Friday, 31 July 2015

Greek Semolina Cake with Orange and Honey

This post first appeared on Great British Chefs website. Which has been revamped and looks all very sexy and shiny and new, you should check it out.

Most traditional recipes, like this Greek semolina cake (or Revani as it is also known), are all open to interpretation, tweaks and additions and this recipe is no different. And whilst I wish I could say that I learnt to make this under the guidance of a scary Yiayia, all clad in black, I got the lowdown for this wonderfully moreish cake from another maternal figure. Namely the very reliable Delia Smith. But then again, she didn’t quite get it right the first time around because my first attempt way back when, fractured under the pressure when I tried to lift it out of the tin and I was largely left with crumbs. This could be down to my own cack-handed ineptitude of course but being the stubborn, pig headed type, I am hardly going to foot the blame. So after further cracks at the whip, I’ve made a couple of changes by adding a smidgen of bread crumb and soupçon of oil to the mix, just to stabilise things. There be might frowns, certainly; but let me reassure you, the grainy texture and lightness of this cake, imbued with sweet honey and citrus, is by no way affected by their introduction. Yes, I am talking to you, my imaginary Greek grandmother. As for Delia, I am sure she won’t be too bothered.

(He says, flinching)


1 large unwaxed orange

200g semolina

50g slightly stale white breadcrumbs

175g caster sugar

100g ground almonds

3 tsp baking powder

175ml sunflower oil, plus extra for greasing

3 eggs

For the honey and orange syrup

200mls of honey

Juice of 1 unwaxed orange

5tbs water

2 cloves

1 cinnamon stick

For the yoghurt and pistachio topping

200mls Greek yoghurt

50gms pistachios, chopped

Honey, for drizzling


First, preheat the oven to 200C. Then line the bottom of a 24cm loose-base round tin with greaseproof paper, then grease the tin. Mix together the semolina and bread crumbs in a bowl with the sugar, almonds and baking powder. Cut the orange into small pieces, removing any pips and then put the pieces into a blender and blitz to a pulp. Whisk the oil with the eggs in another bowl and then pour into the dry ingredients and then mix well. Fold in the orange pulp and then pour the mixture into the tin and place in the oven. After 10 minutes turn the heat down to 180C for another 40-45 minutes.

Check with a skewer by inserting it into the middle, if it comes out clean it’s done. Leave to cool for 15 minutes before turning out onto a plate.

Meanwhile, whilst the cake is baking, make the spiced honey and orange syrup. Put all the ingredients into a saucepan and bring gently to the boil, stirring until the honey has completely dissolved. Simmer for 5 minutes and then remove from the heat. Leave the cinnamon stick and cloves in to infuse for 30 minutes and then lift them out the syrup.

While the cake is still warm, pierce it several times with a skewer, then spoon the syrup over the cake allowing it to run into the holes. If any excess syrup over the cake starts to seep out from around the cake, simply scoop up with a spoon and pour over again until everything is soaked up and leave to cool completely.

When ready to serve, lightly whip the yoghurt to loosen and then smooth all over the top of the cake with a palatte knife. Drizzle with honey and then finish with a scattering of the chopped pistachio.

Wednesday, 22 July 2015

Three Things: Paella at London BBQ School, Andy Bates' Southern Fried Chicken Livers and Cheese on Toast

Three is a magic number

There are lists aplenty on the internets. Lists, lists, lists. All of which serve our increasing and insatiable desire to accumulate information, statistics, facts and funny pictures of cats, without ever having to actually absorb anything. And perhaps the world doesn't really need another list to look at. But given the amount of 'stuff' I get up to food wise, I have decided to start doing them. Weekly lists, namely short posts or burst of things that I cooked, places I have been to, people I have seen, new or old flavours wot I have savored. That sort of thing. Because there is plenty that I want to shout about and yet I often don't find the time to do so. And if Fay Maschler can do it, then so can I.

Of course, regular readers of this blog will be scanning this with rolling eyes and going "Oh yes, off he goes again, with another idea, let's see how long he keeps this one up."

Well, let's see shall we? Eh? YEaaaaah? *shakes fist in the general direction of imaginary people*

Oh and the lists will be short, keeping the number to three. Because three is a magic number, yes it is, it's a magic number.

Let's go.

