Monday, 26 August 2013

Review: “Bocca Cookbook” by Jacob Kenedy



I’ve only been to Italy once. I was Interrailing with my friend Nicola; we were students on a shoe-string budget. We boarded an overnight train to Rome with Parisian baguettes strapped to our rucksacks, determined to eke out of our meagre budget entry fees to all of Rome’s major attractions. For actual sustenance we mostly cooked pasta in our hostel kitchen; we balked at the price of coffees and spent out treat money on extravagant late-night gelato. I dream of this gelato still, but it wasn’t much of an introduction to the scope of Italian or even Roman food.

So most of what I have gleaned about Italian cooking comes from Masterchef. Whenever the contestants are made to cook in Italy (or in the kitchens of Italian restaurants), the chef divulges the secret elusive spirit of Italian food: simple, fresh ingredients cooked with passion and love. Passion! It’s all very well saying this – but just how do you tear a basil leaf with passion, as opposed to any other way of tearing a basil leaf? How do you stir love into tomato sauce, rather than just prodding it with a wooden spoon?

Jacob Kenedy is the chef-owner of popular Soho restaurant Bocca di Lupo. His cookbook is a riotous journey around the regions of Italy, loudly celebrating this Italian passion and zeal for all things food. This is a book about enjoying life. It is riotous, bolshy, and unashamedly greedy. He makes no pretences at “authenticity” (not being Italian himself) – and yet captures its spirit perfectly. There are quirky introductions and curious recipes; some entries are more instructions on how to eat something, or how to buy it. Everywhere we are encouraged to employ our senses, our cook’s intuition. A recipe for Jam tart notes that “perfection is not refinement, but the perfect expression of the cook’s heart”.

Bocca is not full of recipes I intend to recreate – and yet I have devoured every one, and it has left me hungry (like the wolf). I have learned in great detail the art of the sausage – did you know you have to knead the meat? I have considered marching down to the butcher and demanding “the head and feet of a pig” to make a soprassata; I have thought about whether my cupboard under the stairs is the right temperature for curing; I have vicariously met the challenge of the “extremely spicy ‘nduja salame, which is 30% chilli by weight “. And that was just the sausage chapter. Later, I lingered over a recipe for sanguinaccio, a pudding made with chocolate and pig’s blood (a dessert that “tends to meet expectations”, both for those to whom it “sounds weird and wonderful” and also “those who find the idea weird and repugnant. If you are of the latter persuasion, do not be tempted to try it.”).

The photography is beautiful – unfussy and informative, including windows to the country which make you ache to be there. A field of frost-bejewelled cabbages on a misty dawn made my nose tingle with the scent of a late autumn morning. It is peppered with photographs of Kenedy himself, usually stuffing something into his mouth. A cook after my own heart. I think I know now what the Masterchef contestants have missed (but those round Italian mamas have clearly not), which can’t really come across on the TV. To experience the real spirit of Italian food, it’s not just the cooking, but the eating itself which must be infused with joy and passion.

Bocca Cookbook is published by Bloomsbury, RRP £30

Friday, 16 August 2013

Australian Courgette Slice

It's that time of year again when we are overwhelmed by courgettes. I'm not even growing my own this year, but they regularly turn up in my veg box, and Mum has more than enough for her needs! Don't get me wrong, this is a marvellous glut. The courgette is a very versatile vegetable. It fries well and roasts better. When you're really stumped you can put it in a cake. But it's Courgette Slice I look forward to (and get sick of) ever year.

We are unsure of its origins but if there was ever a culinary tradition in our family, this is it. It certainly pre-dates the time I spent Down Under. It is possible that it once came from The Australian Women's Weekly; however, since this recipe probably bears almost no resemblance to the original, I will give it that most trustworthy of accreditations and call it "my Mum's ".

You could describe the mighty courgette slice as something between a pastry-less quiche, an omelette, and a savoury courgette cake. It works well with a salad, or indeed as a salad. Serve hot next to a buttery baked potato for tea. Enjoy cold on its own for lunch. It makes a fantastic veggie accompaniment at barbeques. It is endlessly adaptable - just use whatever goodies you happen to have lying around (or need to use up). Cold meats like sausages, roast leftovers or chicken work well but are not essential.



