilst away we went to plenty of second-hand bookshops - in Windermere, Keswick, Bowness, Burnham Market, Holt, Norwich - and bought a lot of books between us of various types and genres. I came back with 3 cook books which I would like to share.

In Windermere I bought 2 slim volumes: The Book of Pies by Elisabeth Orsini, published by Pan Books in 1981 & French Country Cooking by Elizabeth David, first published in 1951 (my edition was published by Penguin in 1976).

The Book of Pies is part history and part recipe book, with over 200 recipes adapted from traditions of pie-making and sections dedicated to pastry, fish pies, vegetable pies, poultry and game pies, meat pies and sweet pies and tarts. I look forward to thumbing through this in the coming autumn and winter months. Best of all it has some wonderful illustrations:

The author of French Country Cooking, Elizabeth David, is the heroine of British Foodies, as it was she who brought Mediterranean cooking to England, rescuing us from the blandness of our national dishes. Her French Provincial Cooking was recently named 2nd best cookery book by The Observer Food Magazine. I for one love that the book has chapters like 'Wine in the Kitchen', and it also has some lovely illustrations by John Minton:

Then, in one of my favourite bookshops, Brazen Head in Burnham Market, I picked up a rather weighty tome, The Great Scandinavian Cook Book: An Encyclopaedia of Domestic Cookery translated and edited by J. Audrey Ellison, published in English in 1966 by Allen and Unwin. It lives up to its subtitle as encyclopaedia, with sections on kitchen equipment, food nutrition and menus for parties as well as every food type imaginable. It too has wonderful illustrations, with sketches which strongly remind me of the kind of scandinavian design found in the 1950s, that I so love in the ceramics produced by porsgrund, fiijo & gustavsberg (to name a few) ...

... as well as glossy photos ...

... and more realistic, informative and very thorough drawings of food.

However, whilst flicking through it there was one particular aspect that made up my mind that I had to buy it. There is a chapter on sandwiches, with pages of pictures of open sandwiches with all sorts of food combinations (from the classically swedish potato, herring, chives and soured cream, to the frankly peculiar and pointless sounding grated carrot and banana slices).

And if that wasn't exciting enough, there is a recipe for a sandwich gateau, which you can see below. I can't wait to make this.

Watch this space for the making of recipes from these cookbooks!

A terrible beauty is born

It's Bank Holiday Monday. That End of Summer feeling. Helena and I on a morning walk through Victoria Park and along the River Lea to lift the spirits. The Olympic Park, its barricades and monoliths, to drag them back down. "We'll have to have pizza for tea." I go to get the ingredients but forget to buy stuff for lunch. Back home, face in the fridge-light, Helena rummaging the cupboards: Salad? Just lettuce. Cheese sandwich? Only a scrag of cheese.  Toast? Boring. Soup? No. Baked Potato? No No. Quiche? WHAT? No No No. Nothing's right. Then Helena suggests a banana sandwich just as I forage the fridge-back and pull out some Danish Blue from the other day. Dirty, dirty, disgusting thoughts that even the filthiest, firiest priest could not imagine. But it's right. It's bad but it's good. It's exactly what I want. Banana and Danish Blue cheese sandwiches for lunch. Look upon my works ye mighty and despair!

Innocent ingredients...

Waahaha! Banana hacked up! Bread toasted!

Dirty cheese! Naughty cheese! In your bed!

Filth! Absolute FILTH!

In which we almost eat Peter Rabbit

Something of a Knife 'n' Spork holiday took place last week. Scott, Lucy, Helena and I got all 'Swallows and Amazons' in a glorified static caravan near Windermere. (I say 'static caravan' - I mean fancy shmancy log cabin with decking and a jacuzzi - Wordsworth wept! Good.) We've holidayed together before and have developed a merry pattern of dog-walking, movie-watching and face-filling - some of which I'll share with you now.

Before I do, I should explain that this post is really a failure. Scott and I had discussed a number of potential holiday/Lake-District themed post ideas: some would have been pleasant (documenting every main meal of the week;) some would have held literary merit (making a Rabbit Pie a la Beatrix Potter or buying some of the Beef Olives from the local butcher as in B.S. Johnson's novel "Christie Malry's Own Double Entry";) still more would have been outright disgusting (The Cumberland Sausage Challenge, The Kendal-Mint-Cake-A-Thon.) In the end we had too much fun for any ideas to come to fruition. Lost hopes. However, having cooked a proper good roast and a cracking curry during the week we were confronted with an impossible choice for our last supper: curry or roast? Roast or curry?