Rachel McCormack's wood fired paella at London BBQ School
When I first wandered into the London BBQ School way back in May for sneak peak, as chef, tutor and proprietor Alastair Instone showed me around the place, I did that thing of enthusiastically nodding and grinning and pretending to totally 'get' the concept. When all the while, the phrase - "WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU DOING?" - was echoing through my brain. Because at the time, Alastair was showing me the shell of an empty warehouse, with no roof, in the backyard of a small industrial park in Peckham. The man's vision as he waved his hands around the place was certainly convincing but I did wonder what had been ingested, to send Alastair off on this mad journey.  I mean there is playing with fire and there is

However, when I returned in the latter part of June for preview of a class, his grand plan began to make sense. He might still get his fingers burnt but this is a great concept in the offering. The space is still rough, with shorn brick surroundings and a battered concrete floor but in one corner, a small functional kitchen stood and along one wall, the heads of three Kamado Joe's all popped up smiling, all embedded within in a bench. The roof was still missing. Large perspex corrugated sheets had been fixed up to provide shelter from the elements but on that night it wasn't needed. The air was close, sticky and warm and besides, a wood fire in the centre was roaring away (on corrugated steel) with guest tutor Rachel McCormack keeping a close, beady eye over it.

"Right! This is good to go. Now, where is that chicken? Stop with your chatting and someone get me that chicken."

Having been to one of Rachel's cookery classes before, I do like her brusk yet encouraging and effusive style of teaching. Don't expect to be taught how to brunoise an onion or clarify consomme. It's "Chop that" and "Keep an eye on that stock, it needs to be well seasoned otherwise all this effort will be nothing." Which falls in line with the no-nonsense style of traditional Spanish cooking that Rachel is known for. Get on with the task in hand and then we can have a laugh when we eat, so to speak

This is exactly what we did. After standing around for short while, supping beers and being mesmerised by scarlett bubbles dancing on pearled rice, the sitting-down-to-eat-and-digging-in-communally-around-a-bench was the best part. Bar perhaps being allowed to throw more wood on the fire. Yes, this BBQ school definitely caters for the needs of your inner pyromanic.

Billed as the the best fun you can have in public without getting arrested, I would have to agree. Though if the police were to find you, in a derelict building, dancing around a glowing pit in the dark, with mouths all greasy, they would probably would find some reason to sling the cuffs on the you.

If this sounds of interest, please go here for a list of classes available and Rachel will be running her wood fired paella class this Sunday. There are just a couple of spaces left.

Southern Fried Chicken Livers with Chilli Slaw and Baconnaise
OK, this is going on for far too long already this list writing business but if you try out one recipe this week, try Andy Bates' offally good Southern Fried Chicken Livers. A hell of a lot of temptation pops up my horizon of greed and I am constantly bookmarking posts and 'favouriting' dishes that people make, from bloggers, food writers and chefs alike. Yet they soon get forgotten and shoved to the back, as new ones pile in and pile up. Such is the transitory nature of edible offerings in the online world. I coo and ahh at the screen all the time but rarely am I ever sated. A diet of food porn never fills the stomach you see and I am already slapping myself in the face for using the words 'food porn'.


This dish was different. I saw it ping up and afterwards, I practically ran to the shops to get the ingredients because it looked good, it sounded good and inherently, I just knew it would be good. I mean it really twisted my mellow man.

Quick and easy and slightly messy to make, this was an instant hit in the house and I have made them several times since because:

a) When coated, battered and deep fried, chicken livers transform into these rich, intense, meaty nuggets of crunchy joy and quite frankly, they piss all over any offering that McDonalds or any other fast food outlet can deliver (which probably isn't difficult).

b) Slaw with chilli is a bit of a revelation. Ordinarily, I can take or leave coleslaw but imbued with some heat and grassy coriander, this was a bit of a step up for me. Too far a step for the kids first time around and subsequent tears mean I now make a separate batch. But yes, very good.

c) Home made baconnaise. Why on earth have I been scooping that plastic crap, out of a jar, with a spoon, and sticking it straight into my mouth? When all this time, I could making the real thing? Anyway, mayonnaise of the Gods.

d) Be careful though because chicken livers do spit when deep fried.

e) They are also cheap to make.

f) Oh god, this section is beginning to drag and I have started making lists within lists.......

f) Look, just try this recipe will you.