Makes dinner for 6, lunch for 8, or a side for 10.
400g courgette (about two)
120g cheddar cheese
3 eggs
100ml oil (vegetable, rapeseed, sunflower...)
100ml strong stock (about half a cube, or a heaped teaspoon of powder)
1 medium onion
130g self-raising flour (or plain with 1½ teaspoons baking powder)

Selection of extras, such as:
2 rashers bacon, cooked and chopped into small pieces
1 red pepper
1 mild chili pepper
Handful cherry tomatoes, halved
Bunch fresh herbs such as chives, thyme or oregano
A few chopped mushrooms
  1. Heat the oven to 200°C. Grease and line a largish baking tray – mine is about 20cm x 30cm. You don’t have to line it, but it makes it much easier to lift out. Ready a large mixing bowl.
  2. Grate the courgette and cheese. This is not too arduous to do by hand, but use a food processor if you prefer. Tip into your bowl.
  3. Finely chop the onion, and do the same for all the extra ingredients you are using. Tip them all into the bowl with the courgette and cheese.
  4. Add the other wet ingredients – the eggs, oil and stock. Season well with salt and black pepper. Give it a big stir.
  5. Add the flour, and stir to combine.
  6. Tip into the prepared tin and put in the oven. It is cooked when the edges start to turn golden brown, and is frothing pleasantly at the surface - it will take about 45 minutes. Leave to cool slightly in the tin before diving in.

Monday, 12 August 2013

Review: "Fat: an appreciation of a misunderstood ingredient, with recipes" by Jennifer McLagan


I don't usually spend long in the cookery section of charity bookshops. The sorts of books languishing there tend to feature fad diets, few pictures and chefs nobody has heard of. So the cover of this one did more than catch my eye - a big juicy chop replete with hunks of creamy white fat, and a title all the more provocative for its drab surroundings. Eagerly I flicked to the back cover in search of a photograph of Ms McLagan. Surely I would discover a rotund, ruddy-faced woman, flour-dusted sleeves rolled up to the elbows and clutching a rolling pin in one porky fist? No! A petite woman with round glasses smiles smugly, "you weren't expecting that, were you?". Several minutes later, the volunteer at the till was rather bemused by my enthusiasm.

This is a book that tells you something you want to hear: animal fat is not the enemy. It won't kill you, and maybe it's even good for you. It is essential for cooking, and conveniently, it tastes spectacularly good. The introduction attempts round up the rather sticky health issue, but the tempting and rather more convincing arguments of taste, usefulness, and tradition keep muscling their way in on the science. There are two big health questions: does eating fat make you fat? And will eating animal fat give you heart disease? I think we can boil it down to two issues: all fats are not equal, and science is not as impartial as we'd like to believe.

Lipids, it turns out, are an enormous and highly varied class of chemical. All fatty acids are essentially chains of carbon atoms, each with a pair of hydrogens attched (you could think of this like cheese and pineapple on sticks studding a foil-wrapped swiss roll). If all the carbons have two hydrogens attached, the fat is solid at room temperature (the guests are unlikely to attack the swiss roll while it's groaning with all that cheese and pineapple). When one or more hydrogens are missing, the fat is unsaturated, and tends to be unstable at room temperature (once the swiss roll is discovered, it's unlikely to stay wrapped in foil).