We chickened out, manned up and did both. Here's how:

We started in traditional curry fashion - Poppadoms!

For the CurryRoast meat Scott marinaded a joint of pork shoulder in yoghurt, cumin, turmeric and plenty of mustard seeds. This was left to marinade for twenty four hours and then roasted with onions and tomatoes added towards the end of cooking to make it a bit saucy.

For the CurryRoast potatoes we boiled new potatoes and diced them fairly small before roasting them with black onion seeds, cumin, turmeric, garlic and chilli.

In place of mashed potato we made mashed chickpeas by simmering a couple of cans of chickpeas with some grated ginger and garlic, turmeric, black onion seeds and plenty of salt and pepper.

We considered making cauliflower cheese with paneer but felt that this would probably be horrible. Instead we made a cauliflower and aubergine curry with tomatoes, onion, ginger, garlic and the usual array of spices. Bubble bubble until delicious. We made loads of this so there was plenty the next day when it was even better.

The CurryRoast greens took the form of some hot and sour green beans. Mustard seeds and black onion seeds were heated to popping point in oil then onions, garlic, chilli and plenty of ginger were sweated down with the seeds. Ground ginger and cumin was added before adding the green beans, lime juice and a little water. Boil the water away leaving green beans and jammy spicy-tart onions to which we added chopped coriander.

On the plate it looked like this. And then...

...like this! CurryRoast!

The Pasta Papers

Yes, yes, more pasta. So what I’m drunk. On pasta.

This recipe is (again) courtesy of Mr Slater, with whom I have beef as a result of a dastardly plum cake recipe, but you’ll see what I mean as soon as I can sort out all those photos. This is fast, easy, and delicious, and it’s a perfect way to use up all those cherry tomatoes you bought because they were on sale and are now dangerously ripe.

Pop your tomatoes in a large baking tin with a couple of cloves of sliced garlic and drizzle the whole lot with e.v.o.o. Grill them until they blacken. Seriously. Not charred all over, but in some places the skin must be black. While this is happening, boil your pasta in A LOT of water, and make sure that that water is adequately salted. Nothing spoils pasta like a lack of salt in the cooking water.

When the tomatoes are burnt, mash them up a bit with the back of a wooden spoon and pour in some double cream and a handful of torn basil. Stir it all around, salt and pepper it, and grate over some parmesan liberally. You can probably skip the double cream if you want, but why would you want that?

A brief note

As a schoolboy I'd always come home and ask my mum what was for dinner.

Her reply?

'Air Pie and Windy Pudding'

Diary of a morbidly obscene biscuit addict

3.

It is time for me to take a good hard look at myself. Why do I eat so many biscuits? Why is just the one or two never enough? Why are all the best biscuits the most unhealthy, artery clogging, weight scale shattering objects of brilliance?

THE CONFESSIONAL OF THE MORBIDLY OBSCENE BISCUIT ADDICT

So it comes to this. Only my third entry and the breakdown is already upon me. I even ate a chocolate bourbon the other day. I don’t even like chocolate bourbons! And listen to me! Are there any other types of bourbons than chocolate ones!? NO! I have clearly taken leave of my senses. I am having a biscuit crisis! CRISIS!

This stark realisation of my precarious position only became startlingly aware to me after I gratefully received one of those wonderful biscuit selection boxes, the ones that include the rare but delightful Happy Faces. Surely the most accurate embodiment of a consumable to express the joy of it’s delighted consumer. (That sentence just doesn’t look right, but I’m lazy. It stays.)

I stared in delight at the wonderful collection of delights in front of me. This was like staring at the contents of a really cheap Pandora’s Box. But maybe that’s the whole problem. Maybe that is my horrible Sisyphean task. To eternally eat these ghastly biscuits in order that no one else hast to. Am I some kind of vile guardian to society’s health and prosperity? No. That is delusions of grandeur. I am just a filthy glutton with no willpower, destined for the third circle.

Ugh! The crisis is surely upon me, just look at that last over indulgent paragraph! Not one, not two, but three references to Greek or Roman mythology. I’m here to talk about biscuits god damn it! These are black days.