Cheese on Toast
Lastly and thirdly on the list, I would just like to opine opinion on Instagram. Apart from using it to goof off on food porn (SLAP!) I am still a little mystified as to how the whole platform really works. I mean like really, really works.

For instance, you can work and toil all day on something like, I don't know, a lovely bollito misto that looks appetising and fragrant, meaty but  fresh, resplendent with salsa verda and bathed in a light broth. And no-one will give an absolute frig.

Post a picture of cheese on toast and the world of Instagram will fall at your knees. This picture has got the biggest number of 'likes' to date and this has totally flummoxed me. I mean, does this suggest that should I just stick with the toast? Seriously, I really don't know what to say or how to comment on this glitch in the Matrix.

Which is good because this is too f**king long already but if you could enlighten me, I would be much obliged. In the meantime, I shall be working on next week's list....list.

Tuesday, 14 July 2015

Mondo Bizarro Pasta Bake

A rather significant and monumental birthday passed me by recently. I'll leave you to guess what it was and no doubt, when you find out, you will be shocked and amazed. Naturally, I had a bit of a shindig to celebrate. Because after all, it's not every day that you turn 30. And friends and family came and we had a party in the back garden, with the sun shining and the BBQ blazing; blinding everyone with smoke, because I bought some cheap sausages. Good money however was spent on some excellent beer from George's Brewery including a very tasty batch of 'Danny Boy' and that flowed very well. Perhaps a little too well, as some of the adults were very wobbly later in the day. Including myself, but what the hell I was newly 21 on Saturday, and it is always great to tumble, free fall in conversation, with equally pissed and very old mates; into a spiral of silly, infectious giggles.

"Why are we laughing?"

"I don't know. Why are the children taking all our money?"

"I don't know!"

"HA! I have given all my money away! All my birthday money! HA! Look at them run!"

"Hey, look at Gary's small penis!"


Gary didn't have his penis out by the way. Nor would I know if it were small. He was just wearing one of those naughty aprons, to cover his shorts from splatters from the paella he was cooking. The sky then began to bruise and darken and most of the people drifted off slowly into the night, with just a few of us sat around a table, getting bitten to buggery by mosquitoes. I woke on my couch. At 2AM. The strain of trying to get up the stairs, with these 18 year old legs, was obviously too much

That was pretty much it really. A day full of fun, laughter, tons of booze and lots of food. Perfect.

However, if I could apply one mantra to our approach to laying on a spread, it would be - 'Never knowingly under catered' - and we did have a lot left over. Even a second stab with a second invite for close family on the Sunday hasn't really made a dent. There is still too much bloody food and I am worried that come next weekend, I will be grating burgers into ragu, filling mashed potato salad into paving cracks and showering with mango trifle. Because we can't have any waste now.

I did make quite an interesting pasta bake last night, or a mondo bizarro pasta bake as I called it. Using leftover penne that had been tossed with pesto, mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes, I added some leftover pulled pork (that had been smoked in my new smoker, which I must write about soon). Along with some roasted mushroom, some humungous courgette/marrow and mixed through with a cheesy sauce and topped with even more cheese. That cheap, yellow, plastic cheese that will only really do with burgers.

It was delicious and we all wolfed it down last night, which got me thinking about what other concoctions would do well in the future. Do you have any unusual recipes? Pasta purists might balk but you have to admit, as a medium or base ingredient, this carb really does have the potential for a million different interpretations. Well, maybe not that many but you get what I mean.

Hmmm *ponders*

And this post is just a musing you know, a quiet reflection and a slight comedown. Possibly, also stuck in these words, are thoughts about where am I going and what am I doing. What more can I do with my pasta? I ask. (Read that as, what should I be doing with my life?)

Mostly though, this is just an underhand way of letting you know that I have just turned 40. And I have no money left, so please send cards and donations.

There is still time.

Pulled pork, courgettes and penne
Topped with cheep cheeze

Wednesday, 8 July 2015


Pie and salad feels wrong somehow.  It should be accompanied with mash really. I know this and I know this well, having eaten over forty times* my own body weight in fluffy, bashed-up spuds over the years. Spuds that are usually accompanied by pies. And liquor. Oh lest we forget liquor. Beautiful, beautiful liquor. A pale gravy, most certainly. Flecked with bits of green, it is cloudy, mysterious and quite tasteless really, until you dump a load of malt vinegar and white pepper over it. However, I love that stuff and just typing up this is making me want to head down to Manze's right now. But where was I? Oh yeah, salad with pie. Is there a place for it?