We are all familiar with the words 'saturated', 'mono-unsaturated', 'polyunsaturated' in the context of fats. The fitting of fat into categories lends itself to comparison, and the labelling of one or the other as 'bad', or 'worse'. Most people would suggest saturated fat is unhealthy. But what happens when we digest fat, beyond the GCSE-science of it being emulsified and broken down by lipase enzymes, is complicated! Having done more than a bit of casual research, I'm not all that surprised that the discussion in McLagan's introduction is neither clear nor in-depth. There are a few simple facts that we can take away:
- Animal fats are always a mixture of saturated, monounsaturated and polyunsaturated fats. Lard, for instance, is 39% saturated, 45% monounsaturated and 11% polyunsaturated. The types of fats present are affected by what the animal ate; e.g. grass-fed beef is richer in omega-3 fat than is corn-fed beef.
- Some vitamins are only soluble in fats, so if you don't eat enough fat then you stand to lose out on vitamins A, D, E and K.
- Fat molecules are large and take longer to digest than, say, refined carbohydrates, and the effect of this is that you feel more satisfied, for longer. This could make you eat less, and snack less between meals.
- Everyone agrees that trans-fats are bad. Hydrogenating vegetable oil by bomarding it with hydrogen is a convenient way for the food industry to make stable fat, but trans-fats don't occur in nature so it makes sense that our bodies don't know how to deal with them.
- The general consensus is that it is excess sugar and carbs which cause weight gain, not fat.

The fairly recent history of fat's bad reputation shines a light on another topic - the link between science, politics and big business. It is widely accepted that a diet high in saturated fat and cholesterol will put you at higher risk of developing heart disease. But how conclusive is the science? The theory was first advanced in the 1950s, when heart disease was emerging as a major killer in the western world. The evidence that backed it up was associative, rather than causal - this is, it seemed that people who ate more fat were at greater risk, but we weren't sure about the biological reasons. Other studies found little or no evidence for a link. But in the 1970s the US government decided to endorse the theory anyway. After this point, it is more difficult to publish unbiased research. Funding from governments and business is more likely to continue if the funders get the results they want - so the scientists find themselves incentivised to present the results in a certain light. Suddenly the debate is all but over.

What isn't a matter for dispute is that fat is indispensible in the kitchen; once you are even semi-convinced of the health benefits you can fully embrace this part. Fat is the part of meat which carries flavour. I can tell you this is true because as I write I am rendering some bacon fat (of which more later), and it smells identical to bacon cooking. Many flavours and aromas are soluble only in fat: no fat, no taste. It is disappointing to read that our fear of animal fat has lead to the rearing of leaner animals. We have colluded in intensive livestock production, in which animals grow quickly and don't have time to develop tasty fat, by demanding lean meat.


The book examines different fats in turn, starting with butter. My exposure to butter thus far was normal, but for two experiences. The first, some years ago, involved a friend making butter on scout camp - the rescuing of some enthusiastically whipped cream on a hot summer's day, strained through the cleanest tea towel we could find. The process was intriguing, but I think I was more fascinated by the fact that my friend knew how to work this magic. I don't really remember eating it. The second experience was eating my mother-in-law's homemade butter - before I had met her - and despite not being wholly convinced that it tasted better, I did have my eyes opened to the fact that "real" butter might be different. Clarified butter was just something they talked about on Masterchef; ghee was a mysterious ingredient found in curry recipes. Courtesy of this book, I can reveal now that clarified butter has just had its milk solids strained out (those are the bits which burn if you let the pan get too hot) and ghee is basically the same but cooked for longer, to infuse the taste of the cooked milk solids. This means you can heat it to a higher temperature, and it doesn't go rancid so easily. Makes sense if you live in a hot, curry-loving place. I have made some according to the instructions in this book (Madhur would be proud). It was surprisingly easy.

Rummaging in the freezer looking for something for the slow cooker pot, I found some lean diced beef, and felt slightly ashamed. I have triedto make up for this transgression by baking a batch of 'bacon fat spice cookies'. When I demanded from the butcher some bacon "with a decent amount of fat" I had to confirm that I meant "a lot". As McLagan points out, "eating animal fat didn't kill our ancestors", and "it wasn't smart to dismiss thousands of years of empirical evidence". This is just as convincing to me as the political war over heart disease - enough at least to stop feeling guilty about fresh bread smothered with butter, or a big slab of pork belly. So how did this veritable bible end up in the Oxfam shop? I guess somebody just didn't have the stomach - their loss is my gain.

Fat is published by Jacqui Small (2008), RRP £16.99.