Woodland poultry

Weird-looking critter, isn't it?

I have had my eye on this chicken of the woods for a couple of weeks now. I decided not to risk leaving it until I got back from my holiday; it rained here for most of the time I was away and I was a little worried about losing it to slugs. Or worse still, to another mushroom hunter!

Chicken of the woods is a wonderfully dense, solid mushroom. It doesn't take on a slimy texture when heated, and really shines in situations that call for diced or sliced chicken, particularly when cooked gently in a sauce.

I may be looking in all the wrong places, but it doesn't seem to do well here. There have been a few down in the valley, but those have been growing on trees in fields I have driven past and don't have permission to forage in. More's the pity.

Ironically I saw a beautiful one on a tree this week as I was walking along the bank of the Spree in Berlin. But it was quite high up and I was wearing my respectable clothes... And sadly the rest of the party probably wouldn't have understood my excitement either!

It has been warm today, so I wasn't looking for a heavy pasta and sauce sort of supper, nor a substantial stew. But I did buy a couple of nice big aubergines at the greengrocer this morning with a view to making moutabal, and they suggested the perfect solution.

Pizza!

Cut the aubergine into slices roughly 1 cm thick. Brush them lightly with oil and grill under quite a high heat on both sides until browned and softened.
Meanwhile chop and soften a shallot and some chopped garlic in a little oil. Throw in some chopped pepper as well perhaps, then add the diced mushroom along with some fresh marjoram or oregano. When the mushroom cubes have softened a little, pour in some of the now-dwindling stock of passata from the freezer and simmer until the liquid has reduced and thickened.

Ladle generously onto the aubergine slices, top with olives, sliced tomatoes or whatever else takes your fancy and add a little grated cheese (in my case parmesan, as that was all there was in the fridge).

Grill until the cheese is bubbling, then allow to cool just a little before eating.

This week we shall mainly be eating...

... leeks!

I couldn't wait any longer. They were still occupying the bed that I have earmarked for the beans this year, so they had to come out this weekend. The biggest ones are probably only fit for making stock, but there are still enough for several meals there. I'm not sure yet what to do with the middling leeks, but the babies need to be enjoyed quickly.

Way back when, in the days when my garden was the tiny back yard of a terraced house in Manchester, and I could only dream of a proper veg patch rather than a couple of dozen pots, a South-facing windowsill and a cold frame, I had a book entitled, "The Weekend Gardener", or something like that. It gave fortnightly lists of jobs to do in the garden, most of which didn't apply to me due to lack of garden. But the entry I liked most over the Summer months was "Eat at least one meal a week outside", and it is something R and I always tried to do whenever the sun was out.

The window of opportunity for doing that here is very short, so it is even more important to make the most of the sunshine.
R's parents gave us the table when we moved here. During the Summer it lives under the big sycamore tree in the rather grandly-titled "orchard". This was where we would shell peas and beans together, share a glass of wine when he arrived back after a week away and, after a weekend of work outside, would just sit with our tired bodies and watch the sun go down over the hill, kept company by the ever-busy swallows and house martens, while we waited for the bats to make their entrance, signalling a change in temperature and time to go indoors.

I firmly believe in the principle that the better the food, the less you need to do with it.
A handful of peas picked, shelled and eaten in the vegetable garden tastes better than just about any dish that can be cooked with them. A perfectly-ripe strawberry picked with the early morning sun on it just cannot be imitated by any supermarket's Finest range. And a new-laid egg still warm from the nest box makes a poached egg that most top chefs would be hard-placed to beat.

So, for a Summer lunch take a bunch of asparagus from the farm shop, the final few broad beans from the freezer (after removing their dull grey coats to reveal the vivid green kernels) and some just-picked baby leeks. Steam until just tender. Perhaps add a little freshly-ground salt and pepper, and just enough butter to make everything pleasingly glossy. Poach the eggs discovered in the nest box this morning and attempt to place them attractively on top. Carry outside and eat in the warm sunshine.
The shop-bought apple and tomatoes add a sour note of commercial realism to the picture, but perhaps the home-made elderflower cordial mitigates this a little.

The remains of the day

My ongoing quest to eat the freezer contents continues.

Lamb isn't a problem as such. I think I could eat it every day without ever becoming bored. Sadly both my doctor and my waistline would prefer it that I don't.

A leg roast once in a while is a Sunday treat, though, particularly after I have earned it by working outside in the garden all day. Cooked hard and fast, the joints from my little Hebridean sheep are as good as they come and are ready in about an hour. That's just long enough to walk Moose and get back in time to put the potatoes on.

Brown and deeply savoury on the outside, pink and succulent inside, and with enough fat (but not too much) to stop them drying out in the hot oven, I really don't think they can be beaten. For this little beauty I had a few left-over anchovies, so I studded the meat with them and some slices of garlic for added umami, but they weren't essential. On the other hand, a good ten-minute rest was.

Meal 1 was straightforward. Roast lamb, mash made with some of the last spuds from store, lots of spring cabbage and gravy made from the meat juices and a dollop of rosemary jelly. No problem. The hard part is to stop going back to the joint for just one more little slice!