Well, until I visited MyPie.London in Broadgate Circle last week, the thought had never have crossed my mind and prior to that, I am sure I would have been firmly in the careful now, down with this sort of thing camp. But the sun was beating heavily upon my freckled brow that day and when Chris Brumby, chef proprietor of MyPie, asked what I wanted to accompany my steak, cheese and chilli pie, the thought of some cooling leaves and *gulp* watermelon seemed at the time, to be the only way to go.

Still, it took me some time to actually order it, wavering at the hatch whilst wondering if ghosts of relatives were watching over. "Frank! E's 'aving rabbit food with 'is pie! Frank! Wake up!" And when I did finally blurt out my order, even Chris seemed to blanch at my request, making me want to snap "You're the one who is selling f**king salad with your pies mate." Bloody hell it felt stressful trying to decide.

After handing some cash over (£6.50), the short walk to some lumps of wood on the concourse was slow and laboured and when I finally plonked myself down, a bead of sweat fell off my nose. I opened the carton and looked down at the pie, a perfectly formed pie at that, and then at the green rocket, before pausing once more and going in for the kill.

The salad was quite good. Very good actually. Dotted with bulgur wheat and dressed lightly, the little pink nuggets of watermelon complimented the green spikes well, serving up sweet contrast to the pepper. It was thankfully refreshing too. As for the pie of promise, well that definitely lived up to expectations. A fat laden, pastry parcel, entombing a well of tender beef, luxurious gravy and curiously yellow cheese is not a summer dish but one bite in and I was gone. Pies, when made with love, have the ability to transform and transcend you out of your surroundings and there have been many times when I have been lost in pie, up in the sky and this was no different. With lips coated and a bump back to earth, I only really noticed the faintest tinge of heat afterwards, which was fine by me. Anything higher on the Scoville scale would ruined the whole effort and most likely, would have seen this former ginger collapse into a puddle on the floor.

Did the combination of pie and salad work though? It did. And I say that with gritted teeth, because I have got previous with Mr Brumby, having met him at the Great British Roll Off and have over the years, exchanged subsequent taunts about what constitutes a proper proper pie. But yes on a day like that, mash, however buttery, would have ended up all congealed in my gob, like dry cement in a mixer I am sure. Salad, on the other hand, was the right choice.

The MyPie.London van can be found popping up at various places, with various menus across town (keep an eye on its Twitter feed) and if you see that red and white former ice-cream truck, don't be afraid to try that salad suggestion with those deservedly named 'Epic Pies'.

Come winter time though, it will be absolutely out of the question.

The three stages of eating pie
City workers, choosing pie, with hands on hips
*The mash to body weight calculation could be way off and on reflection, I think we best double it.

Tuesday, 30 June 2015

Battling it out with Bertolli with Butter

Should you ever find yourself traversing the pleasant lanes of the M25, just near Junction 27 and on the Essex side of the street, you can sometimes spot a rather large house on the hill. To the untrained eye, it looks fairly innocuous really but to those in the know; well, they will know that that house belongs to none other than Mr Rod Stewart himself, he of a gajillion sold records and countless leopard skin pants. I often find myself passing it. Normally quite slowly on that god-forbidden stretch of road and when I do, I always wonder if the sexy ol' gravel-throated gnome is at home and I ponder upon what he might be up to in there.

Is he in his basement studio, flitting on a stool, belting out Maggie May? Is he playing football, in the back garden, with his thirty children, all swathed in tartan? Or is he by the pool, Piña colada in hand and topping up his tan? Who knows. But judging by recent revelations, the one place in the house that he certainly won't be in, will be the kitchen. Oh no, his wife Penny Lancaster has put paid to all of that nonsense. Because as she attested on Loose Women a couple of weeks ago - "Cooking takes away a man's masculinity." And we can't have that happening to Rod now can we.

For cometh the day that Mr Stewart pulls out a potato peeler, that will indeed be a dark day for all us men. For our testicles will wither into dust, we shall lose the strength and know how to go hunting and slowly, as our minds deteriorate, all reason will be lost. To such an extent that sometime, in the near future, we will probably start considering something really daft. Like giving women the chance to vote. Or something.