Anyway, I’m supposed to be confessing something aren’t I? Well the truth is I don’t think I actually like biscuits all that much. I just eat them because they are there, and because I’m so miserably malnourished that they constitute a viable food group. I would eat carrots if only they looked and tasted like biscuits. But that would make them biscuits, so I’d be right back to square one.

Christ, you’re bored of reading this now, and I haven’t actually confessed to anything that you can really get your teeth into, like a Garibaldi. Sorry.

Still, I left one Happy Face in the box. All is not lost. (back to the mythology again, what a pompous pseudo-intellectual prick I am.)

Fig 1. Fuck my hat! That’s not a happy face! If biscuits could give you a nasty dose of the clap, that’s the face it would make afterwards.

This year's harvest - part 1

For the first time in a while I've had some time to think about gardening, and as a result the prospect of having some home-grown vegetables to eat seems pretty good this year. In order to not over-stretch our ability to attend to plants, I decided to concentrate on 3 vegetables: tomatoes, courgettes and cucumbers.

Tomatoes:

Pretty much every year for a while I have grown tomatoes, with varying success. Last year, for instance, was not very productive (a combination of a wet summer and too little time to concentrate on vegetables), but previously we have had enough tomatoes to make pasta sauce and store it (for a little while at least). Unfortunately, since the arrival of the dog, we've had to give up the best tomato growing flowerbed as that is where he prefers to sit. But there are other areas of the garden which seem to do ok. This year we have 'Shirley' and 'Juliet' in some pots on the corner of our yard (as pictured left). Last year I bought some hanging baskets and tried out growing tomatoes in one, which seemed to work (runner beans, however, do not). This year I bought a variety of tomatoes specially suited to hanging baskets and so far there is lots of fruit.

Courgettes & Cucumbers:

For the first time ever I have successfully grown

some plants from seed (a big bonus of having windowsills at last - woo!), both cucumbers and courgettes. I have grown courgettes before, fairly successfully (again, the last couple of years have been rather wet, and there have been mould issues), but never cucumbers. The main impetus behind this addition is to make pickles. We go through jars of pickles like nobody's business in this house, so it seemed sensible to try creating

our own. Wary of slugs - which plague our garden - I decided to put some of the courgette/cucumber plants outside, and keep some inside (the first photo of this post is our view from the kitchen sink). Despite not quite managing to re-pot over half the plants, they all seem to be doing ok, or more than as the cucumber plants in particular are taking over every space they are in, with their curly tendrils reaching out to grab anything they can. The most exciting thing is that we now have our first cucumbers showing up - teeny and prickly at the moment, but hopefully they will manage to get big enough to pickle.

I will be back with further news as the plants progress (and the pickling begins). Watch this space!

Sunday Breakfasts #1

Asparagus and Poached Egg on Toast with Spicy Crumbs

I drank too much port last night. My Dad and my uncle Stu had rattled into Paddington that morning at elevenish. The three of us are Swindon Town fans – a hereditary disease. Swindon were playing Millwall, potentially for promotion to the Championship if results went our way. Our aim for the day was perverse: We didn’t have tickets for the match but we wanted to soak up the atmosphere, to drink in riverside pubs, to be part of it. On the other hand we wanted to avoid Millwall fans, to avoid the score, to be apart from it. That tryst of hope and fear familiar to any football fan.

The more we drank, the more fear won out. Dad and Stu had to catch their return train from Paddington at five. From Butler’s Wharf near Tower Bridge we scuttled back west along the river in a slow boat, disembarking at Embankment so they could easily hop on the Bakerloo up to Paddington when time pressed. A last drink to impress them before they went: Gordon’s Wine Bar. A drunkard’s crypt of a bar, all dripping catacombs, tallow-lit barrels and braying atmosphere. Port, sold by the schooner. Or the slightly larger beaker. Which we ordered. Twice.

Half a bottle of port each, then Dad and Stu bow-legged it, bladders bulging, for their train. We’d avoided the score so far, but now, alone, I was intrigued. I staggered up the road to find a pub with Sky so I could catch the results. Swindon had lost. The agony of the play-offs beckoned. I had another pint. I chatted to a Millwall fan. I was woozy.