Then, if it's Monday, it must be hash. Lots of onions, cubed potatoes and meat, all slowly pan-fried with the remaining gravy. Patience is a virtue here. It takes time to achieve the right amount of crispy edge, and of course a big handful of chopped parsley is needed just before that moment is reached. You could add a fried egg if feeling very greedy, but that would be painting the lily.

And so to the very last remains. The bone and the last few scraps of meat clinging to it.
Soup, of course, but where in the world shall we go?

One of the advantages of a longer than normal winter is that it gives plenty of opportunity to try out a few things in the kitchen. As citrus fruits were plentiful and cheap at the same time, and as R wasn't here to nag me to make Seville orange marmalade, I spent a couple of pleasant afternoons making lime pickle and preserved lemons.

With this in mind, it was destination North Africa!

After I had removed any decent-looking scraps of meat from the bone, it went into the stock pot with the usual aromatics. I wasn't looking for a thick, unctuous sort of stock; just some lightly-flavoured liquid for my soup.

To make the soup, I sweated the usual suspects (onion, carrot, a little garlic and a stick of celery) until softened, then added a good teaspoon each of cinnamon, ginger and cumin. Boy, does that make the room smell nice! These were followed some precooked chickpeas from the freezer, the end of a yellow pepper, a squeeze of sundried tomato paste and the chopped preserved lemon rind.

Simmer gently on the stove until all the vegetables are soft, then throw in the meat scraps to heat through and serve.
Light, warming and absolutely delicious!

A lunchtime treat

Flushed with my triumph over the roofing sheet mountain, I felt that I deserved a little pampering on my Saturday shopping expedition.

The first port of call, as ever, was Derek the Fishmonger, where I found a nice piece of Cornish plaice for my Sunday lunch. Then I spotted the scallops. And dive-caught scallops at that.

I don't know why I like scallops so much. There is something ever so slightly indelicately gynaecological about their appearance, but I can rarely resist buying them. Sadly these didn't come with their built-in plates, but I was sure they could form the basis of a lunchtime treat.

Back at home, I checked the greenhouse to see if there was anything edible.
Still very little unfortunately, apart from a few radish and rocket thinnings. The herb bed yielded some very healthy chives and a few leaves of lemon balm and fennel that were starting to poke their heads above the soil.

Fortunately I had visited the farm shop on my way back home, and bought some crunchy romaine lettuce and a few self-indulgent cherry tomatoes. I know they don't really taste of anything much at this time of year, but I fancied a bit of colour with my lunch. They also had in chorizo from Wenlock Edge Farm. I hadn't tried their chorizo before, but their coppa and salami is excellent, so it was worth a try.

Lunch was more an operation in assembly, rather than cooking as such.
Chop the chorizo into coins, dry fry until the fat runs. Then add the scallops and fry for a minute on each side.

That's it - simply serve with a nice salad and balsamic dressing, and arrange as attractively as a person with limited artistic abilities can manage.

Chanterelles

I have had a minor obsession about wild mushrooms for several years, but it was only when we moved to Wales that I graduated to picking and cooking them.

R was happy to indulge this interest, even though it meant that, at certain times of year, our walks were spent with me peering into the undergrowth or leaping up onto a bank with a shout of triumph at seemingly random moments. On several occasions he was required to surrender his cap or pockets to carry my prizes as I had forgotten to bring a bag with me.

Naturally cautious, however, he would only ever eat anything that had been thoroughly identified to his satisfaction - both to determine what it was and what it could NOT be.
First we would take a spore print and check the colours of the spores. Then the mushroom was cross-checked in two books, and any possible impostors were identified as well.
The final proof was furnished by the simple expedient of allowing me to eat them first, then waiting a couple of days to see if I turned up my toes as a result. If I survived and pronounced the mushrooms tasty, then he would happily tuck in as well.

This isn't great mushroom-hunting country; whether this is due to the height or the soil type or what, I really cannot say. But if you know where to look there are still a few pockets here and there for the taking. We don't get the huge patches of St. Georges or fairy ring champignons that friends at lower altitudes find in abundance, but one mushroom that I do find in relative quantity is the chanterelle. There is one mossy bank in dappled shade under some scrubby oak trees that always comes up trumps at this time of year when we have a couple of days of sunshine after a good soaking of rain.



In years of really great abundance, I have dried the surplus chanterelles for later use. While they do add flavour to a winter soup or stew, the texture remains a little chewy after they are reconstituted, so I have decided henceforth to simply eat them on every possible occasion while they are in season and then wait impatiently until the next year.

Essentially chanterelles can be used in any recipe that calls for mushrooms. Risotto is good, as are pasta dishes, particularly as a filling for home-made ravioli. But I find that with their slightly more toothsome texture, they are enjoyed to best effect simply sautéed in a little butter and olive oil along with some baby leeks or spring onions and half a clove of garlic. Add a little red pepper or a mild chilli for colour. A few cubes of pancetta or chopped bacon added at the start make it a more substantial lunchtime dish, as does a fresh, poached duck egg. Sprinkle a few chives on top for maximum viewing pleasure and serve with some crusty or seedy bread to absorb the buttery, mushroomy juices.