OK, you can probably see my pennysworth is toeing the sarcastic line here but in this day and age, it does make me laugh when you hear these sort of statements. Antiquated, facile and unnecessarily vexatious are just some of the words I've gleaned from the thesaurus to describe my feelings on the matter. But speaking generally, when Penny says something like that in the meeja, she is doing two things. She is giving credence to a generation of blokes who actually believe that sort of thing. Whilst at the same time, she offends all the guys out there who do cook.

"HOW DARE SHE SAY MY ATTEMPTS AT VISCHYSSOISE ARE IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM EMASCULATING!" I screamed in my pinny when I heard the news. It made me mad I tell you.

Of course, there is the third and more pressing issue of Penny perpetuating the patriarchy, letting down the sisterhood and striking a blow for equal rights but blimey, I am supposed to be writing a fun post based around a challenge set by Bertolli with Butter here. Eyes are probably reading this right now and thinking - 'Dan, we just wanted to see who came out trumps in the cooking stakes at home. Mum or Dad? Now get with the program!'

So yes! What's it all about Alfie? Well the challenge set by Bertolli with Butter was just that. They got in touch and asked if I, along with my wife, would be up for devising some quick and easy recipes using their product. And in light of the hoo-hah surrounding Penny's not so wise words, it was suggested that perhaps it would be fun to see who could come up with the best one. To test the myth, so to speak.

Given that Mrs FU and I are both wildly competitive and wildly opinionated about who is the best cook in the house, deciding who came up with the tastiest dish was always going to be fraught with danger. I am a terrible interferer when she is cooking and she is a terrible critic when I have finished. With that in mind then, we left the judging process down to our adorable twins. Who seemingly cannot be bribed, no matter how many sweets are put on the table.

Along with the Bertolli spread, a variety of ingredients were sent over for us to use, both doubled up for fairness and both approaches went down an Italian vein, as you might expect. Cooking concurrently over two nights, Mrs FU rustled up a pasta with tomatoes, courgette, pancetta, lemon and black olives and I created a refined risotto, using similar vegetables and a sprinkling of mint that is running riot in the garden. Working with the product itself was fairly straightforward for both of us, as we used it as we would use plain butter. I am a strong advocate of butter and rarely go in for 'spreads' but we found that the Bertolli with Butter worked well. Apart from the smooth finish, the spread added that Mediterranean touch from the olive oil, which ramped up the flavours in our dishes. Especially for the risotto when dotted around before serving and stirring through, to lend a silkiness at the end.

Like I said though, the final decision as to what dish worked best fell upon the small but broad shoulders of Isla and Finlay, whose verdicts were filmed and can be found below, with the recipes. And yes, Mum comes out best. But I am not bitter, as they were quite torn and rather sweetly, gave me a reassuring pat on the back afterwards; with a whispered "Don't worry, we liked your risotto too." I'll take that. Because by showing them that both of us can cook and by exploring different cuisines together, as we often do, at least they will grow up free of any misconceptions or 'myths' about who should be in the kitchen.

In the meantime, Penny can continue feeding her Rodney as much as she likes. Although it must get a bit tedious, having to puree all that food.

Pasta with tomatoes, courgette, pancetta, black olives and Bertolli with Butter - serves 4

As I have already alluded before, when Mrs FU does the cooking I do have a tendency to stick my nose in and I did question the combination of anchovy and bacon as she went about her business. But apparently, a dose of fishy umami does the trick for any pasta dish. Rather than plain old salt. Or so I was informed, before being told to formally bugger off.

1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic
3 anchovy fillets
1 courgette, finely grated
100gms baby tomatoes, chopped in half and seeded
70gms pancetta
Handful of pitted black olives, chopped in half
300gms pasta
30gms Bertolli with Butter
1 lemon, zested
Handful of basil leaves, torn
Grated Parmesan, to serve
Cracked black pepper


First, place a frying pan on the hob over a medium heat and melt the butter spread and then add the onion, garlic and anchovy. Stir until everything becomes soft and then add the pancetta, turning up the heat slightly to crisp  the bacon.

Whilst that is going on, fill up the kettle and put it on to boil (life is too short to boil water on the hob for pasta). Add your pasta and cook for 10 minutes or until it is al dente. Reserve some of the cooking water, say a tablespoon or two and then drain.