Helena met me with a glass of wine back at Gordon’s. I was a bristling mess. I gabbled in cod Geordie at a goof in corduroy. Corduroy! Pah! Helena took me home.

So, last night I was sick. Twice. I drank too much port.

This morning I felt rough as guts and wanted something pure and fresh to put in my mouth and purge me of my sin. Something that tasted of grass and of the sea. Something smooth but spicy to hug and punch me. Something of an apology to Helena. This is the breakfast I made.

You will need…

Asparagus

Two large eggs

Wholemeal bread

Two anchovies

Some chilli flakes

Olive Oil

Parsley

How to cook it…

Blitz up one slice of bread in a food processor to make rough bread crumbs. Add the anchovies and chilli flakes with a slug of olive oil and give it a whiz to blend it all together. Pour the crumbs onto a baking tray and bung in a hottish oven to crisp them up.

Snap the woody ends off the asparagus by bending each spear. It will snap at its natural breaking point. 

Boil till tender in plenty of salted water then drain and keep fresh in cold water.

Poach your eggs as you like. This recipe works best if the yolks are runny as toddler’s tears though.

Whilst the eggs and asparagus are looking after themselves hew off two thick slices of bread and toast. Chop the parsley.

How to put it all together…

Put the toast on a nice plate and drizzle with some olive oil and sprinkle with some salt. Put the asparagus neatly on top.

Put the poached egg on top of that and grind some pepper over it all.

Sprinkle over some of the spicy, crispy crumbs.

Sprinkle over some chopped parsley.

Eat it and get over your hangover!

Diary of a morbidly obscene biscuit addict

2.

It’s been a tough week. I am battered, bruised and broken. Why you ask? Because I have been assaulted by the breathtaking biscuit brothers, the biscuit MEGA POWERS!

CHOCOLATE HOBNOBS & CARAMEL DIGESTIVES

Fig 1. – the human embodiment of chocolate hobnobs and caramel digestives. And look! A saucy cup of tea in the middle!

I have spent all week having the mighty leg of the hobnob crashing down across my throat while the caramel digestive postures from the top turnbuckle before dropping the elbow on my chest. OOOH YEAH!

As far as I am concerned you can’t have a chocolate hobnob with out a delicious caramel digestive to follow. You know what they say about rats in London? That you’re never more than 6ft away from a rat (or some such tosh)? Well I reckon if you have a chocolate hobnob in your hand, you are never more that 6ft away from a caramel digestive.

So, I bought these biscuits, as I always do, with the intention of sharing them with my embittered colleagues. Only they already know that they will be lucky to even start salivating at the thought of eating biscuit, let alone seeing a solitary crumb.

With determined zeal I begin attacking my foes with confidence. High spirits. Gnashing teeth.

3-4 biscuits – I feel terrific. Nothing can stop me! King of the World! Lord of biscuits! etc etc

7-8 biscuits – It just gets better! I can’t believe this. I want to live in a land made of biscuits!

11-13 biscuits – I am struggling although I still have the upper hand. I should quit while I’m ahead

14-15 biscuits – except I don’t quit

17-18 biscuits – CRASH! I’m burnt out. I must be dying or something. I’m withering like a spoon in Uri Gellers hands

19-20 biscuits – why am I still eating them!? I am sobbing into my hands. My colleagues shake their heads, pouring shame and scorn on me with equal measure. They knew this was coming. It was as inevitable as Gordon Brown doing that nauseating breathing thing at the end of a sentence.

All gone – I feel truly terrible. My insides are well and truly clogged up. I am of the firm opinion that I’m not going to be able to have a good poo for days. This thought only serves to compound my misery. I’m sobbing again.

1 hour later – I am sweating uncontrollably

2 hours later – I am swearing uncontrollably

1 week later – I finally have a good poo. I want some biscuits.

An incomprehensive guide to Maltese cuisine

First kill your bird of prey, crush and cover in chocolate, make round and roll down a hill. For those who do not know, cooking the Maltese way, not only are the recipes unpronounceable they are equally inedible. But for the tryers amongst us who just can’t resist a challenge I have scoured the larder, the internet and looked into the dark heart of my own past to come up with the following recipes.

FOR STARTERS:

Angels on Horseback, which is grilled liver, wrapped in bacon. Essential at any traditional wedding cocktail buffet.