Finish the sauce by adding the courgette and tomatoes and cook through for five minutes and then add the olives to warm through for another minute or so.

Mix the pasta, sauce, some cracked black pepper and the reserved water together and serve up in bowls. Finish by scattering over the torn basil, lemon zest and Parmesan.

Lemon and mint risotto with broad beans, courgettes and Bertolli with Butter - serves 4

I think I got deducted points for this dish simply because it wasn't served up quite as quickly as the previous night. Which isn't fair, just because I like to take my time when extending my creative oeuvre all over the shop. Working conditions weren't that great either, as I had to listen to deafening  chants of "WHERE'S OUR DINNAH?" But what can I say, my wife is a cheat.

1 onion, finely chopped
2 garlic gloves, finely chopped
50gms Bertolli with Butter (plus a couple of knobs for stirring through at the end)
200gms Arborio rice
150mls dry white wine
1.2 ltrs vegetable stock
100gms broad beans, podded and removed from their outer skins
1 courgette, diced
100gms mascarpone
1 lemon, zested
Handful of mint, finely chopped
Salt and cracked black pepper
Lemon slices, to serve


Start by placing a large saute pan on the hob over a medium heat and add the butter spread to melt. Then add the onion and garlic and stir for about 10 minutes until soft. Throw in the risotto rice and again stir so that everything is evenly coated and then pour in the wine and reduce until it is absorbed

Then start adding the stock, a ladle at a time so that it slowly sucks into the rice, stirring all the while to exercise the creamy starch out. The trick here by the way is to keep the stock warm in another saucepan on the hob.

Continue in this fashion for 10 minutes or so and you should be at the halfway mark and at this point you can add the emerald broad beans and diced courgette, then carry on with the meditative pouring of stock. After another 10 minutes, the rice should be ready. Test it to make sure. The grain should be soft with just a little nugget of whiteness in the middle.

When the rice is ready, add the mascarpone, the lemon zest, a pinch of salt and cracked black pepper and mix through. Dotted around the top of the risotto little blobs of the butter spread and cover and leave for 5 minutes. Then stir the melted butter spread in and add the mint at the last minute, stirring one last time.

To serve, spoon a generous portion into a deep bowl and add some more lemon slices for decoration or to squeeze. Should you want more....lemony flavour.

Tuesday, 23 June 2015

The Ginger Magician

The Ginger Magician Cocktail

All good cocktails have good names and if you look into the history of its conception, there will be a good story behind it too. The tale of The Ginger Magician has it roots back in a time when I was young, carefree and slightly reckless. I don’t really want to divulge the full details of the story but let’s just say that a display of flagrant dancing, atop a bar, in some dodgy nightclub led to swift ejection. The only defence I had at the time, was to tearfully shout and protest that I was indeed The Ginger Magician. Adding in a slurred - “Don’t you know who I am?!” “Don’t you know who I am?”

Of course friends overheard all the clamor and like good friends do, they simply laughed as I was carted off into the distance. And from therein, that became my nickname. The Ginger Magician. I even have it inscribed on a plaque. Somewhere.

Fast forward to present day and now I am a fully grown man, responsible adult and father; so those heady times are well and truly behind me. In fact, now that all that fabulous ginger hair has gone, I am not even sure I can truly honor that nickname these days.

So when I got down to thinking about making a cocktail using Jeeves, a quintessentially British mixer that you would normally use for making a summer punch, I felt that an injection of danger and spirit should go into the mix. In memoriam. And of course it had to be called ‘The Ginger Magician’.

There were a couple of incarnations along the way; such as Jeeves, rosewater and Midori, which was terrible and I was able to laugh back at one of my ‘friends’ for suggesting that one. Far too sweet. It was also tricky working out whether we should go down the highball route and make a tall, refreshing glass. Or whether to make something short, sturdy and stout.

In the end the latter won and although fruity, there is hint of bitterness in Jeeves, when sampled straight (ahem). So the final result, with the introduction of gin and Campari, was not too far off a Negroni. Which really is an adult drink.

Ginger still had to make its mark though. So I decided to make a light granita using the fiery stuff, to scoop into the tumbler right at the end. Like a sort of spicy wizards hat. And it works really well, in my humble opinion. Especially when supped at the end of a long, hot and frenetic day.

I say that because the last time I had a GM was right at the end of our twins’ recent birthday party. Once they were in bed, I made one and sat in the garden exhausted, surveying the damage around me. The grass was strewn with toys, fallen chairs and paper plates. Plus a dismembered piñata that had been bashed to pieces by a thousand screaming children just a couple of hours before. It was my boy who delivered the fatal blow, to send packets of Haribo flying up into the air, to great cheers and applause. And as he turned to look at me, face beaming with a bright and rather naughty glint in his eye, I began to worry. Worrying that in the not so distant horizon, another ‘magician’ will soon be coming, lolloping into view. 

The Ginger Magician

Now, you can make this in large quantities for parties if you wish, just as long as you stick to the ratios.


1 part Jeeves
1 part gin
1 part Campari
For the light ginger granita
150ml water
50gms caster sugar
1 piece of ginger, about 30gms, finely grated
Strip of orange peel and extra crushed ice, for decoration


First make the granita by mixing the ingredients into a saucepan and gently heating on the hob. There is no need to bring it up to boil, just make sure that the sugar blends in. Then leave to infuse for 30 mins. 

Pour into the liquid into a shallow container, through a sieve to catch the ginger, and leave until completely cool. Then place into a freezer, returning every hour or so to stir and fluff it up with a fork. Slowly it will start to crystalise and form into a granita. It usually takes about 4 hours.

To make the cocktail, take a large tumbler and place some crushed ice into the bottom. Pour in an equal measure of Jeeves, gin and Campari (25mls each is fine, 50mls if it has been a hard day). Stir briefly and add the orange peel and then scoop a spoon of ginger granita into the middle.


An edited version of this post first appeared on the Great British Chefs blog

Friday, 12 June 2015

How To Eat Outside by Genevieve Taylor

Now ordinarily, I would have a big problem with a book that tells me how to do to something. Especially a book that specifically sets out to show me how, just how to eat outside. Because I have been eating outside all my life. From since I was a wee nipper, pickernicking in Hyde Park, getting chased by geese, whilst holding a current bun in the air, screaming, to the amusement of my sadistic parents. Through to cooking with a Trangia at music festivals and squinting over the burner, to see if the methylated spirits were alight or not, and getting my eyebrows singed in the process. Finishing, if it's not too cold, with the almost weekly and somewhat spiritual building of a pyre in my very knackered and very rusty barbecue. Who is fast going the way of Betty.

In fact, as a practitioner of the gross method of eating on the hoof, ne'er a day goes by when I am not stuffing my mouth in the bright, wide, open air (I blame the surgence of street food for this). So what the hell could a book teach me, a Jedi knight of alfresco dining and masticating, about the subject of eating outside?

Well, quite a lot it seems.

When I received Genevieve Taylor's new book for review, which if you hadn't already guessed is called How To Eat Outside, I have to admit, the press release that accompanied it did make me smirk a little. Because billing itself as the 'ultimate bible' for outdoor cooking is quite a strong statement. There is a whole mountain of cookbooks out there on the subject and I often find that they all go down the same, well-worn track. Also included, was a shaky prediction that this summer was set to be one the warmest in decades. Which is the sort of marketing proclamation that makes us Michael Fish types go "Nah, don't say that. I am holidaying in Devon this year. Don't jinx it man."

Then I opened the book, had a flick through and scanned a generous amount of original ideas and recipes inside. Springing from the pages in no particular order were suggestions such as kiwi-marinated squid with chermoula, Middle Eastern lamb and date burgers, Thai prawn pot noodle (using your good old fashioned Thermos flask) and a mouthwatering bread and butter pudding with marmalade and chocolate. To achieve making the latter, that would warrant investing in one of those tripod BBQ's for fire pit cooking and showing the picture to Mrs FU may have clinched it. So happy days there.

However, to paraphrase Jerry Maguire, Genevieve had me at the suggestion of crisp butties for picnics. We all know that crisp sandwiches are bloody fantastic but for me, this was a great no-nonsense inclusion. Along with hard-boiled eggs, a simple ploughman's and a tin of tuna. In a world of stylised, over-wrought exhortations for anything to do with food, all wrapped in furry string and gingham (hello lifestyle people!) I really appreciated this ballsy, 'it ain't rocket science' approach and this theme runs through the whole book. It is quite obvious that Genevieve is also a full-time parent, so short cuts and quick tricks are very much the order of the day. Some may blanch at buying ready made ingredients such as jerk paste and utter "No waaay am I going to use Dunns River! Not when I've got these gorgeous scotch bonnets, yaah?"