Soppa tal-Kirxa (Tripe Soup) – as it sounds. Horrible

Soppa ta’ l-armla (Widow’s Soup), which is basically vegetable soup simmered for an hour until so well done the veg are losing their identity and merging with each other in one big gloopy mess. You then crack some eggs into it and add ricotta and gbejniet (sheep’s cheese). Cook for a further 30 mins. Just when it couldn’t get any worse you top it off with a glass of milk. Why?

Pastizzis, (a.k.a Maltese cheesecake). They are kind of like pasties. My dad would hang around outside Maltese cafés waiting for sailors to throw him one of these - or at least that’s what he told me. Traditionally they are filled with either ricotta cheese or mushy split peas. Although, I had some at my brother’s wedding that were filled with minced lamb – and were rather nice. Best bought from the Little Malta bakery in Toronto, Canada

INTO THE MAINS

Lampuki Pie - Lampuka is the Maltese name for Mahi Mahi or Dolphin fish. It has fine, white flesh and only a few large bones. It is in season for around four months and doesn’t freeze well. So should you be fortunate enough to have one in your hand, here's what to do with it. Cut into slices, roll in seasoned flour, and fry lightly. Use the same oil to fry some onions in until brownish, add chopped tomatoes for 5 minutes. Then add spinach, olives, capers, mint and lemon peel. ½ pint of water and simmer till sauce becomes rather thick. Season and leave to cool. Line a greased dish with flaky pastry, dot with fish and sauce. Cover with more pastry. Bake in mod oven for about an hour.

Timpana is baked macaroni in pastry. So not only do you get a pasta dish you get pie too. Result.

Only the filling is tomatoes, hardboiled and raw eggs, chicken giblets, ox brain, pork liver and a little bit of minced beef (you wouldn't want to overdo it now). I know a woman who swears she makes the best Timpana in Britain and on family gatherings we are forced to consume this rather starchy and slightly foul smelling concoction. It's a bit like eating corrugated cardboard the dog has been using as a toilet and guarantees you won’t be able to shit for a week.

Pulpettun - A Large Meat Cake – mix together beef, pork, ham and liver with parmesan, breadcrumbs and beaten eggs; wrap in a pork caul and say a prayer. Bake until well done. This should be eaten cold or not at all.

For the unsentimental, there is Laħam taż-żiemel (stallion meat) –which is exactly what it says, usually steamed.

Fenkata – Rabbit Stew: 1rabbit, 2 onions, garlic, 3 large tomatoes, tomato paste, 3 potatoes, 5 carrots, 200 g peas, 2 bay leaves, mixed herbs, half stock cube, 275 ml red wine, seasoned flour, olive oil . Roll rabbit bits in the flour and add to heated oil and cook until light brown. Add veg. Pour over wine. Add the bay leaves, stock and paste. Simmer for 1 ½ hours. Add more wine if the sauce begins to dry up. This is actually rather nice.

JUST DESSERTS:

Qagħaq tal-Għasel (Treacle Rings) Made from a semolina pastry with a filling of treacle, semolina, anisette, citrus zest, cinnamon and cocoa. We used to get deliveries of these post Xmas and I used to think they had gotten stale on the slow boat from Valletta until I tried some fresh. It is like eating the calcified bones of a dead sailor flavoured with deep sin.

Or the even more unpronounceable /inedible Kaghka Tal-Kavatelli. I once made this as a birthday treat and it turned into a work of art. Form a paste from flour, egg, butter and orange-flower water. Roll into long strips, out of which cut tiny diamond-shape pieces. Fry the pastry pieces until crisp. Leave to cool. Boil treacle, sugar and rind of an orange and a lemon. Throw in pastry pieces. Place into a buttered baking dish. Leave to set.

SOMETHING TO WET THE WHISTLE:

Cassar de Malte, of course. Malta’s first quality sparkling wine which is produced in the “Méthode Traditionnelle”. It is made in limited quantites and is made with the chardonnay grape with citrus lemon fruits and complexities of yeast, biscuit and bread. What more could you ask?

And don’t forget to listen to the Land of Honey’s favourite children while you slave: Bryan Adams, Gary Glitter and Britney Spears. You couldn’t make it up!

P.S. If you do try any of the dishes Ix-Xorti t-Tajba! as they say.