But when you are frantically packing the car at five in the morning and your little one comes scuffling out onto the street with their jeans and pants around their ankles, asking for toilet roll, you are not going to give two fingers of fudge about authenticity. You just want to get on the road.

Permeating throughout all the instructions, stories and handsome pictures of food then, is this sense of simply going out to have fun and adventure in the great outdoors. And like I said, if you do have children, this is a great book to keep on hand, should you be mad enough to go camping this summer. All of her desserts will keep them quiet for ten minutes at least. Offering a safe but brief haven for when it more than likely pisses down with rain.

I am going camping on three separate occasions this year by the way.

The one recipe really sprung out for me though was her Campfire calzone pizzas. Giving a good nod to scouting efficiency when it comes to entertaining young minds, I tried this out with the twins last night and it went down a storm. After stoking up some flames and laying out our ingredients, all finesse went out the window and most of the toppings made their way into mouths before cooking. Yet in fairness, their smaller stuffed pizzas came out slightly better than my Big Daddy one, which was slightly undercooked when I unwrapped it. It really could have done with five minutes more but I was starving and after seeing their red, dappled mouths, I couldn't wait any longer to get stuck into my own slice of gooey mozzarella and spicy pepperoni. The greatest achievement though came afterwards, when my daughter shouted proudly over the garden fence to another little but equally loud voice next door, booming that she had just made pizza on the barbecue:

"We just cooked pizza on a BBQ!"

"You can't cook pizza on a BBQ!"

"Yes you can, my Dad showed us how to do it!"

"Well, not really Schmicks," I whispered. "A lady called Genevieve showed us how to do it."

How To Eat Outside: Fabulous Al Fresco Food for BBQs, Bonfires, Camping and More is published by Bantam Press and hits the shelves on June 18th 2015.

And here is the recipe, given with kind permission from Genevieve Taylor and Bantam Press.

Campfire calzone pizza - makes 6

For the dough
600g strong white bread flour
1 tsp fine sea salt
1 tsp dried mixed herbs
7g sachet fast-action dried yeast
3 tbsp olive oil, plus extra for greasing
350ml hand-hot water

For the topping
Selection of toppings for people to choose from, such as sweetcorn, pepperoni slices, chopped ham, flaked tuna, sliced peppers or mushrooms, olives, chopped fresh basil 
1 x 200g carton passata
2 x 125g balls mozzarella, torn into pieces

You will also need 6 large sheets of foil, lightly oiled on one side.

First make the dough. Add the flour, salt, dried herbs and yeast to a large mixing bowl and stir until evenly mixed. Pour in the oil and hand-hot water, mixing with a wooden spoon until you have a rough, crumbly dough. Add a little more water if it looks too dry, or a little more flour if it looks too wet.

Drizzle a little oil on the worktop, spreading it around with your hands. Tip the dough on to it, then knead well until smooth and stretchy, about 5–8 minutes. 

Cut the dough into 6 equal pieces, place each one in the centre of an oiled sheet of foil and loosely fold over the foil to enclose the dough. Pack away in a box with a lid, ready to transport to your cooking site. Get ready a selection of your chosen toppings and pack those away too. The dough will be quite happy at room temperature for a couple of hours; any longer and I would store it in the fridge.

When you are ready to cook, lay out the bowls of toppings, ideally on a camp table, and give the kids a package of dough each. Get them to press it out flat into a pizza shape, about 1cm thick. Spread a little passata on one half of each round, leaving a border around the edge, and then top with the mozzarella and whatever else you want. For each calzone, fold the dough in half over the filling and crimp all around the edges to seal the filling inside (as if you were making a pasty).

Loosely fold over the foil again, sealing it completely, and place on the grill over a medium-hot fire to cook, turning over every now and then. Depending on the heat of the fire, they will take around 20–30 minutes. Unfold one carefully to peek inside; it should be crisp and cooked through, not raw and doughy. If not, reseal and cook for another few minutes. Once ready, they will be scorching hot, so let them cool for a few minutes before tucking in.